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.
