'Tis the Season (28 page)

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open halfway. Before he could say a word, she pressed her mouth to his in a sweet, sumptuous kiss. Their arms slid around each other as he deepened the kiss, pulling her tighter against him.

No words were spoken as they kissed, touched, sighed, caressed, stroked, moaned, moved together . . . They made love as if the world were at stake. And they both knew, somehow, that it was.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The ride from Manhattan back to Long Island was a tense one. The only thing they agreed on was that they shouldn't tell anyone about her pregnancy until she made it safely past the first trimester. But again, Charles pushed for her not to move out, and again, Lisette held her ground that she would. He didn't want them to stop seeing each other; she insisted that until things were settled, it was the best way. They argued carefully, a heated chess match of push and pull that left them both exasperated by the time the limo pulled up to the mansion.

He stopped her at the front door, looking down at her as he murmured fiercely, “This isn't finished. Far from it.”

“I know,” she said.

“But for now, the kids come first. We act happy, like everything's fine. Because I'm confident that it will be. And then we'll talk tonight, after they're asleep.”

Something in her bristled. She knew damn well the kids came first. As for the rest of it . . . she felt like he was telling her how things would be, whether she liked it or not. That was
not
okay. But she only met his demanding gaze and nodded.

As soon as they got inside, the kids ran to them, loud and happy and hugging them both.

“You're back!” Ava cried. She looked up at Lisette. “I want to hear all about the ball. The dresses, tell me about the dresses!”

Lisette laughed and smoothed Ava's hair back. “Some of them were stunning. You wouldn't have believed it.”

“I wish I could've seen them!” Ava pouted.

“Maybe we can look online later,” Lisette offered.

“What are you guys up to?” Charles asked the boys.

Lisette snuck a glance at him. He seemed fine, but now that she knew him as well as she did, she caught the tightness around his eyes. Her heart gave a tiny squeeze.

“We're playing video games in the playroom,” Myles said, bouncing happily. “Wanna play with us?”

“I thought your mother was spending the day with you?” Charles asked.

“She said she's coming later,” Thomas said, a slight scowl on his face.

Charles looked from one child to the other. “What's up?”

“Mom's mad,” Thomas grumbled.

“At you?” Charles asked with surprise.

Thomas shook his head and stared at the ground, suddenly finding his sneakers fascinating.

“Last night, she was here to be with us while you two were at the ball,” Ava said. “Myles told her about your being boyfriend-girlfriend . . . and she got mad.”

Lisette looked to Charles and watched that telltale muscle twitch under his eye.

“Did she say something that upset you kids?” he asked calmly.

“Not really,” Ava said. “But she spent, like, most of the time on her phone, talking to her friends or something . . . about you two.”

“It wasn't nice things,” Myles mumbled. For the first time, he looked upset. “She used a lot of the bad words. You know . . . curse words.”

Charles straightened and drew a long, slow breath. “I see. Well, I'm going to talk to her and set things straight, all right?”

“What he means is”—Lisette jumped in—“please don't be upset, and don't worry that she's mad. She's not mad at you; she's mad at us.”

“No duh,” Thomas said under his breath.

“Hey,” Charles said sharply. “Watch yourself, young man.”

Thomas glared at his father. “She was happy to be with us here, and now she's all mad. You guys will fight, and it'll be awful. Christmas will be ruined. You messed up everything!” Thomas whirled away and ran up the stairs. The sound of his bedroom door slamming echoed throughout the mansion.

Lisette's heart pounded in her chest, and her hands felt ice-cold. “Should I—?”

“No. I will.” Charles crouched down to look at Myles and Ava at eye level. “I'm going to go talk to your brother. Then, I'm going to come down to the playroom, and we're going to play together for the rest of the day. Your mom and I won't fight when she gets here. Everything's going to be okay, all right?”

“Okay, Daddy,” Myles said, clasping his little arms around Charles's neck for a hug. Ava nodded, looking up at Lisette, then back to her father.

Charles hugged his daughter too before straightening to his full height. “Why don't you guys go to the playroom for a while, okay?”

“Go on,” Lisette said, snapping into Nanny Mode. “Do you guys want a snack? I'll make something and bring it down to you.”

“Can we have popcorn?” Ava asked.

Lisette shrugged and grinned. “Sure, I don't see why not.”

“Cookies too?” Myles asked with what he hoped was a persuasive smile.

She ruffled his dark hair. “Maybe. Go on down.”

“Oh my God,” Charles said under his breath, watching his children go. “I'm going to kill her.”

“Don't. Orange isn't your color,” Lisette joked. “She's not worth going to jail over. So don't kill her, okay?”

“No promises,” Charles muttered. He looked toward the stairs. “Dammit.”

“Charles,” she began, trying to soothe.

“Not now, please,” he said gruffly. “I need to focus on Thomas right now.” He turned away from her and went to the grand staircase.

Lisette felt vaguely nauseous. She knew how upset Charles was, on top of their tense morning . . . Well, things had gone to hell fast, hadn't they? Exhaling a shaky breath, she went to the kitchen, willfully distracting herself with tasks. She microwaved popcorn, grabbed some oatmeal raisin cookies and mini water bottles, and brought them down to the kids. She stayed for a few minutes to chat with them, to make sure they were okay.

As she made her way back up the stairs from the playroom to the main level, the doorbell chimed. “I have it,” she called out. She went to the door and opened it to see Charles Harrison II standing there, a malicious glint in his eyes.

Her heart sank to her stomach, and a chill prickled over her skin. “Hello, Mr. Harrison.”

“Good,” he said. His cold gray gaze raked over her, and a hint of a sneer lifted his thin lips. “You're the one I'm looking for.”

The chill turned into a wave of anxiety as he pushed past her into the foyer. “Why do you want to see me?” she asked, closing the door behind him as he stalked further into the house. Her heart felt like a jackhammer in her chest, and waves of unease rolled over her. Charles was still upstairs with Thomas; he probably hadn't even heard the doorbell ring. She drew a deep breath, straining to remain calm as she followed Charles II into the living room.

He turned on her and appraised her for a long beat. He was six feet tall, the same height as his eldest son, and also had a lean build. That was where the similarities ended. Charles II's hair was lighter, and his eyes were not that sparkling blue but a flat, steely gray. His mouth wasn't full and sensuous like Charles's was, but a thin slash with a hint of cruelty. It twisted now as he gazed at her and began to speak.

“I know you've been a good nanny to my grandchildren,” he said amiably. His sudden pleasantness alarmed her more than if he'd started out by shouting. “And your services have been appreciated. But I think it's in all our best interests for you to take your leave now.”

She blinked in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You're leaving this position.”

“I . . .” She gaped at him, confused. “You're suggesting I leave?”

“No, I'm
telling
you to leave,” he said in a low sneer. “So you will.”

“No, I won't,” she said, her breath stuck in her lungs. “I work for Charles; he's the one who decides if I work here or not.”

“His judgment is obviously in the crapper right now. Apparently he's been blinded while he's been sleeping with you,” Charles II spat. A new chill rolled over her skin as her heart raced. Charles II looked her over as if she were yesterday's trash. “No wonder he never introduced me to his date last night. When I found out who he'd brought . . . Whatever. So. How much?” He pulled his checkbook from his back pocket and walked to the small desk along the far wall. Grasping a pen, he opened the checkbook and looked at her again. “How much?” he repeated impatiently.

“How much what?” she asked, clueless as to what he meant and still in shock.

“How much do I have to pay you to make you disappear? Get up to speed, dear.”

Her stomach did a nauseating flip. “You're trying to pay me to leave?” she stammered.

“Jesus. You're pretty, but apparently not very smart.” Charles II shook his head at her disdainfully. “Yes. I'm willing to give you a million dollars to leave this job, this house, and vanish into thin air.”

Choking out a horrified laugh, she managed, “I don't—”

“Two million, then.” He huffed out an impatient breath, obviously annoyed. “Take it and go.”

“No,” she said, with steel this time.

His eyes narrowed, and he threw down the pen. “You
will
leave,” he ranted, pointing a finger at her. “I won't let you wreck Charles's life the way that other slut did. He has no judgment when it comes to women, apparently.” Charles II drew a calming breath, then locked his hateful gaze on her. “I'll make it very much worth your while to accept my offer.”

“Go to hell,” she whispered.

Charles II grabbed the pen again and glared at her. “Two million, and an apartment somewhere faraway. You want to go back home? Back to France? I'll buy you an apartment in Paris; how's that?”

Her insides shook, not from fear, but from rage. “Maybe you didn't hear me. Go. To. Hell.”

Charles II's face darkened, and he advanced on her. “You listen to me, you little gold-digging whore—”

She turned and fled from the living room, heading for the stairs. Thoughts whirled in her head like storms, fierce and out of control. All she wanted was escape. Charles stood at the top of the landing. “Charles,” she said urgently, “you need to deal with your father. And I need to get out of here.”

“What?” he asked. “What's going on?”

Charles II burst from the living room, into the hallway, yelling after her, “Don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you, you little tramp!”

“How
dare
you.” Without missing a beat, Charles descended the stairs, his blues blazing daggers of ice and fire at his father. “How dare you come to my house and speak to her this way. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I'm Charles Roger Harrison II, goddammit!” his father roared, his control snapping like a twig. “And I won't have another sneaky slut take you and your assets—the
family's
assets—to the cleaners.”

Charles looked to Lisette. “You should go now. I'll handle this.”

Without hesitation, she went down the hallway, intending to stay with Ava and Myles in the playroom.

* * *

Charles and his father sized each other up as Charles growled, “What the fuck is going on?”

“I told you the first time,” Charles II said, “that Vanessa was fine to fuck, but you'd regret it if you married her. You wouldn't listen! You married her just to stick it to me. And guess what? I was right. She was your worst mistake.” He pointed to where Lisette had gone. “And I find out now this little ragamuffin is your new lay? The
nanny?
How stupid are you? Deplorable. You think I'm just going to stand by and let it happen again?”

“I think you better shut your mouth,” Charles said as he returned his father's enraged glare. “Who I date is not your business. Get out of my house. Right now.”

“I gave you everything!” Charles II roared. “I've put you first your entire life! Made sure you had every privilege, every benefit. Don't you tell me to get out of your house, you ungrateful little prick.”

“I wasn't your son; I was your prize,” Charles shot back, adrenaline racing through his veins. “You treated me like a piece of property. A fucking trophy. You have since the day I was born. I'm so tired of it. I don't owe you a word of explanation about who I date, you hear me? I don't owe you anything.”

“You owe me everything!” Charles II yelled.

“I owe you nothing!” Charles yelled back, finally losing control. “I run the company now; I have for years. Harrison Enterprises is more successful than ever because of what
I've
done, because of
my
accomplishments,
my
constant work—to the point where I was ignoring my kids and had no life.” He got right up in his father's face, and ground out, “I run the whole show, and I'm damn good at it. If anything,
you're
the one who now owes
me
.”

“I can't believe you'd turn on me like this,” Charles II said, face flushed. “And for what? A piece of ass? A woman you barely know?”

“I know her. And I love her,” Charles added, just to see the flare of shock in his father's eyes. “And it's about a lot more than just her.” His fists clenched, and he shoved them into his pockets. “Tell you what, Dad. I have no judgment? I owe you everything? Fine. You can take it all back and go fuck yourself with it. I quit. I'm done.”

“That's pure crap,” Charles II said.

“No, it's not,” Charles retorted calmly. “I'm leaving Harrison Enterprises. You can run it your damn self. Find another puppet. I want nothing to do with you or any of it anymore. It's way past time I had my own life. I quit. You'll have my letter of resignation on your desk first thing tomorrow.”