All She Wants for Christmas. Stacy Connelly
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tuck her into bed.
The surge of desire took him by surprise. After watching Holly all evening, he knew she wasn’t his type. She had home and family written on her soul. He had a divorce in his past and a business to run in his future. No woman would settle for what little he could offer. Victoria certainly hadn’t, not when there were men who could offer so much more.
He’d already lost his marriage to the company his father had started. No point in trying and losing again. At least, not as long as business was his main focus and his nemesis, Albert Jensen, fought to block his every move.
He’d made up his mind that it was time to go when Holly looked up. She pressed a finger to her lips, warning him to be quiet, but there was little chance of him speaking. He couldn’t get a word past his suddenly dry throat as he stared at her mouth. She would taste sweet, like the candy canes hanging from the Christmas tree, but with a hint of spice from the hot cider she’d drunk earlier. Most of all, though, she would taste like soft, warm woman, and it was all Clay could do not to pull her into his arms when she brushed by him in the doorway.
She eased the door shut and whispered, “He’s out like a light. Probably dreaming of fire trucks and reindeer.” Her sweet smile revealed she didn’t have a clue as to the hungry, heated thoughts tempting him.
Clay lifted a hand toward her face and caught sight of the white-trimmed cuff attached to the red velvet sleeve. No wonder Holly had no idea what he was thinking. There was something just plain wrong about Santa Claus making moves on a woman!
But he couldn’t bring himself to lower his hand without brushing Holly’s hair back from her shoulder. The silken strands teased his knuckles, adding to his torment as he imagined her hair brushing against his face, his chest.
Damn, he really needed to go. Now.
Keeping her voice low as she led the way back to the parlor, Holly said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the kids so happy. You’ve made this their best Christmas ever.”
With the Hopewell sisters settling the older children into bed, the parlor was empty. The fire had died down, and the piano was silent.
“I’ll walk you out,” Holly offered. She bundled up once more and followed him to the front porch. The outside light cast a golden glow around her, adding to her innocent aura. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything you did.”
Clay was starting to brush off her gratitude when an idea came to him, overriding his earlier vows. After all, it was just a few more hours, and if Holly really wanted to pay him back, he knew the perfect way.
“Funny you should mention that,” he said. “I know just how you can thank me.” He read the surprise on her face and laughed. “Shame on you, Miss Bainbridge. My intentions are completely honorable.” When she still gave him a doubtful look, he held his hands out to his sides. “If you can’t trust Santa Claus—”
Her lips tilted in a hint of a smile, which faded just as quickly. “I don’t know how I could possibly repay you.”
“Come with me tonight.”
“What?” Her eyes widened at the impulsive request, and he could read the hesitation written there. If that were all he’d seen, he would have let it go. But he’d also noticed a spark that told him his attraction wasn’t one-sided.
As he stepped closer, he felt the blood in his veins heat up as he watched that spark flare a little bit brighter. Pulling off the hat and beard that covered his face, he said, “I’m asking you to be my date at my party.”
Chapter Three
Shocked, Holly protested. “I don’t know anything about corporate parties!”
“It’ll be like this one, only with alcohol and worse manners.” He shrugged. “Besides, I went to your party.”
“I wouldn’t have needed you to come to my party if you hadn’t stolen my Santa.”
His hand cut through the chill night air, dismissing her argument. “Details.”
Holly ducked her head. The thought of trying to fit in at a party filled with wealthy, successful businessmen and women sent her into a panic. The idea was preposterous, but not nearly as preposterous as Clay showing up dressed as Santa Claus.
“All right,” she agreed slowly. She looked down at the red sweater and black jeans she wore. “But I’ll have to stop by my apartment to change clothes.”
“Yeah.” Clay hooked his thumbs into the wide black belt circling his enlarged stomach. “Me, too. I knew I’d be pressed for time, so I brought clothes along. If I change at your place, my driver can take us to the party together.”
She didn’t live far, and Holly certainly didn’t want to arrive at the party alone. “Okay. Do you want to follow me?”
“Roger can follow. I’ll ride with you.”
After Clay notified the driver of their plans, he joined Holly in her car. She chuckled when he unbuttoned the red jacket and pulled out the pillow he’d used for stuffing. As she drove, she glanced at Clay, catching glimpses of his profile in the passing streetlights. “What’s the party going to be like?”
“Well, I know we’ll have cheesecake.” His teeth flashed in the shifting light. “Music, dancing. This year has been…Well, it’s been a transition of sorts.” His voice sounded tight, different from his usual teasing tone. “I hope the party will bring everyone together.”
Holly parked her car in front of her apartment building, the limo behind her. After retrieving a black garment bag from Roger, Clay and Holly walked up the steps to the five-story, redbrick building, the winter wind pushing them forward. Holly drew her keys out of her purse, but the key ring slipped from her cold fingers. She bent down, but Clay was faster, and her fingers tangled with his. Unlike her own icy hand, his was warm, and she didn’t want to pull away.
His gaze captured hers, the keys forgotten. Their breath mingled in the night air, but Holly no longer noticed the chill. As he helped her up, the warmth seeped even deeper, weakening her knees. He unlocked the door and handed her the keys once they stepped inside the foyer.
As they took the stairs to the third floor, Holly tried to remember if she’d left laundry piled on the couch or fast-food wrappers on the table. Opening the door, she flicked on the light and breathed a sigh of relief. Only a pair of discarded shoes cluttered the living room.
Holly sensed more than she saw Clay evaluating the apart ment. It had come furnished with well-worn, utilitarian furniture. The beige couch and chair matched the walls and carpet. She supposed her place looked like every other apartment in the building.
She pointed to the bathroom and said, “You can change in there.”
Holding up the hat he’d pulled off back at Hopewell House, he raised a bushy white eyebrow. “Last chance to make that wish…”
“Go,” she said on a laugh as she snatched the hat from his hand and watched him stride toward the bathroom. She wasn’t one for making wishes, but if she were…
Could Clay Forrester really be as perfect as he seemed? She set the hat aside to straighten the pillows on the couch and pick up her shoes. Eleanor had complimented her for finding the perfect man to play Santa, but she’d had little to do with it.
Hearing the bathroom door open, Holly realized he’d finished changing before she’d finished her musing or looked for something to wear. She turned to face him, and the shoes she’d picked up fell from her hands.
Adjusting the cuff on his tuxedo, he glanced up at her. “Is everything all right?”
Holly stared, barely managing a nod. The black tux fit him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and long legs. The same lock of hair she’d tucked under his Santa hat earlier fell across his forehead.