Читать книгу All She Wants for Christmas - Stacy Connelly, Stacy Connelly - Страница 7

Stunned, her heart pounding, Holly could only stare. With Clay decked out in full Santa regalia and surrounded by children, the scene looked like a Christmas card come to life.

As long as no one looked too closely at the flirtatious gleam in his eyes or the sexy smile the fake beard and mustache failed to hide.

“Come on, Lucas,” Eleanor Hopewell encouraged. “Come meet Santa. You’ve been so excited all week.”

Lucas tightened his arms on Holly’s legs, and Holly felt just as reluctant to approach the man in the red velvet suit. Unfortunately, she had no one to hide behind, and both Eleanor and Clay were waiting. Eleanor, with her hands clasped together in excited anticipation; Clay, with one bushy white eyebrow arched in challenge.

Taking a deep breath, Holly reached for the boy’s hand and squeezed reassuringly. “Let’s go, Lucas.”

Lucas stayed mostly hidden behind one of her legs, but she coaxed him out long enough for him to mouth a silent “Hi.”

Then, as if Holly were one of the children, Eleanor said, “Santa, this is Holly.”

“Well, hello, Holly.” Clay’s eyes sparkled. “Come give Santa a hug.”

With all eyes focused on them, she had no choice but to step forward. Clay immediately wrapped his arms around her in an exaggerated embrace. She stumbled against him, but thanks to the pillow stuffed inside the velvet jacket, she was saved the body contact that had robbed her breath in the elevator.

Even so, his hands found the thin strip of bare skin where her sweater pulled away from her waistband. Had she really thought of him as being cold? Heat emanated from his touch, and a small shiver raced through her. His fake beard tickled her nose, and the enticing hint of his aftershave made Holly desperate to create some space between them. Or bury her nose deeper to search out more of the scent on his skin.

“Mr.…Claus, please!” she protested.

“Tell me, Holly—” his deep murmur sent another shiver down her spine “—have you been naughty or nice?” With that rakish lift of one eyebrow, he flashed a very naughty grin.

She managed a flustered smile and said, “I’ve been good.”

“Thought so.” He winked. “I can always tell.”

He let her go, and Holly took a grateful step back, wondering how the parlor fireplace managed to give off so much heat in the foyer.

“Santa Claus, do you want to hear me play ‘Frosty the Snowman’?” Mary Jane asked.

“In a minute, my dear. Wait while my little helper—” he grabbed Holly’s hand “—and I bring in a surprise for all of you.”

“Don’t forget your coat.” Sylvia draped the jacket around Holly’s shoulders, and before Holly knew what had happened, she found herself outside, alone, with Clay Forrester.

The scent of snow tinged the air, along with a hint of chimney smoke drifting in the night sky. The street was silent and still, breathless with anticipation. It was only as she had to suck in a quick breath that Holly realized she was the one who’d forgotten to breathe. “What…How—”

Ignoring her stumbling words, Clay pushed the hat back far enough for his dark hair to fall over his forehead. He blew a cloud of air upward, ruffling his bangs. “You wouldn’t believe how hot this costume is.”

Gathering her wits and the edges of her jacket together, she asked, “How did you know where to find me?”

“You told me you were coming to Hopewell House.” He gestured to the brass placard near the front door.

Holly stepped back and took in the sight of the successful businessman in his full St. Nick glory. She still couldn’t believe her eyes. “Where on earth did you get that costume? I called all over and couldn’t find one.”

Looking uncomfortable, he confessed, “I already had it.”

Holly frowned. “If you had the costume, why’d you need Charlie?”

“I had the costume. I didn’t have anyone to wear it. No way was I going to make a fool of myself dressing like Santa at my company party.”

“But you’re here.” She waved a hand, gesturing to the costume and Hopewell House, glowing brightly behind them.

“Yeah, I am.”

Holly told herself not to read too much into his words, but how could she miss what his actions were saying? He’d been willing to make a fool of himself to do her a favor….

Swallowing, she tried to lighten the moment with a nod to the black limo waiting by the curb. “What happened to the sleigh and reindeer?” she asked as the two of them walked toward the car.

“Traded them in for four hundred horses.” He waved at the driver, who was hidden behind the tinted windows, and the trunk popped open.

The uniformed driver climbed from the limo. “Need any help with that, sir?”

“We’ve got it, Roger. Thanks.” Clay pushed the trunk open all the way.

If his arrival had shocked her speechless, the sight of the overloaded bags of toys sent words spilling from her mouth. “Look at all…Where did you…How did you have time to buy all this?”

“I had some help,” he confessed.

With a laugh shaky enough to reveal the tears she was trying not to cry, she asked, “Elves?”

“Close. Personal shopper.” His knowing gaze caught hers as he pulled out the first bag and passed it to her. “I thought about what you said and decided you were right. There are problems money can’t solve, but there are times when it works miracles.”

Heated embarrassment rushed to her face. “Mr. Forrester—”

“I think you can call me Clay.” He grabbed the other two bags of toys and closed the trunk.

“I’m sorry about what I said back at your office,” she told him as they walked back toward the house.

“You were right.” He slanted her a glance. “Don’t apologize.”

But she’d been wrong. Had anyone asked that morning, Holly would have sworn the successful businessman cared only about profit margins and saw people in terms of black and red: what they contributed in comparison to what they cost.

After their elevator mishap, she had thought perhaps she’d misjudged him but hadn’t expected him to give a second thought to the children waiting for a Christmas that might not come. Yet he’d taken time away from his own party to show up and play Santa. She felt as giddy and amazed as the children waiting inside.

Clay started to walk through the front door, but Holly grabbed his arm. “Wait.”

Setting her bag on the porch, she reached up, straightened the hat he’d pushed back, and carefully smoothed his dark hair beneath the white trim. Only when his surprised gaze locked with hers did she realized what she’d done. Stepping back, Holly cleared her throat. “Can’t have the kids figuring out you’re not really Santa.”

He reached up to adjust the hat, and she turned away, grateful to escape before doing something even more foolish. She opened the front door, and together they walked back to the parlor.

“Now, children, step back! Give Santa some room to breathe!” Sylvia admonished the kids who danced around him as they tried to peek inside the bags he carried.

Clay purposely lowered the bags to give the children a glimpse of gleaming tow trucks, blocks, and dolls before lifting them out of sight once more. Bobbing up and down on tiptoe, Mary Jane turned to the little girl beside her. “I saw a Barbie doll!”

Clay must have heard the exaggerated whisper. Once he settled into the parlor’s wingback chair, the fireplace and Christmas tree on either side, he motioned the two girls forward and pulled out a Barbie for each of them. Their eyes bright with excitement, they had the boxes open and were exchanging accessories within minutes.

The children’s happiness was contagious, and Eleanor and Sylvia seemed just as excited. Clay’s belly laugh filled the cozy room, and the blue eyes that had given him away in the first place danced.

If Holly had taken the job of matching the toys up with the children, she couldn’t have done better. Some, like Mary Jane, were easy, but for shy toddlers like Lucas, picking the perfect toy was more difficult. And even then, Holly couldn’t fault Clay’s choice.

Prompted by Holly, Lucas ran over just long enough to grab the yellow fire truck Clay held out. Holly tried to show Lucas how the battery-operated vehicle worked, but he wouldn’t let go of the toy to set it motoring across the floor.

As Eleanor walked toward the kitchen for refills of the fragrant, steaming cider, she stopped at Holly’s side. “That man is a wonder,” the older woman whispered. “When he called for directions, he asked about the children’s Christmas lists, but I never expected this.”

So that was how Clay had known what to buy. The knowledge didn’t lessen Holly’s amazement. She was touched he’d thought to research which presents would mean the most to the children. “I never expected it, either.”

“Wherever did he come from?” Eleanor asked.

Still awed that Clay Forrester was playing Santa for their party, Holly shook her head and mumbled, “Fortune 500.”

“Excuse me, dear?”

“I said I was fortunate to find him.”

He picked that moment to glance her way, and the distance separating them did little to dim the effect his appraising gaze had on her. The rest of the room faded away, leaving only the two of them.

Dressed in the Santa Claus suit, he should have looked silly. Sweet, at best. So how was it that she found him every bit as sexy as when she’d seen him in his designer suit?

“I can see how this might turn out very fortunate, indeed,” Eleanor said, with a delighted chuckle.

The older lady’s thoughts weren’t hard to follow, but Holly shook her head. “It’s not what you think.”

“This isn’t about what I think. This is about facts. Like the fact that your Mr. Forrester is the first man you’ve ever invited here.”

“He isn’t the first man I’ve invited,” Holly refuted softly. “He’s just the first to actually show.”

She’d asked Mark to visit the group home with her several times while they were dating, hoping to ease him into the idea of fostering Lucas. But there’d been nothing easy about it.

At first glance, Mark had been everything a woman hoped for: handsome, smart, charming. Only later did Holly realize he’d been playing a part to get what he wanted. Before long, their entire relationship was based on his needs.

And one thing he hadn’t wanted was to even consider the possibility of raising someone else’s kid.

But it didn’t matter whether or not Clay was anything like Mark. Clay Forrester had a pedigreed family history; Holly had never even found out who her parents were.

The differences that started at birth had continued throughout their lives. He was the CEO of a multimillion-dollar company; she struggled to make ends meet working at a flower shop. He was champagne and caviar. She was soda pop and tuna fish. A chauffeur-driven limousine compared to a VW Bug.

And Holly knew better than to fantasize that any of those things mixed, no matter what Eleanor thought.

Clay hadn’t sung Christmas carols in years, but even he knew Mary Jane and her fellow singers were a good octave off. Standing beside the piano, having been given the important job of page turning while Mary Jane played, he couldn’t help smiling. Traditions that had gotten lost in overcommercialization came back to life in the children’s happiness.

If Marie could see me now. He’d meant what he said to Holly. No way would he have put on the costume and made a fool of himself in front of his employees. But the second he’d seen the disappointment in Holly’s eyes, he’d known he was going to make a fool of himself, after all. All for a woman whose mysterious green gaze quickened his heartbeat.

Not that he’d jumped at the chance to play Santa. He’d spent a good ten minutes pacing his office, trying to convince himself he wasn’t at fault. But the excuse rang hollow.

Because even though he hadn’t known Charlie was headed to the foster home, the man had said he was booked for another job, and instead of accepting that, Clay had negotiated a deal where he came out the winner, loser be damned. He hadn’t thought twice about making Charlie a better offer, and if not for Holly, he wouldn’t have thought about it at all.

So he’d donned the Santa outfit to salvage Christmas and his conscience, totally ignoring the mocking voice that laughed over the stupid things a man would do for a beautiful woman.

“Wonderful job, children,” Sylvia complimented, her clapping signaling an end to the sing-along before Mary Jane could launch into yet another round of “Frosty the Snowman.” Holding up a camera, she said, “How about a picture with Santa?”

Seated once more in the parlor chair, Clay posed with each child on his knee while Sylvia coaxed them to say “Cheese.” As he held Lucas on his lap, with the little boy tugging on his beard, Clay noticed Holly watching. For a brief second, he thought he saw tears in her eyes, but then the flash blinded him. She was smiling by the time she bent to lift Lucas from his lap.

She straightened and perched Lucas on one hip, but the little boy swung his booted feet, a silent demand to get down. The minute Holly released him, Lucas dropped to his knees and was off, pushing his fire truck across the braided rug.

Clay caught her wrist, claiming her attention with a slight tug. He ran his thumb across the back of her hand and smiled when her pulse leaped beneath his fingers. Thoughts of discovering even smoother skin and more intimate pulse points sent his own blood pumping.

“Come on, Holly. Don’t you have any Christmas wishes?”

The color in her cheeks brightened as she tucked her dark hair behind one ear. Despite the uncertainty in her green eyes, her tone of voice was composed and dry as she said, “I’ll drop a letter to the North Pole.”

He shook his head, careful not to dislodge the hat and white wig. “It works better in person. So tell me. There must be something you want.”

Despite the teasing question, Clay hoped for a serious answer. He wanted to know about Holly. She was different from Victoria. So selfless and giving.

Oh, he knew plenty of people, himself included, who made donations this time of year. He wrote checks for numerous charities, but Holly obviously did more than give money. She gave a part of herself.

He sensed she was the kind of person who never put her head before her heart. A woman who led with her feelings, accepting the risk of ending up emotionally bruised. But as much as Clay admired her for that, he’d learned his lesson when it came to leaving his heart unprotected. Some risks weren’t worth repeating.

As Holly gently tugged her hand from his, her gaze sought out Lucas. Keeping her voice a low murmur, she said, “I’m sorry, Clay, but I don’t believe in Santa Claus.”

“Miss Holly! You’re doing it wrong.” Mary Jane’s exasperated voice rose above the parlor’s cheerful din. “You’re supposed to sit on Santa’s lap.”

“That’s just for boys and girls,” Holly answered quickly, with a reproachful glance at Clay, as if disapproving of whatever he might say. “It’s different for grown-ups.”

Her narrowed gaze expressed her doubt, but the little girl said, “But you still get your wish, right?”

“Well?” Clay prompted, knowing Mary Jane had Holly trapped. “There must be some long-ago wish Santa never granted you as a child.”

Emotions flickered across her expression, and longing filled her green eyes. In that moment, Clay vowed that anything she wanted, anything she asked for, he would give her.

“Holly—”

“A pony,” Holly blurted out. Her forced smile couldn’t erase the shadow from her eyes as she turned to Mary Jane. “Don’t all little girls ask for ponies?”

“Barbie has a pony,” Mary Jane added, with a not-so-subtle look at Santa.

“Then a pony it is,” Clay agreed, realizing his own wish to get to know Holly better was going to go unanswered. At least for now.

After another round of pictures, including ones of Eleanor and Sylvia, Clay had the feeling he was overstaying the kids’ bedtime. Earlier, Lucas had climbed into Holly’s arms and fallen asleep, his fire truck cradled against his chest and her cheek pressed to the top of his head. When she’d caught Clay watching, she gently pried the truck from Lucas’s hands and stood, carrying the little boy from the parlor as the Hopewell sisters rounded up the older kids to brush their teeth.

He should say good-night. He’d done what he’d come to do, and his employees were waiting for him at the party. Even though he’d called Marie to tell her he’d be late, she wouldn’t be able to cover for him for long.

He should go.

Pushing to his feet, Clay eyed the front door, then the hallway where Holly had disappeared. The hall light gleamed, but the sound of her voice guided him. Singing “Silent Night,” her soft, sweet voice called to him like a siren. Standing in the doorway, he watched, unseen.

Holly sat on the small bed. Leaning forward, she brushed Lucas’s hair back and pressed a kiss to the sleeping boy’s forehead. Every gesture spoke of caring and compassion. Volunteering at the foster home clearly wasn’t something she did out of duty or responsibility. She did it for love.

His fingers itched to sink into Holly’s hair as he pressed his lips to hers and…well, to do more than simply 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.”