Читать книгу All She Wants for Christmas - Stacy Connelly, Stacy Connelly - Страница 8

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. Blue eyes watched her from beneath straight black brows. Chiseled bone structure emphasized a straight nose, prominent cheekbones and a strong jaw.

If a Hollywood movie star had stepped out of the TV and into her living room, Holly couldn’t have been more impressed—or dismayed.

“Holly, is something wrong?” He took a step toward her, and she waved aside his concern.

“No, no, everything’s fine. Except—” she gestured to his tuxedo “—you look ready for the inaugural ball!”

“Well, the party is at the Lakeshore Plaza.”

His words called to mind the elegant hotel, which boasted celebrity visits, views of Lake Michigan and penthouse suites rumored to cost ten thousand dollars a night. Holly had never dared to set foot inside the imported marble foyer, fearing management would throw her out for breaking some “no shirt, no shoes, no six-figure income, no admittance” rule.

“I can’t go to the Lakeshore Plaza. I have nothing to wear!” Not only would she make a fool of herself, but she’d embarrass Clay as well. Her wardrobe would be a dead giveaway that she didn’t belong.

He rolled his eyes. “I have never met a woman who thought she had enough clothes. Come on.”

“Where are we going?” she asked when he grabbed her hand.

“Your bedroom.”

“What!”

He tossed her a grin over his shoulder. “To find you something to wear.”

“I work in a flower shop!” Holly protested as he pulled her through the doorway. The intimacy of Clay invading her bedroom sent heat rushing to her cheeks. She determinedly adverted her gaze from the tousled bed a mere three feet away. “I don’t have nice clothes.”

He turned to face her. His appraising look swept her from head to toe. “I like that.”

Holly glanced down to see if her clothes had been magically transformed. “A sweater and jeans?” she asked, arching her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Hanging on a rack, that’s a sweater and jeans. On you, it’s something else entirely.”

A delicious shiver raced through her at his husky words and the sexual appreciation darkening his eyes. She longed to give in to the attraction, but her survival instinct raged against it. “I can’t wear this to the Lakeshore Plaza.”

Undaunted, he pulled open her closet door. “So we’ll find something else.”

Holly watched him sort through the garments, his masculine hands a sensual contrast against the feminine fabrics. When he ran a hand down an empty sleeve, she swore she felt the intimate caress along her arm.

Eventually he pulled out a black satin and lace garment. “What about this?”

Holly fought an irrational blush. “That is a slip.”

“Really?” He took a closer look. “With dress styles these days, it’s hard to tell.” His eyes glowed as he held the slip up to her body, and she felt as exposed as if he’d caught her wearing nothing more than the intimate lingerie. “Although that does explain why I like it.”

“Great.” She took the slip and shoved it back in the closet. “If I let you pick the outfit, I’ll end up going to the party in my underwear.”

Almost desperately, she flipped through her clothes. She had to find something before her entire wardrobe was touched with Clay’s memory. Finally, a long black skirt caught her attention.

Holly held it up for him to see. “How about this?”

“That’s good for a start. Now, all we need is this,” Clay said as he brought the slip out again.

She shook her head. “Clay, I told you—”

Ignoring her, he pulled a black cropped jacket from the closet. “And this.”

Holly started to protest until she took a look at the separate items he’d selected. With its spaghetti straps and lace trim, the top of the slip could pass for a camisole. Fashioned from similar materials, the skirt and jacket looked like a matched outfit.

Handing the hangers to her, he said, “Get dressed, and we can arrive at the party fashionably late.”

The moment he left the room, Holly kicked off her shoes. If not for her, Clay would already be at the party. She dressed quickly and swept her hair into a twist before adding a hint of color to her lips and cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, Holly stepped back and scrutinized her image. She searched for any telltale sign that would reveal she didn’t belong at a high-class party and found it in the insecurity swirling in her eyes.

“I’ll be right out.”

Clay heard Holly’s voice drift through the bedroom’s closed door. By the time they arrived, the party would be in full swing, and he’d seriously owe Marie for covering for him.

Walking around, he studied the living room, trying to glean some information about the intriguing woman who lived there. Nothing. No hint of friends, family, no insight into Holly’s personal life. Even more curious was the lack of a Christmas tree. The woman who had staged such a wonderful evening for the foster children hadn’t decorated her own home.

In the kitchen, Clay found a few personal details. A windowsill above the sink housed a variety of thriving plants, and crayon drawings and finger paintings plastered the refrigerator.

“Those are from the kids at Hopewell House.”

He turned. Holly stood in the kitchen doorway, and he forgot all about the artwork. He’d known the long, straight skirt and simple jacket would compliment Holly’s slender figure, but he hadn’t expected the jeans and sweater she’d worn earlier to conceal such alluring curves. His eyes followed the slit in her skirt as it inched up her long legs. The skirt clung to her hips, and his hands itched to outline the shapely silhouette. Silk hugged her breasts beneath the jacket, and the edging of lace hinted at enticing cleavage.

Holly had piled her chestnut hair atop her head, leaving a few tendrils to curl around her face. The elegant style emphasized her cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes.

“The older kids drew the giraffe and the clown,” she was saying.

Clay tore his gaze away to refocus on the artwork. He’d mistaken the giraffe and clown for a dog and a flower. “And what about…” He didn’t have the slightest idea what the splotchy paintings were supposed to be. “The rest?”

“Lucas did the finger painting. The Hopewell sisters won’t let him use crayons.” When Clay raised a questioning eyebrow, Holly explained, “He eats them.”

She reached over and straightened one of the pictures. Tenderness filled her gaze. Clearly, volunteering at the foster home wasn’t something Holly reserved for the holidays. She cherished the drawings they gave her, yet she had no mementos of her own.

“We should probably get going,” Holly said as she walked toward the living room. “I’ve made you late enough as it is.”

“You were worth the wait.”

Holly glanced over her shoulder as he helped with her coat, but the lift of her eyebrow revealed more doubt than pleasure.

In the back of the limo, Clay couldn’t help studying Holly’s elegant profile in the flickering shadow and light as they drove through the city streets. In those stop-action flashes, the slope of her forehead, the tilt of her nose and the curve of her lips could have been carved from marble, but there was nothing hard or cold about Holly.

She had a warmth and softness about her, but Clay sensed that circle of welcome didn’t extend to everyone. Right now, she’d allowed him inside because of the night Santa had given to the kids she loved. But it would take more than that if he wanted to stay within that sphere.

If he wanted to…

He shouldn’t even think about starting a relationship. Not now. Not when he had his family business to right and his father’s legacy of decimating struggling companies to rewrite.

But it’s only one night, argued a voice that sounded suspiciously like his assistant’s, Marie’s. And he wasn’t quite ready to step outside Holly’s circle.

Heat blew from the vents, tantalizing Clay with the flower fresh scent of her perfume, and he reached out to brush a tendril of hair back from the curve of her cheek. “You look amazing.”

She offered him a quick smile as she shifted toward him on the seat, the curl slipping from his grasp. “I know what you’re doing.”

Clay knew what he was doing, too, though not as deftly as usual if Holly was ready to call him on his seduction. “What’s that?”

“You’re trying to convince me I’m not going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

Even in the shifting light, he read the sincerity in her expression. She really didn’t know how beautiful she was.

“Holly.” He started to deny her words until he saw that stubborn tilt to her chin. Changing tactics, he agreed, “You are going to stick out, but there’s nothing we can do.” Her eyes widened as he leaned forward. “Beautiful women have a way of attracting attention.”

Disbelief lingered in her gaze, and Clay tempted himself with the thought of proving his words with a kiss. Pulse pounding, he lifted a hand toward her face. The bright glare of the dome light caught him off guard, and he looked over his shoulder in frustration. Behind his waiting driver was the welllit Lakeshore Plaza Hotel.

Clay hadn’t even noticed the car stopping. If the ride had lasted a few minutes longer…make that a few hours longer…Shaking off the tempting thoughts, he climbed from the limo and held out his hand to Holly. Her fingers felt cold and fragile in his palm. With a reassuring squeeze, he told her, “Remember, it’s just a party.”

Together they stepped through the front doors, and Holly’s breath caught. She’d heard glowing descriptions of the hotel and even seen a picture or two, but her imagination hadn’t captured the opulence.

Floor-to-ceiling paintings decorated the lobby, and a waterfall cascaded down the wall behind the front desk. Holly had to force herself not to tip her head back and stare at the gold and crystal chandelier. But as incredible as the decor was, nothing compared to her amazement at walking into the Lakeshore Plaza with Clay Forrester.

A uniformed bellhop gave them directions to the ballroom. He tipped his cap to Holly. “Enjoy your evening.”

As Clay led her to the ballroom, music and laughter filled the air, the happy noise punctuated by a cork popping. Several people called out greetings, and Clay grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter. Handing one to Holly, he raised his own in a toast. “To you, Holly, for reminding me of the meaning of Christmas.”

His words sent a giddy rush pouring through her, and Holly didn’t need champagne’s intoxicating promise, but she took a small sip, anyway. Then another, enjoying the way the bubbles danced on her tongue. Smiling at her obvious pleasure, Clay said, “Like it?”

“It’s amazing. I’ve never had champagne before.”

Holly didn’t need to see his eyebrows lift to realize her mistake. Champagne and caviar, Holly reminded herself, embarrassed to have pointed out her own naïveté.

“The first time I had champagne was at my cousin’s wedding. I think I was seventeen.” With anyone else, Holly might have suspected Clay’s story was meant to reveal his own sophistication, but the way he held her gaze reassured her his story held a different meaning. After taking a drink of his own champagne, he said, “I’ll never forget that night or that first taste.”

Holly didn’t need champagne to make the night memorable. Clay had already done that. And as much as she enjoyed the drink, his lips pressed to hers would be a far more unforgettable first taste.

Her gaze lowered to his mouth at the thought, and Clay’s eyes darkened. “Holly—”

“Well, it’s about time you showed up,” a feminine voice called out. Holly looked over her shoulder to see a stunning brunette with close-cropped hair sashay toward them. She wore a red sequined dress that would have done a 1920s flapper proud. “When you said ‘a little late,’ I thought you meant fifteen minutes. I’ve had a heck of a time covering for you.”

Looking around at the party in full swing, Clay said wryly, “I can see I’ve been missed.”

“Okay, so we started without you, but I’m glad you’re here.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Albert Jensen’s started working the room like tonight was his idea.”

Holly saw Clay’s jaw tighten at the words, but then he caught her gaze, and the tension drained away. Relaxing into a smile, he said, “Sounds like we’re just in time. How’s everything else going?”

“Great. Except for the Santa. Where did you find that guy?”

Holly and Clay exchanged a glance. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Except he drinks like a fish and hasn’t moved from the buffet table.”

Holly looked over. Sure enough, Charlie in his Santa suit held a plate piled high with food. His beard was pulled down below his chin as he ate half a piece of cheesecake in one bite.

“I’d say he’s perfect for this group,” Clay joked.

Marie shook her head and held out her hand to Holly. “I’m Marie Cirillo, Clay’s assistant.”

“Holly Bainbridge.”

Marie cocked her head. “You look familiar.”

Holly shot a worried glance in Clay’s direction, unsure how to respond. How would he explain bringing a shop clerk to this elegant party? But Clay didn’t bother with explanations. He simply said, “Holly works at the flower shop in our building.”

“Of course.” Marie’s smile remained; so did the touch of curiosity. “I bought a plant there.”

“An ivy, wasn’t it? They’re one of my favorites,” said Holly.

Marie winced. “Mine, too. But the leaves started to turn yellow, and now they’re kinda brown.”

Clay laughed. “Marie kills plants since the Humane Society won’t allow her to have pets.”

Marie stuck her tongue out at her boss, and Holly laughed. “You could be overwatering,” she said, “and you might try some iron.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that,” Marie said. Then, turning to Clay, she demanded, “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because we’re perfect for each other. No one else will work for me, and no one else will employ you.”

“Is that it?” Marie grabbed a glass from a passing waiter and winked. “I thought it was for the free champagne and cheesecake.”

Nodding at the glass, he toasted, “Then consider yourself well compensated for the evening, and keep Holly company while I go talk to the DJ.” With a quick squeeze to Holly’s arm, he promised, “I’ll be right back.”

Holly opened her mouth to ask him to stay or offer to go with him, then closed it before she could reveal how nervous she was. Without Clay at her side, her insecurities came rushing back, and she glanced around, waiting for everyone to notice she didn’t belong. She didn’t have to wait long.

“You know, I saw Clay right before the party. He didn’t mention bringing a date.”

Holly swallowed. “It was pretty last minute.”

“I guess so.” Marie’s expression softened slightly at Holly’s obvious discomfort, and she said, “Sorry. You must think I’m horribly nosy. It’s just that you’re the first woman Clay’s bothered introducing to me since his divorce.”

“Clay was married?”

Marie winced. “Me and my big mouth.”

“No, it’s okay.” There was no reason for Clay to tell her about his ex-wife. This wasn’t a real date or the beginning of a relationship. Which was a good thing. If it had been real, Holly would have worried about the image in her mind of the woman Clay had married. Someone sophisticated, stylish, with a pedigree to match his own. A woman who would never need help dressing for a party…

But there was no reason to worry, because it wasn’t real, Holly insisted as Clay walked back over, ignoring the flash of attraction that felt 100 percent genuine.

“Sorry about that,” Clay said. “Duty calls. I hope Marie hasn’t been spilling all my secrets.”

“Just one,” Marie confessed, with a guilty glance at Holly. A champagne cork popped nearby, and she added, “That bottle is calling my name. See you!”

As Marie made her escape, Clay looked at Holly. Seeming unconcerned by the secrets his assistant might have revealed, he said, “As incredible as it seems, I don’t know what I’d do without her. She keeps me sane. This past year, that was a full-time job.”

It was the second time Clay had mentioned business troubles. He had such a commanding presence, Holly had a hard time imagining a problem Clay couldn’t solve by force of will alone. A company didn’t gain wealth and reputation like Forrester Industries without a man at the top who could forge through difficulties with the subtlety of a battering ram.

An image of Clay dressed as Santa rose in her mind. Who was he really? A man who cared enough about a group of foster children to give them a Christmas they’d always remember? Or the businessman with a ruthless reputation?

“If it isn’t our fearless leader.”

Tensing at the greeting, Clay turned and nodded at the silver-haired man who strutted toward them, champagne glass in hand. “Evening, Jensen.”

“This is some party,” the man said, his narrowed gaze sweeping the elegant ballroom.

“The employees deserve it. It’s been a challenging year.”

Jensen snorted. “Challenging is right, with all the changes you’ve made. But what the hell?” he added, waving his hand at the surrounding ballroom. “Nothing like buying company loyalty, right?”

He laughed, but the tension crackling between the two men told Holly that Jensen wasn’t joking. No humor existed in the man’s beady eyes, which gleamed with thinly disguised malice.

“I’m not trying to buy anything or anyone. The employees are loyal because they understand the changes I’m making are for the best.”

“The best for whom? Not for the company, that’s for damn sure. Your father understood—”

“My father understood a great many things when it came to business,” Clay interrupted. His words cutting off abruptly, he took a deep breath, his shoulders rolling beneath the crisp tuxedo jacket as he visibly forced himself to relax. “But when it comes people, I know a thing or two my father didn’t.”

Jensen’s ruddy complexion darkened, but Clay never gave the man the opportunity to argue. The band switched to a slow song, and he grabbed Holly’s hand. “If you’ll excuse us, I owe my date a dance.”

Holly had no choice but to follow Clay to the dance floor. The glittering chandelier spun overhead as he twirled her around, leaving her light-headed and breathless. Not just from his dizzying, sure-footed steps, but from intimate contact. With a wobbly laugh, she said, “Being around you certainly keeps a woman on her toes.”

As if the confrontation with Jensen had never taken place, Clay flashed a smile. “Don’t worry. I promise not to step on them.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she chided. “First, you maneuvered me into coming to this party, and now onto the dance floor.”

“Hey, I didn’t maneuver you. I asked. You said yes.” Confidence shone in his blue eyes, as if her answer had never been in doubt.

And, really, what other answer could she have given? The whole night had been filled with magic. Santa had come to Hopewell House, thanks to Clay, but once again Holly warned herself not to let emotion carry her away. She’d seen it before at Hopewell House and throughout her childhood in foster homes, especially around the holidays.

People were filled with good cheer and high spirits. Donations of toys, food, and money rolled in, but by New Year’s, the good cheer, the high spirits, and the needy children were forgotten.

No matter how wonderful Clay might seem, he, too, would disappear. Best to simply enjoy the moment and not to look ahead. And right now, wrapped in his arms, she found the moment so easy to enjoy.

“You did say yes,” Clay reminded her when she remained silent for so long.

Striving for a light tone, she replied, “Of course, I said yes. What was it Marie said? Something about an inability to resist free champagne and cheesecake?”

He gave a mock groan. “I can see I’ll have to keep the two of you apart in the future.”

Clay spun her into an elegant turn, and she caught sight of Jensen on the sidelines. A frown still twisted his face, and he looked to be in a heated discussion with two other men.

She wondered about the changes Clay had referred to and the loyalty Jensen thought he was trying to buy. Did some employees disapprove of the company’s “take-no-prisoners” attitude? Was the party an attempt to bribe his own people?

Only hours before, Holly might have thought so, but now denial rose inside her. She’d seen the respect his employees showed. Respect money couldn’t buy. And even though she couldn’t forget the heartbreak and humiliation written on the old man’s face when he accused Clay of destroying his family’s company, she no longer knew what to believe.

Clay spun her once more beneath the chandelier, and her breath caught as his muscular thighs brushed against hers. The unspoken awareness in his eyes left her feeling weak. Her knees nearly buckled, and her hand tightened on his shoulder.

She knew what she wanted to believe, but she’d put her faith in people before only to be let down. Mark was the latest in a list of disappointments that went back as far as she could remember.

Unbidden, a memory came to mind of the Parkers, smiling at her. “We’ve got a big house and a nice yard where our dog loves to play. There are plenty of kids in our neighborhood you can make friends with. We can’t wait for you to come live with us.”

She’d been five at the time, young enough to still care about things like yards and dogs and kids to play with, but most of all she’d wanted a family, and the Parkers were supposed to be hers. Everyone had promised. The Parkers, her caseworker, her foster family at the time. And she’d believed them, but in the end, the most important lesson learned was that promises, not rules, were made to be broken.

As the music faded away, Holly stepped out of Clay’s arms and pulled her hand from his to applaud the musicians. It was an excuse to reclaim some much-needed distance. His knowing gaze called her on her cowardice, but saving face wasn’t nearly as important as protecting her heart.

Guiding her off the dance floor, Clay stopped at the dessert table. “Here, you have to try this.” He loaded a plate for the two of them, cut off a piece of cheesecake, and held out the fork. “Marie went to great lengths to save these from certain frostbite.”

Holly leaned forward to take a bite. Strawberries topped the dessert, the sweet taste combining with the rich, creamy, melt-in-your-mouth filling. Pulling back, she found Clay watching closely. Her tongue streaked out to catch a stray crumb, and his eyes darkened with undisguised desire. Her skin tingled from that heated look, anticipating his touch. When he brushed his thumb against the corner of her mouth, she almost groaned in longing.

His voice hoarse, he asked, “How was it?”

“It—it was delicious.”

Clay cupped her jaw, but the intensity in his gaze held her motionless. Alarm bells rang, the warning drowned out by her pounding heartbeat, as he bent his head and kissed her. The ballroom faded away until she was aware only of his fingers curving over her jaw and his mouth, warm and persuasive, against her own. Better than cheesecake, better than champagne, better than anything she could imagine. She wanted nothing more than for the kiss to go on and on….

Instead, as Clay drew back, she reluctantly opened her eyes, focusing on his handsome face, backlit by the winking chandelier.

“I have to agree,” he murmured. “Delicious.”