Once Upon a Christmas (39 page)

He slapped a receipt on her day planner page.

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.” She
overrode his actions with faster talking. “You—you…”

Her voice faltered and stopped as Dylan added another
receipt to the pile.

“Aunt Geraldine paid for the hotel, but everything else
was my doing,” he said harshly. “I knew you’d be here, and I took
advantage of the situation to try to win you back.”

Stacey’s mouth dropped open. Her gaze locked on his, filled
with surprise and dawning belief. She glanced at the growing pile of receipts,
then lifted one in her trembling fingers.

“The Renaissance,” she read. “Tickets for the
dinner show.” She picked up the next. “Mini-golf passes, arranged by
Las Vegas Travel. Massage package, hotel extras…”

The receipts drifted to the floor, and pain drained the
color from her face. Her eyes, when she looked at him, filled with tears. “All
lies?”

Dylan’s throat ached, making it hard to speak. “I
already checked out by remote. As far as the hotel is concerned—and Aunt Geraldine—Richard
and Janie had a fabulous honeymoon.” His hands fisted and flexed, wanting
to touch her and ease her pain somehow, but it was too late. He was the one who’d
caused it. “Your honeymoon charade is safe.”

Stacey’s tears shimmered and fell. “Damn you, Dylan.”

He closed his eyes.
You did the right thing, the only
thing
, he told himself.

It didn’t matter. All he wanted was her.

He heard the phone being replaced quietly in its cradle,
heard suitcases snapping shut. He sensed her presence, her warmth, in front of
him…almost as though she’d reached out to touch him and withdrawn her hand at
the last moment.

“Goodbye,” Stacey whispered.

The next sound Dylan heard was the door closing behind her,
leaving him more alone than he’d ever been.

He’d lost her.

They’d lost each other.

Chapter Ten

“I heard from Aunt Geraldine this morning.”

At the sound of Janie’s voice, Stacey looked up from her
miserable contemplation of her first peppermint mocha of the morning, glad to
have company at the Phoenix café she and her cousin both frequented. Janie
chugged toward her across the holiday-decorated outdoor seating area, waving a
packet of something and grinning her elfin smile.

Elfin. It was the only way to describe pert, petite Janie,
with her black pixie-cut hair, tilting green eyes and penchant for gauzy,
pastel-colored dresses. Reaching Stacey’s table, Janie dropped her purse, an
eggnog latte, and a slew of shopping bags packed with wrapped Christmas gifts,
before settling in.

“You did?” Stacey asked. “You heard from Aunt
Geraldine? She must have gotten your thank-you letter, then. What did she say?”

Please say she said nothing about the honeymoon charade.

She held her breath, waiting for the verdict. It had been
almost a week since she’d returned home, and a day and a half since Janie had
returned from her
real
honeymoon.

It had been the longest five days of her life.

“She said she was glad Richard and I had a good time.”
Janie winked, then opened the packet she’d brought and slipped out a stack of
glossy photos. She handed the bundle to Stacey. “Pictures. Of our Bahamas
trip. I just picked them up on my way here.”

“Thanks.” Stacey shuffled through them, watching
images of a smiling Janie and Richard slide through her fingers—on the beach,
at their hotel, boating on the ocean, looking honeymoonish and carefree. Envy
stabbed through her.
That could have been you and Dylan
. Better not to
think about what might have been.

“That’s all she said?” Stacey asked instead. “Nothing
else?”

“Aunt Geraldine? There was more, but don’t worry.”
Janie waved her fingers. “She doesn’t know our secret.” She sipped
her eggnog latte, then stirred it with a sobered expression. “I’m sorry to
put you in such a spot, Stace. I was desperate. You know that. Otherwise—”

“It’s okay. Everything worked out, so, so—”

So, suddenly, she couldn’t go on
. To her horror,
Stacey burst into tears. Shaking, she realized she couldn’t quit crying,
either, and bawled harder.

“Hon, hon—what’s the matter?” Janie asked,
wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Stacey leaned shamelessly into her, grateful for her
tear-hiding sunglasses. Everyone at the café might hear her blubbering away,
but at least people driving by in their cars with their windows rolled up
wouldn’t
see
her doing it. At the thought of the public spectacle she
was making over herself, she wailed harder. This was so unlike her.

Janie handed her a scratchy paper napkin. “Blow,”
she ordered. “Can you tell me what’s the matter?”

She shook her head and snuffled into the napkin. “I—I—”

“Is it Dylan?”

The world got waterier. Stacey took off her sunglasses and
swabbed at her eyes with another napkin, nodding.

“That rat! I knew it.” Janie stabbed her coffee
stirrer in her cup with a vicious frown. “I’ll kill him.” She brushed
back Stacey’s hair and set their foreheads together, looking into her eyes. “Or
would you rather have him maimed?”

Janie’s loyalty pushed a feeble-feeling grin onto Stacey’s
face. Trying to take her mind off her troubles, she fumbled to put the Bahamas
pictures back in the envelope so they wouldn’t get soggy. She took a deep,
shuddering breath, then shook her head.

“Okay, not maimed, I guess. You big softie.” Janie
smiled wickedly. “Financially ruined? Publicly humiliated? He deserves it
for hurting you.” She squeezed her hand. “You just tell me what you
want, hon, and I’ll make sure you get it.”

Stacey thought over the past lonely days, remembered her
weekend with Dylan and everything they’d shared. It had felt so real, so right,
between them.

“All I want is Dylan,” she said sadly.

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.