12 Gifts for Christmas

by Various

  She sighed.

  There was time left. Her parents’ annual postholiday party wasn’t for another two weeks. She could still come up with an impressive date, even if it looked as if tonight would be a bust.

  She took another sip of wine as Patrick Elliott, the seventy-year-old patriarch of the Elliott clan and founder of the Elliott Publication Holdings empire, tapped his wineglass and cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.

  The room fell silent. Patrick Elliott, after all, was a commanding presence.

  “Before we say goodbye to another year,” Patrick said in his deep, gravelly voice, “I’m going to say a few words.”

  Chloe listened as the CEO of EPH thanked the assembled gathering, which included various Elliott offspring and adult grandchildren, for their efforts on behalf of EPH for the past year.

  However, as Patrick droned on, Chloe found her mind wandering.

  She refused to show up dateless—or worse, frogless—to another Davenport family gathering. Her older sister, Maxine, already had the requisite two kids, doctor husband and beautiful home in suburban Westchester, north of New York City. Maxine had long since claimed the title in their parents’ eyes of the child who’d come closest to fulfilling all their dearest wishes.

  But Chloe refused to concede defeat. From the outside, she knew her life seemed perfect. People at work often commented that she must not have a care in the world.

  The truth was, however, that she’d worked hard to maintain a certain image. She dressed well and lived in a cute little shoebox apartment in the trendy Chelsea section of Manhattan.

  But though she thought she’d done everything right to attract a man, she hadn’t had a date in months. She’d lain awake at night analyzing why. There was, of course, the fact that Chelsea had a large gay community, so right off the bat, a sizeable chunk of the surrounding male population was eliminated.

  Perhaps her problem was that she was just too candid for most men. On the other hand, she liked to think being direct was the reason why she’d thrived in her job as executive assistant to Finola Elliott, the editor-in-chief of Charisma magazine, which competed hotly with Vogue. She always let Fin know what was what.

  Chloe looked over at Fin now. Her mother would say Fin was a cautionary tale about what could happen to a woman if she buried her nose in her career and didn’t bother to glance up until she was eligible for retirement. At thirty-eight, Fin was married only to her job.

  Chloe wondered if that was the road she herself was traveling. Weren’t too many late nights at work the reason why she’d ended up coming to her employer’s New Year’s Eve party … alone? And, of course, it didn’t help that in a few months she’d be hitting her thirtieth birthday.

  She heard her mother’s voice in her head and silenced it. Her mother had tried to set her up with men in the past, and she shuddered when she thought about who some of those candidates had been. It was somewhat mortifying to think her most likely route to landing a date these days was through her mother. She was only surprised her mother hadn’t tried to offer up a New Year’s Eve date.

  Aware of a sudden tension in the room, she yanked her mind away from her thoughts. She looked around at the hushed gathering, her eyes coming to rest on Fin, who wore a taut expression on her face. Moving to her boss’s side, Chloe asked, “What is it?”

  “Didn’t you hear?” Fin whispered back distractedly. “My father just announced he’s stepping down as CEO of EPH. He told the family a couple of hours ago and swore us to silence, but now he’s telling everyone.”

  “And, so,” Patrick Elliott continued at the front of the room, surveying the gathering with shrewd eyes, “I’ve decided that the fairest way to name my successor is by competitive bidding, so to speak. After all, competition is what EPH was built on and what it continues to thrive on.”

  Chloe thought the publishing empire had been built on family, given how many of the younger Elliotts worked at EPH’s midtown Manhattan headquarters, but she mentally shrugged and thought whatever.

  Patrick went on. “The head of whichever EPH magazine makes the largest profit, adjusted for magazine size, by the end of this coming year will be named my successor.”

  Uh-oh.

  Chloe had heard rumors at work about an impending announcement—assistants talked, after all—but she’d never expected this.

  She peeked at Fin. Everyone knew about Fin’s difficult relationship with her father, Patrick. Chloe’s already uptight, workaholic boss wasn’t going to deal well with this pronouncement. Inevitably, it would mean even more late nights at the office for Fin—and for Chloe as Fin’s assistant.

  Finished with his speech, Patrick walked into the crowd, and some muted conversation struck up again.

  Chloe sighed again. She’d be lucky if even a frog crossed her path now. She was going to be trapped at the office for the foreseeable future.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Fab Dav.”

  She turned to look up into mocking green eyes. No one had called her Fab Dav—short for Fabulous Davenport—since high school.

  Chloe couldn’t help but notice he was wearing green in the form of an expensive shirt in a light herringbone pattern. Ralph Lauren Purple Label, if she were betting on it.

  “Ryder?” she asked.

  CHAPTER TWO

  RYDER gave her the lopsided smile she remembered so well. “It’s been a while,” he said, tacitly acknowledging the surprise and uncertainty in her voice.

  “Why are you wearing green?” she asked abruptly, his presence transporting her back to another time and another place.

  A bad place. In short, high school. Sure she’d been called Fab Dav, but more because everyone had had a nickname than because the label fit—a least in her opinion. She’d always thought she had more flaws than she could count.

  Now here he was, Ryder McPhee, the guy who’d teased her without fail back then. He must have just arrived at the Elliott mansion because she hadn’t spotted him earlier. In all likelihood, he’d come over from another fantastic Hamptons party.

  He looked down at his shirt and then back up at her, arching an eyebrow. “Something wrong with the color green?”

  “No! Um …” She stalled, then blurted, “It’s just that green is for frogs!” Because she felt like an idiot, she added by way of some semblance of rationality, “Green is out this year. All the fashion magazines have said so.”

  He looked at her in amusement, and she could swear he read her mind. “Relax. The Elliotts are Irish by heritage, and so am I. It’s a nod to tradition.”

  How had this happened? Chloe wondered, perturbed.

  Ryder appeared to be the reasonable one while she seemed like a lunatic. At least in high school she’d reacted to his behavior by giving as good as she got and then marching away with her head held high—though his laugh had usually followed her down the hall.

  He’d been ahead of her at their Westchester high school, but that hadn’t stopped them from running into each other all too often in the hallways and, of course, in the couple of elective courses they’d shared.

  Though he’d had a few good buddies, she’d always considered him to be a lone wolf at heart. She’d heard him called brilliant but it hadn’t been until he’d graduated, when Mrs. McPhee had told her mother that Ryder was heading off to the prestigious Wharton School of Business at the University of Pennsylvania, that Chloe had paid any attention.

  She looked at him now. He’d always been tall, but now it was impossible to ignore the hard, muscular build beneath his open-collar shirt and black pants. He’d developed impressive biceps to match his impressive brain, and she felt diminutive and feminine next to him.

  An involuntary shiver of awareness went through her.

  Disconcerted, and in an attempt to change the subject, she demanded, “What are you doing here?”

  Again she was rewarded with the lopsided smile that reminded her of the Ryder she used to know. “Cullen Elliott and I know each other through busi
ness associates, so I got an invitation to drop by his grandparents’ party tonight.” The teasing light came back into his eyes. “How about you?”

  “I work at EPH,” she said shortly.

  “Right,” he said, nodding. “I recall my mother mentioning you’re a secretary at Charisma.”

  “I’m the executive assistant to the editor in chief,” she corrected, adding somewhat defensively, “I like my job.” She really was not much more than a glorified secretary, despite her lofty-sounding title, but Ryder brought out the contrarian in her.

  “You don’t say,” he said casually. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Does it surprise you when people turn out well?” she countered.

  Mischief sparked in his eyes.

  She watched as he gave her a once-over, causing her blood pressure to rise. She knew what he’d see. She had slender curves, but nothing that qualified her as bombshell material. She wore her dark brown hair long and straight, and if pressed, she’d say her clear blue eyes were her best feature.

  His eyes came back to hers. “No, it doesn’t surprise me,” he murmured. “I’m not disappointed, either.”

  She felt a flash of heat. Was Ryder flirting with her?

  He was flirting with her.

  Ryder watched as Chloe’s big baby-blue eyes widened, and he realized he’d unsettled her. Good.

  After all, she was why he was here tonight, and if he couldn’t do better than the ridiculous plan that had been in the process of being hatched, he deserved to be thrown out on his rear end.

  Not that that was something he was accustomed to. He’d ridden the internet boom years to the top, starting a lucrative online business with a classmate from college, and his significant net worth was a testament both to his business acumen and to his financial success. When he stopped to think about it, it amused him to think he would now be considered a catch on the dating scene, despite the fact that he tended to keep quiet about the details of his work life.

  Still, looking down at Chloe tonight, he’d been transported back to high school and the urge to bait her had been irresistible.

  Chloe. He remembered she’d regularly had to explain to people that her name was Chloe, spelled C-H-L-O-E, without the French accent aigu or a double dot over the E. But then, Ryder mused, there was never anything about Chloe that needed accenting.

  Back in high school, lots of guys had gone for her. She’d been Shannen Doherty of Beverly Hills, 90210 but without the attitude—though these days, he supposed, she’d be compared instead to Leighton Meester of Gossip Girls—or someone from the new 90210.

  He ought to know. He’d heard the locker-room talk. At the time, the competition from his classmates had irritated him, so he’d used the one fail-safe method of getting Chloe’s attention: teasing her.

  Thanks to his baiting tonight, however, things hadn’t initially gone according to plan. But they were back on track. She was off balance.

  From somewhere, Ryder heard a television begin to blare. Glancing around, he spotted the television screen. The announcer was broadcasting from Times Square in Manhattan, where a huge crowd had gathered to ring in the New Year.

  “One minute to midnight!” someone in the room announced.

  Ryder glanced back down at Chloe, who was looking around distractedly.

  “Are you here with somebody?”

  She looked up at him in confusion. “What? Um, no.”

  Her baby blues were so damn cute. “Looks as if it’ll have to be me, then.”

  “It’ll have to be you, what?”

  He gave an exaggerated sigh of resignation. “Kissing you at midnight. I guess I’ll have to do the dirty deed.”

  From the television, a chorus could be heard starting the countdown to midnight. “Ten. Nine …”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “EIGHT.”

  Kiss him? Chloe stared up at Ryder as the inexorable countdown to midnight continued around them.

  “Seven.”

  Dimly, she was aware of the crowd in the room. Couples sidled closer to each other in anticipation of a kiss at the appointed hour.

  “Six.”

  Help.

  “Five.”

  Ryder wore an amused expression on his face.

  “Four.”

  Her gaze lowered to his lips. He really did have a nice mouth. It was curved and inviting and looked just soft enough to be exciting. She pushed down a flutter. These days that mouth was attached to an equally delectable body.

  “Three.”

  He leaned toward her, and her focus moved up from his mouth to his green eyes, where she was caught by his intent look.

  “Come on, Chloe,” he taunted gently. “I dare you.”

  “Two.”

  Well, she thought, she might as well kiss someone at midnight, right? At least this way, she’d confirm Ryder wasn’t the prince she was waiting for.

  “Why not?” she said, struggling for a nonchalance she didn’t feel in the face of Ryder’s intensity. She strove to keep her breath even.

  “One.”

  She lifted her face as Ryder leaned in farther, closing the space between them to a hair’s breath. Her eyes fluttered closed.

  “Happy New Year!”

  Ryder’s lips touched hers. A brief pressure, a sense of warmth and softness joined by a little jolt of electricity, and Chloe started to back away.

  Her retreat was arrested, however, as Ryder’s hands came up to cup her upper arms. He parted her lips with his own and deepened the kiss.

  The sound of horns blared around them—the crowd in the Elliott mansion adding to the cacophony coming from the television set. The notes of “Auld Lang Syne” began, and people started singing about old forgotten acquaintances.

  For Chloe, however, the surrounding world retreated as she was swamped by the waves of interesting and exciting sensations evoked by Ryder’s intimate embrace. She sighed as she sank deeper into the kiss, which was fierce and warm, then gentle by turns.

  The kiss built slowly until Ryder seemed to want to devour her. Someone moaned, and Chloe realized it was her.

  A loud cough sounded nearby, then a voice Chloe recognized as belonging to Cullen Elliott broke through the haze that surrounded her. “And here I thought I was the babe magnet for the evening,” Cullen said, his voice laced with amusement.

  With a gasp, Chloe pulled away from Ryder. Touching two fingers to her lips, she looked around and realized their passionate kiss had attracted the attention of several party-goers.

  As Cullen sauntered away, holding a drink and shaking his head with a smile, Chloe looked up at Ryder and saw bemusement stamped on his face. There was no way she could forget this old acquaintance after that.

  She didn’t know what to say. She felt hot and turned on. Sometime during the kiss, she’d discovered she was confronting a man she hardly knew. He was a powerful, sexy stranger who had the ability to turn her insides to mush.

  As if drugged, she watched his lips move, the same lips that had just seconds ago tasted and savored her. “I’ll drive you back,” he said. “Where are you staying?”

  She named a bed-and-breakfast in the closest town.

  His lips curved. “Happy coincidence. I’m staying down the street at the Barston Cove.”

  In another mood, Chloe would have raised her eyebrows. The Barston Cove was the priciest, most exclusive hotel in town. Instead, she merely nodded and said, “Hmm.”

  He took her elbow and guided her through the crowd. Chloe heard herself murmur polite thank-yous and good-nights to their hosts and the various guests they encountered on their path to the front door. Beside her, Ryder’s sexy voice sounded, adding his own words of desultory conversation.

  Then, before she knew it, they were in a black Jaguar zipping along the dark road to town, and Chloe wondered how Ryder had come to own a car that cost more than she earned in a year.

  That is, she wondered until she noticed his pricey Baume & Mercier watch, and then got distracted by the
sight of his hand on the steering wheel.

  It was a capable hand, large and masculine with a strong wrist. She thought about that hand touching and stroking and caressing her, and another strong wave of awareness washed over her.

  Within minutes, Ryder pulled into a parking space halfway between his hotel and her bed-and-breakfast. He came around the car and helped her out, his hand holding her fingers loosely.

  “Nightcap?” he murmured.

  “All right,” she said. The sexual heat between them was so thick she felt as if she were enveloped in a luxurious blanket against the cold night air.

  And then, just as seemed inevitable since they’d left the party together, they were inside his hotel room. A bedside lamp cast its dim light across the room, and a chilled bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket—one of the little courtesies of a luxury hotel, she supposed.

  The minute Ryder’s hands settled on her shoulders, though, all thoughts of toasting the new year flew out of her mind.

  Ryder ducked his head, seeking her gaze. “Chloe?”

  “Yes.” The word came out as a whisper, and Chloe knew she was saying more than just yes to his questioning.

  And that, she supposed, as Ryder’s lips closed over hers, was how last year’s old acquaintance could become the new year’s sexy new stranger.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HE GUIDED her backward until the wall was at her back.

  Not breaking their kiss, they tore at each other’s clothes.

  Her black cocktail dress, with its sheer lace sleeves and upper bodice, slid down and caught at her elbows.

  “This is crazy,” Chloe said breathlessly.

  “Just feel,” Ryder said in between kisses.

  Maybe he was right, she thought, as he moved down and kissed her neck. If she was going to be working long hours as Fin’s assistant for the foreseeable future, she might as well live it up now. Besides, she was doomed to show up dateless at another Davenport gathering, and the thought was more than depressing.

  Chloe watched as Ryder nuzzled her breasts. Thank God she’d decided on the black satin bra, she thought, as he unsnapped her undergarment. At least she felt dressed to entice.