was turning to leave when Clay called out, “Wait.”
He caught her hand for a brief second, and a tingle of warmth shot up her arm, even after she pulled her hand from his grasp. Holly longed to wipe her palm against her jeans to dull the sensation. But the sudden intensity in his blue eyes indicated he’d experienced the same flare of attraction. Her mouth suddenly went dry, and she couldn’t look away, the sexual connection far harder to break than the physical one.
“Miss Bain…Holly,” he hesitated. “If there’s anything I can do…”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how much it cost you to buy my Santa, but this isn’t a problem money can solve.”
Holly pulled her beat-up Volkswagen Bug to a stop in front of Hopewell House. Looking at the house, with its cheery Christmas lights and welcoming glow, she took a deep breath.
Normally, she loved volunteering at the group home. With the impending closure, she’d spent every spare moment inside its warm, loving walls. The children never failed to lift her spirits, but tonight she dreaded the thought of entering the two-story brownstone.
After leaving Clay in his office, Holly had gone back to the flower shop. She’d worked her way through the directory listings for costume shops. Most of her calls had gone straight through to voice mail; those that had been answered had ended in disappointment, with all the Santa suits already rented.
Her breath began to fog the windows, and Holly couldn’t put it off any longer. Bundled up against the chilly Chicago night, she climbed from the car, slammed the door, and ran up the walkway to the steps.
The second she set foot on the porch, the front door opened, and Eleanor Hopewell waved her plump hands, urging her inside. “Come in! Come in! You’ll catch your death.”
The sixty-something woman gathered Holly’s knitted scarf and jacket and hung them on waist-high, bright plastic hooks. “The children are so excited!” Eleanor’s faded blue eyes sparkled behind her glasses.
Holly held back a groan. “Eleanor—”
Before Holly had the chance to break the bad news, Eleanor’s sister, Sylvia, bustled into the foyer. “What are you doing keeping Holly in the doorway? Bring her into the parlor! Mary Jane can’t wait for you to hear her songs!”
Flanked by the two women, Holly dragged her feet but still wound up in the parlor. A half a dozen kids, ranging in age from three to seven, looked up as she entered.
“Holly, do you want to hear ‘Frosty the Snowman’ or ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’?” Mary Jane called out, her small hands poised above the piano’s keys.
“That’s not a Christmas song!” a know-it-all voice shouted.
“Is too!” Mary Jane argued. “’Cause there’s a star on top of the tree.”
“Miss Holly?” Holly felt a tug at her sweater and looked down. Bright blue eyes stared up at her from beneath a fringe of blond bangs. She knelt down until she was face-to-face with the three-year-old boy. Longing and hope rushed through her. Would she be given the chance to adopt Lucas? To be more than Miss Holly to this little boy she adored? “Hi, Lucas.”
A look of concern crossed his face. “How can San’a come down the chi’ney now?”
Holly followed the chubby finger he pointed toward the fireplace. Homemade stockings hung from the mantle, and a cheery fire blazed in the hearth. The mention of Santa sent disappointment surging through her. “Lucas, about Santa—”
Eleanor interrupted before Holly could break the news. “Now, Lucas, don’t worry. Santa Claus has to be very clever to get toys to all the good boys and girls. He’ll figure out something.”
Eleanor had no more than said the words when the doorbell rang. The children and the two older women gasped in anticipation. Mary Jane jumped up from the piano. “It’s Santa!”
“No, wait.” The stampede of tiny shoes pounding the wood floors drowned out Holly’s protest. The weight of disappointing the children pressed down on her, and she sank into a chair, not bothering to follow everyone to the foyer.
Holly heard the front door open and Eleanor’s exclamation, “Children, look who’s here!”
Cries of “Santa!” combined with a deep belly laugh. “Ho-ho-ho! Merry Christmas!”
Holly jumped up. Was it possible? Had Charlie changed his mind? Amazed, she walked to the doorway and watched as Eleanor and Sylvia introduced the children one by one to the bearded man in the red velvet suit. The children gazed up in adoration. Santa spoke to each child in turn, calling them by name and tousling their hair.
Holly frowned. After nearly two weeks in front of the flower shop, Charlie rarely remembered her name. How was it that he suddenly recalled the names of half a dozen children?
When it came to Lucas’s turn, he took one look at the white-haired, overstuffed man and ran in the opposite direction. As the little boy took refuge behind Holly’s legs, Santa glanced her way for the first time.
Holly barely kept an astounded gasp from escaping as she looked into Clay Forrester’s unmistakable blue eyes.
Chapter Two
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