LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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