Modern Romance Collection: January Books 5 - 8. Jane Porter

clouded in. She’d been ill carrying his little sister, Angelina. Very ill.

      With a huff of angry irritation he pushed that thought away and marched back to the window. History wouldn’t repeat itself. Would it? He couldn’t take losing another person he was close to. That was why he kept himself as emotionally distanced from Angelina as he could. A tyrant of a brother, she’d called him last time they’d spoken on the phone, finalising the last-minute details of her party. What would she say to him about the baby? That he had no right to be a father when he was such a cold, hard brother? And wasn’t that the truth? He had no right.

      ‘So you would rather your father had never come back into your life?’ The words were rough and feral as he pushed back all his past demons, determined to lock them away. It was Christmas Day after all and this wasn’t what he’d planned it to be.

      ‘You have no idea how much.’

      He turned to look at her. How could she look so vulnerable and hurt, yet so angry at the same time? As she held his gaze, her eyes so vivid and green as she fought back tears he knew exactly why she wanted to walk away from him, deny him the chance of being a father. ‘And that’s why you don’t want me in our child’s life? Why you have given me such an ultimatum, demanding all or nothing?’

      * * *

      The fury in Max’s voice cut through Lisa’s heart, making her shiver as she realised her words had given everything away. She’d practically told him why she didn’t want him in his child’s life unless he could give her and the baby total commitment.

      She looked up at him, unable to respond as she processed all they’d shared over the last hour. She’d never been able to talk to anyone about such things. Most women had good relationships with their mothers, were able to talk, but that had never been an option with her mother. Not when she was the unwanted child that had stopped all her partying and fun.

      ‘It’s Christmas Day, Max.’ Finally, she could piece together a sentence. ‘We shouldn’t be talking about this now.’

      He walked back toward the bed, sat down and looked straight into her eyes. After what they’d shared last night she wanted him to take her in his arms and tell her it was all going to be all right, that the past didn’t matter, that she’d got it all wrong and he’d be there for her and the baby.

      ‘We should and we will.’ The firmness of his voice flattened any hope of that kind of sympathy. ‘My father left when I was eight. I blamed myself but, worse than that, I couldn’t help my mother. I couldn’t make her smile again.’

      ‘Oh, Max.’ She reached out, the wrap slipping from her shoulder as she touched the side of his face with her palm. ‘You weren’t to blame. You were just a child.’

      ‘I felt even more of a failure when she met my stepfather after we moved to Madrid. He brought the life back to my mother’s eyes.’ Lisa could hear the hurt in his voice and her heart went out to him and the eight-year-old boy he’d been.

      ‘That was love that did that, Max. Your stepfather’s love, but it would have been your love that kept her going, kept her strong.’

      He sprang back from her, from her touch, his eyes so dark and so very hard. She was confused. What had she said that was so wrong?

      ‘Love?’ The word snarled out into the room as he once again paced to the window and she wished he could just sit and talk. Only then would she be able to break through the wall of pain he was barricaded behind. ‘Not my love.’

      ‘Of course it did,’ she implored as she joined him at the window. How she wished they could go back to where they’d been when she’d first opened her eyes this morning. To the moment before their pasts had collided with the first Christmas that held the promise of something other than upset and tears.

      He turned to her, towering over her, his anger taking her breath away, making her light-headed. ‘Love didn’t stop any of that for me and I’m damn sure it didn’t help you either.’

      ‘I-I,’ she stammered and stepped back from his overbearing anger. ‘I...no.’

      The room began to sway and her body became heavy, making standing upright almost impossible. She stumbled back to the bed and flopped down on it, closing her eyes as everything began to spin and turn.

      ‘Lisa,’ Max demanded as he crouched beside the bed and looked into her eyes. ‘Are you ill?’

      If she wasn’t mistaken his face was stricken, as if he thought she was really ill. For the briefest of seconds she wanted to smile and reach out to him, but the fury of moments earlier was still there in his eyes and the affirmation that he despised love and any sentimental emotions burned in her mind.

      ‘I’m fine.’ She forced herself to sit up, clutching at the soft faux-fur throw as if it were a lifeline. ‘I think I just need something to eat.’

      Relief rushed over his face and for a moment he looked unguarded and she wondered what he hadn’t yet told her. What it was that haunted him so much, because she was certain it wasn’t just his father walking out, that it was more than that, much more.

      He stood up slowly. ‘Then I will fix you something light before we go out for dinner.’

      ‘Thanks.’ The moment of openness had passed. He was behind the shutters once more and even though she didn’t want to, she could feel herself retreating there too. ‘I’ll have a shower then come down.’

      * * *

      Max sat in the kitchen, the tea and toast he’d decided would be best waiting as he heard Lisa come down the stairs. He watched her as she walked along the small hallway, looking about her like a child in a toy store at all the decorations, and he hated that things had gone wrong this morning. At least now he understood her reservations about him as a father. She didn’t want her child to be emotionally messed around as she had been, never knowing if her father wanted her or not.

      Anger simmered inside him as he thought of her being used that way by the very man who was meant to protect her from hurt—from anything. And then she’d married him, a man incapable of any kind of love or protection.

      ‘Better?’ He kept his voice casual as she entered the small rustic kitchen.

      ‘Yes, thanks, and this looks good.’ She sat with him at the small table and gingerly ate the toast and sipped at the tea.

      ‘Do you feel well enough to go out for Christmas dinner?’ Now he wondered at the wisdom of having arranged it. He hadn’t given any thought to her condition. It was the very thing he’d avoided thinking about as it unleashed the past, the pain of losing his mother. The anger and injustice that she had chosen Angelina over herself—over him.

      ‘You bet I do. I wouldn’t miss this for anything.’ There was a new lightness in her voice and he relaxed. Maybe all they’d discussed had cleared the air.

      ‘Very well.’ He stood up from the table and took her hand, pulling her gently to her feet. ‘Then before we go, we have to see what gifts are beneath the tree.’

      ‘Gifts?’ She laughed lightly. ‘You mean Santa has been?’

      ‘If you like, yes.’ With happiness he hadn’t felt in a long time, he took Lisa into the living room. The fire he’d lit while she was in the shower now filling the room with warmth and the lights of the tree gave it all a surreal feel.

      ‘Oh, but I haven’t anything to add to this.’ She looked up at him, genuine worry in her eyes. ‘For you, I mean.’

      He thought of his child growing within her as he looked at her gently. He must be going soft with all this Christmas stuff, because he wanted to hold her, to place his hands on her stomach and tell her that their baby was the perfect gift.

      He shook himself free of such thoughts. ‘So Santa didn’t bring me anything, but he did for you. Shall we open them before we go out?’

      Before she could get all sentimental on him he picked