'Tis the Season by Jennifer Gracen Page B

and she was sure her cheeks were flushed because she felt as if they were burning. She felt like a silly teenager with a secret forbidden crush—and it was not okay. Not if she wanted any sort of peace and sanity as she continued to live with him and do her job each day.
    Steeling herself, she smiled demurely and thanked him as she took one of the mugs. He wrapped his large hands around his mug as they sat at the table in the kitchen nook. An awkward silence settled over them. Suddenly the kitchen felt too big for just two people sitting in the corner, which made that simple act feel somehow intimate. She stared down into her mug and chewed on her bottom lip.
    â€œToday was nice,” he said amiably. “I think you enjoyed it. I hope?”
    His deep, warm voice made her heart twinge. Or maybe something a little lower twinged. Or maybe both. His voice was so sensual, like everything else about him . . . Oh, yeah, this was very, very bad. She cleared her dry throat.
    â€œYes, I did,” she managed to say. “It was a fun day, and I know the kids loved having you with them.” She lifted her steaming mug to her lips to take a tentative sip. “That was a wonderful surprise for them. You made their day.”
    He grinned. “I don’t know why I didn’t go last year.” Then he frowned slightly as he turned his mug in his hands. “Must have been working, of course . . .”
    â€œLast year, you were on a business trip,” she reminded him. “Tokyo, I think.”
    His brow furrowed harder as he tried to recall. “I think you may be right. Probably. Damn. And the year before that? And the year before that? ” With a shake of his head, now it was he who stared into his cup. “I’ve missed too many things. It’s not fair to them. It isn’t right. I’m the only real parent they have. I have to start being around more.”
    â€œThen you will,” she murmured. It wasn’t her place to offer opinions. She sipped her tea.
    â€œDon’t worry, I still need you,” he kidded. “You’re not out of a job, not by a long shot. I just need to start being around a little more, and I’m very aware of that.”
    She only nodded. They were his children; she had no say in whatever he did or didn’t do in regard to them. If he wanted to spend more time with them, good for the kids. They already didn’t have a mother around, and their father was barely home when they were actually awake. All she said was, “I’m sure they’d love that.”
    Charles looked down into his cup, then back up at her. “When we were kids, our father was always working. We felt his absence. My mother felt it too, and she . . . started seeking attention elsewhere.”
    Lisette had heard plenty of stories about the infamous Laura, of her multiple affairs and the ugly divorce that followed.
    Charles stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “My father threw my mother out when I was fourteen. I was away at boarding school, so it didn’t affect me as much as it did Pierce. He was only six years old.” Charles took another sip of tea, and Lisette did too. “Pierce quickly turned into a surly, angry, hell-raiser of a kid. He felt ignored, unwanted, which was awful. He and my father have always resented each other. Knocked heads for years, and now they don’t speak unless forced to. It’s tense and uncomfortable . . . and my God, I don’t want that for Thomas and me. I can already see the parallels, and it worries me.”
    His marine blue eyes narrowed, making the corners crinkle as he steadily held her gaze. “I know you know what I mean. Hell, you’re the one who suggested he might need therapy. He’s only seven .” Charles shook his head in frustration, huffing out a breath. “He deserves better. All three of them do. So I have to fix it somehow, while I still can. I need to be a better