Once Upon a Christmas (22 page)

She wrenched the car to a gravel-crunching stop a few feet
away and leaped out without opening the door. Sam rubbed his eyes. He had to be
hallucinating. Either that, or dreaming. Holly had way too much decorum to jump
out of a car, especially when she had on that sexy white dress of hers—which
she did.

“Sam!”

“Holly?”

“I can’t believe I found you.”

She threw herself in his arms and clamped herself to him so
tightly it would take a crowbar to pry her away. She was real, all right. Sam
would have recognized the feel of Holly in his arms no matter how it happened.

“I drove straight here,” she said, the words
rushing out, “but I went to the University first and you weren’t there. So
then I went looking for your apartment, but I got lost. I was driving around in
circles, then I saw your truck. And here I am!” Holly paused for breath
then plunged ahead. He couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “Sam, Brad and I
are through. For good this time. I was a complete idiot. Can you forgive me?
Please forgive me! I’m so sorry for everything.”

At that moment, she noticed his truck bed, piled high with
moving boxes and the rest of his things.

She stared. “Where are you going?”

“I—”

“Is it because of me?” she babbled before he could
answer. “Were you trying to get away before I got here? You
were,
weren’t you? I’ll
kill
Clarissa if she’s the one who called to warn you.”

She sagged in his arms, close to tears, looking desolate.
And gorgeous. And like everything he’d ever wanted.

Sam pulled Holly close and kissed her. When he raised his
head again, she looked slightly dazed. Sam took advantage of the opportunity to
explain.

“Clarissa didn’t call me. I—”

Holly gasped. “Oh, no. You lost your ethics hearing,
didn’t you? I can’t believe it! Those—”

She squinted, probably trying to think up something really
vile to call the university faculty.

Sam grinned down at her. “No. I didn’t lose. In fact,
Malcolm’s ridiculous charge got thrown out. Laughed out, actually.”

In fact, Malcolm’s complaint hadn’t even reached the stage
of a formal ethics hearing. But because of Sam’s moves from Tucson to his
parent’s house, then to Holly’s, the corresponding notices hadn’t reached him.
He hadn’t found out about it until he arrived.

“I quit. I took another job, one where I wouldn’t have
to deal with somebody like Malcolm Jeffries. Life’s too short to spend your
days working with a jerk like him.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“What, no lecture about job responsibilities? No
warnings about the dangers of unemployment? No speeches about the necessity of
planning ahead?” Sam pressed his hand to her forehead. “Are you sure
you’re feeling all right?”

They both laughed.

“I’m feeling fine,” Holly said, obviously
recovering from her surprise. She nearly purred with the certainty of her
statement. “And you don’t need a plan, because
I’ve
already got one
for both of us.”

“You do?” He kissed her shoulder, then her neck.

“Yes.”

She pressed a slip of paper in his hand, folding his fingers
tightly around it. “You were right all along. I
was
falling in love
with you. I was just too stubborn and too dumb to admit it.”

Sam unfolded the paper. In his hand was the fortune-cookie
fortune from their Kung Pao chicken dinner.
Your present plans are going to
succeed.

“I love you, Sam,” Holly whispered. “And I
never want to lose you again.”

He held her close, his lips against her hair. “You
never will.” Sam considered turning a few happy cartwheels on the lawn,
then dismissed the idea. He’d have to let Holly go in order to do that. “Damn,
I missed you. There’s no way I’ll lose you again.”

“Well,” she said, sounding businesslike despite
the fact that her face was squashed against his chest, “I want to make
sure of that.”

Stepping back, she sucked in a deep breath. “Marry me.
I’ve already got the dress. See?” She held out both hands and turned in a
circle. “You said it was perfect for a wedding.”

“Wow.” Shaking his head, Sam admired the woman he
loved. “When you make a decision, you really take it all the way.”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t do
anything
halfway.” She smiled. “Is that a yes?”

Sam picked her up. He twirled her around in a circle, and
now he was smiling, too. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!”

Chapter Eleven

It was going to be a perfectly romantic Christmas. The tree
was lit, the holiday music was cheerful, the eggnog was cold. Even the weather
had cooperated, in the form of a rare desert cold front that made snuggling up
together in front of a toasty fire an absolute necessity.

Things started going uphill from the moment Holly’s husband
Sam came home, carrying her holiday favorite—poinsettias. Juggling the flowers,
he shucked off his shoes, stripped off his wet jacket, and came toward her in
the soft glow of the Christmas lights.

“Power go out?” he asked.

“Nooo.” Smiling, Holly patted the sofa cushion.

Sam placed the flowers on the coffee table. “I’m
kidding. I recognize a romantic Christmas Eve when I see one.”

Gently, he pushed his wife backward against the cushions.
His fingers delved in her hair, stroking. His mouth found hers, and their
bodies settled familiarly—exquisitely—together.

“Where’s the pizza from Angelo’s?” He grinned. “You
can’t perform a cheap pizza-and-wine seduction routine without it. Not even at
Christmas. I’m not easy, you know.”

Holly rubbed her cheek against his, then nuzzled his neck.
She loved him more every day. “The pizza is in the kitchen, as usual. But
I’ve got other plans for you. And they’re happening right here.”

“I love them already,” Sam said, bringing her
close for another kiss. “As it happens, I’ve got a few plans of my own.”

Holly noticed the sprig of mistletoe in his hand. She smiled
and dropped the matching sprig she’d been hiding. As far as romantic
Christmases went, this one was starting out…perfectly. She had a feeling it
would end that way, too—happily ever after.

“Ho, ho, ho,” she murmured, and kissed him back.

CHRISTMAS HONEYMOON

by

Lisa Plumley

Chapter One

It wasn’t every day a girl checked into the honeymoon suite
of a posh hotel.

Especially alone.

Sucking in a deep breath, Stacey Ames paused beneath the
neon-studded entrance of the Atmosphere Hotel. Like everything else on the Las
Vegas Strip, the hotel’s massive porte-cochere popped with thousands of
flashing lights. Never mind that it was only four o’clock on an ordinary Friday
afternoon in December. The illusion of glamour, she supposed, had to be
maintained constantly.

Maybe all that va-va-voom lighting would perk up her
sun-starved complexion and wilted hairstyle. Something sure had to. After more
than five hours spent driving from her cousin Janie’s wedding to the hotel,
Stacey felt about as glamorous as a wrung-out washcloth.

Behind her, tires squealed on the pavement. She glanced
backward long enough to glimpse her red rented Honda Accord skidding around the
corner toward the hotel’s hundred-acre parking lot. The poor car all but spun
on two wheels, thanks to the valet’s energetic driving.

She’d have to check her rental car agreement’s insurance
provisions, just in case Mario Andretti, Jr. got too carried away. Making a
mental note to do that when she got safely to the honeymoon suite, Stacey
picked up her two hastily packed suitcases. She shrugged her purse higher on
her shoulder and girded her courage.

Time to get on with the charade.

It’ll be fun, she told herself as she pushed through the
hotel’s heavy glass doors. A three-day weekend of sun, fun, and fulfilling
family obligations. Every girl’s dream getaway.

Good thing they had free cocktails at these places.

The instant she stepped into the hotel’s futuristic-themed
lobby, a cacophony of jangling slot machines blasted her. So did the sound of
murmured voices and a Muzak version of “Santa Baby.” She hoped a
similarly orchestrated “One Hundred Greatest Romantic Hits For Lovers”
wasn’t featured in the honeymoon suite. That just might be the thing to make
her end this sham, promise or no.

When she’d awakened in Phoenix this morning, she hadn’t
planned on being drafted into emergency faux-bride duty. Her wardrobe showed
it, too. Dressed in her usual jeans, sweater, and a jacket, Stacey felt
downright dowdy next to the vacationers in the check-in line. But, cheered by
thoughts of getting to her room and soaking in a hot bubble bath until she
turned pruney, she managed to tough it out.

When her turn came, Stacey approached the hotel desk.

The immaculately coiffured clerk glanced up. “May I
help you?”

“I have a reservation. Under the name of, ummm, Parker.
Richard and Janie Parker.”

The woman frowned in concentration as she typed the names.
Then she beamed up at Stacey. “Oh! The honeymoon suite. How exciting for
you. Congratulations!”

“Thanks.”
Please just give me the key. Don’t
ask any questions
, Stacey prayed.
Please, please, please.

How like Janie it was to ask her, possibly the world’s worst
liar, to take her place at the hotel.

It would be a miracle if she weren’t found out before
sunset. The people at the hotel would tell Aunt Geraldine her niece had tried
to pawn off her wedding gift on somebody else, and she would get mad at Janie.
Janie, when she got back from the Bahamas with Richard, would get mad at Stacey
for bungling the whole thing. Before long, none of the family would be speaking
to each other.

For the sake of the promise she’d made to her cousin, Stacey
had to get through the weekend with her real identity undiscovered. She’d just
have to find a way to pull it off.

“Married.” The desk clerk sighed. Her eyes went
dreamy, just like Janie’s did when she spotted a shoe sale. “You must be
thrilled,” she chirped, going back to the terminal in front of her. “I
got married last June.”

Pushing buttons, she described her bridesmaid’s dresses, the
flowers, and the wedding toast the best man had made.

Stacey nodded and smiled, doing her best to gush right along
with her—without revealing her own
non
-bride status. It was just her
luck to be checked in by the hotel’s talkiest, cheeriest employee. A woman like
this was meant to work at Disneyland greeting little kids, not at one of Las
Vegas’s trendiest new resort hotels.

Still chattering, the woman rifled through a pile of room keycards.
She selected one and started handing it to Stacey. With her hand midway there,
she stopped.

“Oh, but you’ll need two keys, won’t you? Silly me.”
She grabbed another card. “But where’s the happy groom?”

She frowned toward the hotel’s entrance, then at the
conspicuously empty area surrounding the reservation desk.

“Oh, ahhh…”
Think, dummy
. Nothing came to
mind. Why hadn’t she planned for this question? Stacey gestured vaguely toward
the bank of glass doors leading outside. “He’s, ahhh—”

“Getting the rest of your luggage?” The clerk
waved her hand, smiling conspiratorially. “I always pack too much, too.
Mark—that’s my husband—well, he says you shouldn’t bring more than you can
carry yourself, but that’s ridiculous, don’t you think so? How would I ever
bring what I needed then?”

“Right,” Stacey agreed. Giving the woman what felt
like a completely inane grin, she nodded at the keycards. “I’d better just
go on up without him, I guess.”

“Oh!” The woman tittered. “Sorry. Here you
go!” She held out the keycards, then paused. “Shall I keep one here
for your husband to pick up?”

Since Stacey’s “husband” was strictly imaginary
and about as likely to turn up as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer….

“I’ll take both.” Stacey grabbed them. “I’m
trying to get a head start on my husband, since I’m planning a…surprise.”

“Ahhh. Say no more.” With a wide, woman-to-woman
grin, the clerk relinquished the keys. “Good luck with that. Oh, and don’t
forget to visit our special holiday buffet. All the food is red and green! And
the Holiday Extravaganza show is a must-see, too! The showgirls dress up in
Santa suits, and—don’t tell your hubby I told you this—the hunky holiday elves
are a real showstopper!”

The idea was mind-boggling. “Wow. And they say
Christmas doesn’t come to Las Vegas.”

“Oh, it definitely does. Enjoy!”

Making her getaway, Stacey scurried across the crowded
lobby. She passed a glittering display of Christmas ornaments, each at least
six feet in diameter. Everything really
was
bigger and fancier here, she
guessed. A Muzak rendition of “White Christmas” serenaded her in the
elevator. And on the fourteenth floor, one of those “hunky holiday elves”
got on and rode with her all the way to the top.

Yep, Christmas had come to Las Vegas, all right. So had
Stacey Ames, fresh from Phoenix and sans fake husband. Now all she had to do
was keep her head low and keep her real, non-bridal identity a secret until
check-out time.

Piece of fruitcake, she assured herself. How tough could it
possibly be?

“Quit worrying,” Dylan Davis said, speaking into
his cell phone with one hand and steering his Jeep through the bumper-to-bumper
Las Vegas traffic with the other. “I said I’ll handle it.”

On the other end of the line, his friend Richard sighed. “When
I asked you to do this, I didn’t know things had gone sour between you and
Stacey. Janie told me all about it. You—”

“Everything will be fine,” Dylan interrupted.
Ducking his head, he frowned through the windshield at the highway exit sign
overhead. “The Atmosphere, you said?”

“Yeah. Janie’s aunt booked us into the honeymoon suite
for the weekend as a wedding surprise.”