Once Upon a Christmas

by Lisa Plumley

  She blurted out the whole story, right up to Dylan’s confession that he’d been the one to arrange the honeymoon surprises. Janie nodded wisely, finished her second eggnog latte—complete with red and green sprinkles—then narrowed her eyes.

  “So he actually did quit telling you what to do.” Thoughtfully, she stroked the side of her paper coffee cup. “And he actually did try to carry off the honeymoon charade your way. Right?”

  Stacey nodded. “He only told me the truth because he thought I was going to confess everything and make all of you disown me, bec—” Realization struck her. Dylan hadn’t had to tell her a thing. He’d only done it to protect her, knowing how much her family meant to her.

  And sacrificed himself in the process. Because he was in love with her. Deeply, crazily in love.

  “Holy smokes! What have I done?” Stacey bolted to her feet, scattering coffee cups and swizzle sticks. “I’ve got to find him!”

  Janie grinned. “Sit back down. I’ve got a plan.”

  Stacey was all ears.

  Hell. The last place he wanted to be—especially on Christmas Eve—was the Atmosphere hotel. Dylan screeched his Jeep to a stop beneath the glittering porte-cochere, eyeing the hotel about as eagerly as he would a lumpy Christmas fruitcake.

  Something happened with Aunt Geraldine’s credit card, Richard had told him. The hotel wants payment for the honeymoon suite stay. The Parker’s credit card, tapped to the limit after their Bahamas honeymoon, had already been refused.

  Cash only had been the hotel’s request. Today. Or things would get ugly.

  Feeling responsible, Dylan had volunteered to drive to Vegas and straighten things out himself. Now he wished he hadn’t. He was already hurting enough without this.

  Memories of Stacey haunted him as he tossed his keys to a valet and headed inside. The usual Muzak Christmas carols and ritzy decorations brought less holiday cheer than he’d hoped, and walking past the noisy casino called up a hundred more details he didn’t want to remember. The feel of Stacey beside him. The lure of her perfume. The cocky expression she’d worn while challenging him to their pillow fight.

  The sound of her voice when she’d told him she loved him.

  Hell. Feeling surly and lost, Dylan stalked to the reception desk and pulled out his wallet. “I’m here to pay for a stay in the honeymoon suite last weekend. I was told you’ll only take cash.”

  “The honeymoon suite, sir?” The same chipper, newlywed blonde he remembered from last weekend looked up at him. Her grin widened.

  He frowned. “Yes. How much to—”

  “Oh! It’s you!” she interrupted, looking giddy. “The person you need to see about this is right over there.”

  She pointed to the nearest row of slot machines.

  The row of slot machines containing the one he and Stacey had won on. Great.

  “Who?” he asked. “How will I know—”

  “Oh, you’ll recognize the person you need to see,” she assured him, winking. Winking?

  Feeling suspicious, Dylan put away his wallet. Grumbling, he stomped toward the casino. The last last thing he wanted to do was revisit anyplace he and Stacey had been to together. Who’d set up this ridiculous system, anyway? He guessed he’d just have to watch for someone wearing a hotel uniform and hope they had more facts at their disposal than the ditzy desk clerk. Then he could pay up and get the hell away from there…get on with his lonely Christmas Eve.

  He pushed through the crowds, nearing the familiar row of slot machines. The winning picture Stacey had told him about loomed at the head of the row—another Technicolor memory of the two of them decked out in kooky hats and blue goo, holding up their winnings. Another memento of all he’d lost.

  Dylan frowned and looked away.

  At the head of the row, the scent of roses reached him, nearly overpowering in their sweetness. He felt just grumpy enough to dislike the aroma. Someone’s perfume? They must have ladled it on, he groused as two gamblers swerved out of his path. The place smelled like a million roses.

  The crowd parted. In the open space revealed along the gleaming slot machines, he glimpsed the roses—actual roses, masses of deep, rich red ones—and the woman holding them.

  Stacey.

  His heart slammed to a stop, then kicked into double speed. She hadn’t spotted him yet, he realized. She gazed out over the huge bouquets, half hidden by their spreading petals, nibbling on her bottom lip and rising on tiptoes to see over the crowd. Looking for someone.

  Him?

  Dylan walked nearer, his stride eating carpet in two-foot chunks. Stacey saw him. A tremulous smile spread over her face. He felt an answering smile light his own.

  He’d been had, he realized. Lured here under false pretenses, just so Stacey could get her hands on him again.

  He didn’t mind one bit.

  “You came!” she said when he reached her. Clutching the flowers tighter, she raised the whole quivering mass with a jerky movement of her arm. “These are for you. I know they’re not very Christmassy. Ho, ho, ho, you know. Season’s greetings, and all that. But they, um, had special meaning.”

  She thrust them in his face, thorns and all.

  “Ahhh!” Dylan grabbed them. “You almost put my eye out!”

  “Sorry.” Stacey stared at her feet. A blush climbed her cheeks, and her voice shook when she spoke. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

  “There’s no need to be.” Smiling, he tucked his hand in the nape of her neck and drew her to him, his heart so filled with love and gratitude he couldn’t wait to touch her. He nodded at the flowers and the casino surrounding them. “I guess this means there’s no payment mix-up over the honeymoon suite?”

  “No. Everything’s fine.” Stacey gazed up at him, flushed and soft and adorably determined. “I’m sorry to bring you here like this, but I didn’t know what else to do.” Hesitating, she bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry, Dylan. So sorry. I didn’t understand, but now I do. I should have never let you go.”

  “Then don’t.” His lips curved in a smile as he kissed her. “Let’s not let each other go, ever again.”

  “Never,” Stacey agreed, melting against him with a smile of her own, probably unaware she was standing on his foot.

  Dylan ignored the pain, too happy to squabble over little things like smashed toes. They’d heal…and so would his heart, starting now.

  “I love you.” She linked her fingers with his, giving him a tinsel-bright smile. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you more.” He grinned as he pulled her away from the slot machine and into the swelling crowd of gamblers along with him. “Much more.”

  “I love you times a million,” she countered, hugging his arm as they walked.

  The roses flopped in his other hand, bouncing in rhythm with their steps and sending a flowery scent in the air.

  “I love you times infinity.” Dylan paused. “Do you think the honeymoon suite is free? We might want it later.”

  “Might?” Raising her eyebrows, Stacey pulled something from her purse and pushed it in his hand. A hotel key card. “I already booked it.”

  “You’re my kind of woman, Stacey Ames,” he said, watching her bounce up on her toes to push the elevator button.

  “Going up?”

  “Not until you earn it.” Dylan swept her in his arms along with the roses. “I’m carrying you over that honeymoon suite threshold as a real bride this time.”

  Not much later that afternoon, he did.

  And his merry Christmas bride?

  She loved every single minute.

  A BABY FOR CHRISTMAS

  by

  Lisa Plumley

  Chapter One

  Saturday morning, Chloe Carmichal woke up with a naked man in her bed.

  Of course, she was naked too, but that wasn’t the point. The important thing was, this wasn’t just any old sunstruck, Arizona spring morning, and the man asleep beside her wasn’t just any old golden-haired, buffed-up guy.
This was the morning after the night she’d never forget, and the fella snoring with his legs tangled around hers and his arm slung around her waist was Nick.

  Her best friend in the whole world.

  Maybe now he’d realize how perfect they were for each other. She’d spent three years living next door to him—three companionable, let’s-be-pals, excruciatingly platonic years. Last night everything had changed.

  Oh, boy, how it had changed. Feeling giddy, Chloe snuggled closer to Nick’s warmth and fought the urge to wake him up just to tell him how happy she was. That wouldn’t be fair, not after the late night they’d spent together. He deserved at least another ten minutes’ sleep.

  Maybe five.

  Nick snuffled and turned over. His arm whipped from her waist and sailed toward her head like a sleepy stealth missile. Chloe ducked just as it smacked into her pillow. Whew. She never knew sleeping with a guy could be so dangerous.

  Too excited to sleep anymore, she used his movement for cover and slipped out of bed to go freshen up. Maybe she’d even put together a little breakfast à deux. After last night, they could both do with a recharge.

  Her feet hit the floor. Behind her the covers rustled, and Nick gave a soft muffled moan before going back to sleep. Chloe’s heart skipped a little higher. Nick was in her bed!

  Nick was with her.

  Oh, sure. She and Nick had never shared more than a hug before last night. And yeah, he did just happen to be slightly on the rebound from what’shername, the mean, commitment-hungry brunette he’d been dating until yesterday. But, Chloe told herself as she emerged from the bathroom and pattered down the hall, that was all in the past. From now on, things would be different. Way different. Last night he’d seen another side to her, and things could never go back to the way they were before.

  Never go back. In the kitchen, the thought of losing all the closeness she and Nick had shared over the years made her pause. Could their friendship survive becoming lovers? What if they’d ruined everything? What if they broke up?

  What if she was jumping to conclusions? We can do this, she told herself. We’ll be a match made in heaven. So what if they were sort of an unlikely combination? So were her clothes most of the time, and they still managed to work okay.

  Chloe glanced down at herself, taking in the purple polka-dotted boxer shorts she usually slept in, the bright orange bra she’d substituted for her T-shirt in the name of maximum sexiness, and the way her fingers were shaking, and tried to gather her courage. It was just Nick, for Pete’s sake. Her Nick. There was nothing to worry about.

  Right. Before she could angst any further, she got busy putting together breakfast—a pot of coffee, a box of chocolate donuts, and a bowl of dried banana chips. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly health food, but it would have to do for now. Juggling the wicker basket she’d put everything in, Chloe stopped at the threshold of her bedroom and warily looked in.

  Sunlight rushed between the slats of her bedroom’s white window shutters and brightened the midnight blue walls, streaking glimmers of gold across plants and pictures and the man sprawled across her bed. Discarded clothes—his and hers—trailed across the carpet, making a path to the arched foot of her big wooden sleigh bed. Chloe tiptoed to it and set the breakfast basket on the bureau beside it, unable to wait any longer. It was time for Nick to wake up…and she was just the woman to make sure he did so in the nicest possible way.

  A plaintive meow came from beside the bed. Moe, her fat orange tabby, arched against the footboard and meowed louder, the sound filled with feline reproach at not being first as usual on Chloe’s morning agenda.

  “Shhh,” she told the cat, giving him a fond rub between the ears. “Just give me this one morning, and it’s Fancy Feast for a week. I swear.”

  Praying for cooperation, Chloe lifted the bed covers and slid beneath them. Warmth surrounded her. Geez, Nick’s body heat could power a whole city if they could find a way to harness it. She ought to ask him about that for his next invention. Smiling in the dark, Chloe took her own turn at inventiveness, sliding her palm over his hairy shin, his knee, his hard, muscular thigh…a game of blind man’s bluff for grownups. He stirred and moaned, encouraging her without words to roam higher. She did.

  Nick’s fingers wandered to the nape of her neck, stroking and teasing. The feel of his hand against her skin called forth a million memories from last night. With a sigh, Chloe crawled higher. Morning breath be damned. She wanted to kiss the man she loved.

  She raised the covers and poked her head out. Nick’s linebacker-size shoulders, tousled honey-streaked hair, and adorably rumpled face filled her vision. Groggily, he opened his eyes and blinked his baby blues in her direction.

  Her heart softened. Some part of her was obviously a sucker for the little-boy-lost look. If possible, she felt even more in love with him than before. Nick blinked again, and Chloe realized it wasn’t tenderness that made him look that way—it was poor eyesight. His natty wire rims still lay on the bedside table where he’d left them last night.

  “Nick?” she whispered, smoothing her hand across his chest. “Good morning.”

  His mouth opened. He blinked harder. “Chloe?”

  The raspy, intimate sound of his voice thrilled her. “Mmmm hmmm, it’s Chloe.” She twirled her fingertips in a heated whorl of his chest hair and smiled in a way she hoped looked worldly and sophisticated. “Good morning…darling.”

  “Aaack!” Nick shot upward, his eyes widening. His head cracked into her sleigh bed.

  “Oh!” She reached for him, crooning whatever comforting things came to mind as she tried to examine him for headboard-induced injuries. Yanking his head out of reach, grimacing at the movement, he scrambled higher on the pillows. Obviously, Nick wasn’t an early riser.

  Or at least his whole body wasn’t.

  “Are you all right?” How could she have known he’d wake up so grumpy? She’d never slept with him before.

  Frowning, he pushed himself up on his elbows. Her gaze drifted to his bare chest and stomach. Grumpy or not, Nick did keep a surprisingly attention-getting body hidden beneath that stupid white lab coat he was always wearing. Who’d have guessed?

  He saw her ogling and jerked the sheets higher. What was the matter with him? Why, a person would think he hadn’t…that they hadn’t….

  Oh, God.

  His expression matched her thoughts.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Nick blinked harder. His mouth straightened, then gaped open again as Chloe crawled all the way out of the covers and sat up. His gaze went straight to her sheer orange bra. “You—you—you’re not even dressed!” He glanced around, looking increasingly incredulous. “Is this your bedroom?”

  Chloe handed him his eyeglasses.

  “It is your bedroom!”

  She wouldn’t have thought things could get worse—until they did. Shock made her nipples perk tight against her wispy bra, drawing his attention in the only way she had absolutely no control over. Feeling her face heat, Chloe drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them.

  Nick’s gaze dropped to her snug purple-dotted silk boxers. Something akin to pain flashed across his face. “Aww, hell.”

  This time she recognized that gruffness in his tone for what it was—the remnants of a massive hangover from the Kahlúa, coffee, and sympathy she’d served him last night.

  “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like, Chloe.”

  Hurt stole her breath. His pleading glance finished her off. He didn’t remember.

  “Tell me I didn’t take advantage of you last night.”

  Nick fisted his hand in the sheets. She imagined him caressing her cheek instead, pretended he’d smile and tell her he’d been kidding. Just a little morning-after humor, ha ha.

  “I—” Her voice cracked and faltered. She frowned briefly and tried again. “Well, I, uhh—”

  He must have sensed something was wrong, because he stopped her with a touch and curled his fingers beneath her chin
. He tilted her face upward, looking at her carefully with that analytical scientist’s expression of his. It wasn’t a cheek caress, but it was near enough to tenderness that Chloe closed her eyes to savor it.

  “I couldn’t stand it if I thought I’d hurt you,” Nick said. “I know how it feels to be used, remember?”

  She remembered, all right. He meant what’shername. The one who’d decided her ticking biological clock couldn’t handle Nick Steadman standard time any longer. The one who’d broken his heart and sent him straight to Chloe’s door for solace.

  “Chloe?”

  There was nothing else to do. She loved him too much to tell him a truth he so obviously didn’t want to hear. So she opened her eyes and gave him a choked little laugh.

  “Who, me? And you?” She rolled her eyes at the notion. “Nah, don’t flatter yourself, genius. Nothing happened here last night except too much Kahlúa, too much talking, and way too much sympathy.” She put her hand to his forehead and tried out a wobbly feeling smile. “I think it’s gone to your head.”

  “But—”

  “Your virtue’s safe with me.” Chloe levered herself off the mattress and inadvertently treated him to a full-on cleavage shot. Geez. Maybe he’d think she always dressed this way to sleep. “Your virtue’s safe, but your body,” she added to distract him, “well…that’s another story.”

  She bounced off the bed and shrugged into the lab coat he’d left on her bedroom doorknob last night, giving herself double bonus points for hiding the tears in her eyes and getting herself covered up all at the same time.

  “My body?”

  “Yeah—your hangover. Sorry about that.”

  The bed creaked. Chloe, busy swabbing surreptitiously at her burning eyelids, didn’t dare look to see what Nick was doing.

  “It’s not your fault.” His voice sounded muted, hoarse with hangover mouth and leftover sleepiness. “I brought it all on myself. I knew me and—”

  “What’shername?”

  “—weren’t headed in the same direction. I wanted hot sex—”

  “I’m not listening,” she sang out, putting her hands over her ears.