Santa, Honey

by Sandra Hill

  “Yes,” Casey lied.

  “Well, what about some hot tea, or—” The street intercom buzzed, cutting Emma off. “Oh!” she said. “That’ll be Jake.”

  Matt’s brother arrived at the door half a minute later, flourishing a limp street vendor bouquet. Emma’s face lit up as if she’d been presented with an armful of hothouse orchids. She disappeared into the kitchen to put the wilted daisies and carnations in water.

  “Casey,” Jake said, dropping an overnight bag on the floor. “Hi.”

  She stood. “Hi, Jake. Good to see you.”

  “Good to see you, too. Hey, listen. Emma said you’d have a few free days after your interactive New Year’s Eve promo thing goes down, and I was thinking…Why don’t you come up to Boston on New Year’s Day?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m not. You can stay at Mary’s—she has tons of room. Aunt Bea and Uncle Fred are there, of course, and—”

  “And Matt.”

  “Um, well, yeah.”

  “Does he know about this?”

  Jake looked discomfited. “No. I just thought of it, actually, while I was riding in on the train. But I know he’ll be glad to see you.”

  Casey snorted. “I don’t. Thanks for the offer, but there’s no way I’m going to Boston to inflict myself on Matt.”

  “Hey, now. I wouldn’t call it—”

  “Jake, come off it. Your brother hasn’t called me since I left the gorge. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to see me.”

  “I think you’re wrong about that, Casey.”

  Casey didn’t like the way his words caused a hopeful clench of her heart. “Then why hasn’t he called? He’s got my number. And even if he’s lost it, you’ve got my number.”

  “It’s…kind of complicated.”

  “No. It’s not. It’s very simple. One cell phone. Ten little numbers.”

  Jake shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re right, of course. Matt should’ve called you by now. And he should’ve called Emma, too.”

  “Emma?” Casey said just as her sister returned from the kitchen. “What does she have to do with it?”

  Emma looked from Jake to Casey. “Did I hear my name? What are we talking about?”

  Instead of answering, Jake pulled out his wallet and extracted a business card. “Here.” He thrust the card into Emma’s hand. “Matt was planning to call you next week, when he got back to the city. But you might as well know now.”

  “What—?” Emma looked at the card and blinked. “Oh. My. God. No. This can not be real.”

  Casey peered over her sister’s shoulder. Emma’s hand was trembling, making it hard to make out the printing on the card. She grabbed her sister’s wrist and held it still.

  Matthew Joseph, Matthew Joseph Casting. Theater, Film, Advertising.

  “Jake,” Emma breathed. “You can’t mean this. Matt is Matthew Joseph?”

  “Yep,” Jake said. “He is.”

  Emma let out a squeal. “Ohmygod! I can’t believe it!”

  “Who’s Matthew Joseph?” Casey asked.

  Emma was gulping air in big breaths of air. “Only…one of…the hottest casting agents…in Manhattan!” She grabbed Jake’s arm. “And he’s really going to call me? Next week?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said, chuckling. “He really is. Matt’s got a few projects coming up he thinks you’ll be interested in—Jesus, Emma!” He put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Stop hyperventilating, for chrissakes. It’s not instant stardom. A couple TV commercials. A citywide print campaign. And maybe, if you audition well, a small role in an off-Broadway production. It’s only a start—”

  “It doesn’t matter! I’ll take anything! Anything. Oh, my God. Matthew Joseph. And I didn’t even know. Matt never said a word! I can’t believe it.”

  “Wait a minute.” Casey was lagging about three steps behind. “Matt’s last name is Van der Staappen. Isn’t it?”

  “Well, yeah,” Jake said. “But his middle name is Joseph. He goes by Matt Joseph professionally.”

  “And he’s a casting director?”

  “Yeah. A very successful one.”

  “But…why all the secrecy? Why didn’t he just say something to Emma at Dutch Lodge?”

  Jake rocked back on his heels. “Uh…well, I’m afraid that was kinda my fault. When I found out Emma was an actress, I asked Matt to keep quiet. I was afraid she wouldn’t give me the time of day if she knew who Matt was. So I asked Matt to back off, and distract you a little, while I worked on getting Emma’s full attention.”

  “Oh, Jake,” Emma exclaimed, kissing his cheek. “That is just so sweet.”

  “And it certainly explains a few things,” Casey muttered. Specifically, why Matt hadn’t called. He’d hooked up with her as a favor to his brother. And once he got back to Manhattan, he was sure to be neck deep in actresses and models.

  No wonder he hadn’t called.

  Sympathy flashed in Emma’s eyes. “Oh, Casey…”

  “Aren’t the two of you late for your party?” Casey said abruptly. “It’s after ten already. You’d better get going.”

  Emma sent her a worried look. “Um…we don’t really have to go, do we Jake?”

  “No,” Jake said promptly. “Not at all. We could hang out here tonight if you want.”

  “No,” Casey said. “I’ve got work to do. Please. Go.”

  “Well…okay,” Emma said. “If you’re sure you’ll be all right here by yourself.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Casey said. “Just…fine.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Matt felt like a goddamned stalker.

  What was he doing, pacing up and down the sidewalk in front of Casey’s apartment building? An hour to midnight on New Year’s Eve, no less. He’d gotten her work number from Emma. He could have called her there, earlier in the day. But he knew she was working on a tight deadline. And besides that, the notion of talking to Casey on the phone just didn’t appeal. He needed to see her, face to face.

  Needle-sharp sleet spit from a charcoal sky. He should’ve brought an umbrella. Or a hat, at least. An icy wind gusted up the street. He turned up his collar and ducked into the meager shelter of the apartment doorway.

  Production title: Idiot in Love. Pathetic loser lurks in a city doorway…

  He located the buzzer for her apartment on the panel by the door. Taking a deep breath, he pressed it.

  No answer. But she had to be there. He’d been on the phone with Jake not a half hour earlier. At the same time, Emma had been texting Casey, and Jake had assured Matt that Casey’s company had met their nine p.m. deadline for the Times Square promo. At nine thirty, Casey had left the office and gone home. Alone.

  He buzzed again. This time, a voice answered though the intercom.

  “Yes?”

  “Casey? It’s Matt. Can I come up?”

  Several beats of silence ensued.

  “Matt Van der Staappen? Or Matthew Joseph?”

  He sighed. “Please. Just let me in. It’s cold out here.”

  He heard a soft snort. A couple seconds later, the door unlatched. He climbed four flights of stairs and knocked at the door.

  She opened it. For a long moment, they just stared at each other. His heart gave a lurch. Casey looked adorable, with her messy hair and flushed cheeks. Her wrinkled jeans and comfortably rumpled sweater made him want to drag her right into bed.

  Her gaze flicked over him, her expression inscrutable. He wondered what she was thinking. Casey might look just the same as she had in Dutch Gorge, but Matt, dressed in charcoal wool dress slacks and a black turtleneck, was a far cry from the denim-and-flannel guy she knew.

  She leaned on the jamb, one hand on the doorknob, blocking his view into the apartment. “So,” she said. “What do you want?”

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. “Jake told you about me,” he said. “I wanted to explain.”

  She shoved a curl out of her eyes. He fought the urge to tuck i
t behind her ear.

  When she didn’t answer, he continued, “He also said he told you why I didn’t say anything about my casting agency.”

  Her lips twisted. “Yeah. Something about keeping me out of the way while he moved in on Emma.”

  “No! It wasn’t like that at all.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Well, not exactly.”

  “And really,” she continued, “it all worked out fine. Jake’s a great guy. He and Emma hit it off. And you and I…well, we got a few nights of sex. So it’s all good.”

  She started to close the door. He put a hand out to stop it from hitting him in the face. “Damn it Casey, that’s not how it is between us, and you know it.”

  “No, Matt. I don’t know it. I know nothing. I don’t know why you worked so hard to get me into bed. I don’t know why you bothered to take my number. And I don’t know why you’re here.”

  “Then let me in. Let me explain.”

  “That’s not a good idea. I mean, what would be the point? You have your life, filled with actresses and models, and I have mine, filled with computer geeks. Believe me, I’ve been around enough of Emma’s friends to know the two just don’t mix well.”

  “I’m not going to discuss this in the hallway.”

  With a sigh, she stepped back. “Fine,” she said. “Suit yourself.”

  He entered the apartment and closed the door firmly behind him. Turning, he found himself in a small, cluttered living room. A futon couch and matching chair flanked a coffee table in the center of the room. The potted palm by the window looked like it was in need of watering. A bookshelf crowded with computing titles half shielded a computer desk, where an oversized monitor fought for desk space with a collection of empty cola cans.

  A flat-screen TV on the wall was tuned to coverage of New Year’s Eve festivities in Times Square. Casey’s laptop was open on the coffee table, nestled amid fashion magazines and empty coffee cups, flashing photo after photo of passionate kisses. Underneath, the vote tally for each couple rose.

  “Your project?” he asked.

  “Yes. It rolled out like clockwork.”

  “That’s good.”

  She shrugged. Taking a seat on the futon, she punched the mute on the remote. “Okay, get on with it. Why are you here?”

  Matt shrugged out of his coat and draped it on a clothes stand near the door. Dropping into the chair on Casey’s right, he rested his forearms on his thighs and leaned forward. “You probably wondered why I didn’t call.”

  Casey’s eyes were on the computer screen. A photo of a couple kissing on a tropical beach faded into a picture of a couple kissing in front of a massive barbeque grill.

  “The question might have crossed my mind,” she said.

  “I drove out to Boston from Dutch Gorge on Sunday. I just got back to Manhattan today.”

  “There are phones all over New England, I’ve heard.”

  “I thought about calling, but…I don’t know. It didn’t seem right. I didn’t want to talk to you on a phone. I wanted to see you. But at the same time, I was afraid when I saw you it would be too…different. Awkward.”

  She didn’t reply. He exhaled and continued. “Just like it is now. I didn’t know what you’d think of who I am here in the city. I’m not exactly the same man I pretended to be upstate.”

  “Why pretend at all?” She finally looked at him. “That’s what I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just tell me who you were?”

  “At first, I kept quiet for Jake. So he could get to know Emma without me and my agency as a distraction.” He shrugged. “Sounds conceited, I know.”

  She snorted. “No. It sounds realistic. Jake was right. If Emma had known who you were, Jake would have become instantly invisible.” Her gaze skittered away. “You must know hundreds of women as beautiful and as talented as Emma in your business.”

  “I suppose I do,” he said with a shrug. “But truthfully? They all blur together after a while. Not one of them stands out. Not like you do.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “I’m serious, Casey. You got my attention that first moment in the parking lot, when you fell into my arms. And then later, when I was getting your luggage?” He chuckled. “Man, you were so pissed at Emma. I could practically see the smoke coming out of your ears.”

  She shot him a look of pure incredulity. “So, you’re trying to tell me we hooked up as a result of my clumsiness and bad temper?”

  He gave a wry laugh. “Honestly? I think it was more the fact that you weren’t trying to impress me. You have no idea how appealing that was. But then, the more time I spent with you, the more I liked you. I can’t tell you how glad I was that Emma kept locking you out of your room.”

  “But…why didn’t you tell me about your work then? I wouldn’t have told Emma until the weekend was over, if you’d asked me to keep quiet. But you never mentioned a word about being a casting director. You didn’t even tell me you lived in Manhattan. Why not?”

  “It’s…hard to explain. In Dutch Gorge, the real world seems so far away, and I like it that way. I didn’t feel like talking about my career, answering all the usual questions. And you didn’t seem to have a very high opinion of the business anyway.” He sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. But last weekend, I just wanted a break from…everything. I found myself wanting to be the man I might have been if I hadn’t left the gorge. Just for a few days, anyway.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Does that make any kind of sense?”

  “A little, I suppose.” She tucked her legs under her and looped her arms around her knees. “Dutch Gorge made me want to be someone different, too. Someone more…uninhibited, I guess. Like Emma.”

  “Once I got to Boston,” he said slowly, “what we shared in the gorge…it seemed like a dream. Like it hadn’t really happened.”

  “I felt the same way,” Casey murmured. “Even when it was happening. At first, I couldn’t believe you were sincere. I kept thinking it couldn’t last. And then, when you didn’t call…”

  “I didn’t call because I didn’t know what to say,” he confessed. “At least, not over the phone. I only knew what I wanted to tell you when I saw you again face to face.”

  “And what is that?”

  “That maybe last weekend showed both of us who we really are. And I wanted to ask if you thought we could find a way to keep some of that Dutch Gorge Christmas magic alive here in the city. All year long. Despite all the distractions and stress of the real world. What do you say, Casey?” He brushed a curl off her forehead. “Do you think we could work? Even with our lives plugged in?”

  For a long moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Her expression was as serious as he’d ever seen it. She stared at the kissing couples on the laptop screen, twin furrows between her brows. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head.

  Then she drew a breath, looked at him, and her expression lightened. A smile played on her lips.

  The tight knot in Matt’s chest eased.

  “I don’t know if it will work,” she said. “But I’d like to give it a try.”

  “Me, too.” He grinned at her, then glanced up at the TV. “Only one minute to midnight.”

  Casey studied her computer. “The contest’s down to the last three kisses—on a boat, on a mountaintop, and in midair, while skydiving. One of those couples is going to Paris.” Then, to Matt’s surprise, she powered down the laptop. It went dark just as the final ten-second countdown to midnight flashed on the muted television.

  …eight…seven…six…five…

  Reaching over the coffee table, Casey punched the TV remote, too. The screen went blank.

  “Casey, what are you doing?” Except for a few strips of light shining though the blinds, the room was in total darkness. “You worked on this project for weeks! Don’t you even want to know which kiss wins?”

  Casey’s outline was a dark blur in the unlit room. She rose from the couch. An instant later, her warm body slipped into his lap.
His arms came around her as the peppershot sound of firecrackers started up in the street outside.

  She nuzzled his cheek. “I don’t need to watch. I already know who’s going to win.”

  And when she kissed him, he knew, too.

  SANTA, Honey

  Nationally Bestselling Author

  KATE ANGELL

  “Kate Angell is to baseball as Susan Elizabeth Phillips is to football. Wonderful!”

  —USA Today Bestselling author Sandra Hill

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  SANDRA HILL

  “Some like it hot and hilarious, and Hill delivers both.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  JOY NASH

  “Nash creates a suspenseful, haunting and high-tension romance.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Copyright

  LOVE SPELL®

  October 2009

  Published by

  Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  200 Madison Avenue

  New York, NY 10016

  Santa, Honey copyright © 2009 by Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  Ho, Humbug, Ho copyright © 2009 by Roberta Brown

  Naughty or Nice copyright © 1996 by Sandra Hill

  Christmas Unplugged copyright © 2009 by Joy Nash

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  E-ISBN: 978-1-4285-0753-1