'Tis the Season to Kiss Santa (Entangled Indulgence) (2 page)

Janet bit her lip. “I just checked online. Apparently it’s a freak snowstorm.”

And everyone here at the party except her had a family to get home to, Ellie thought. It wouldn’t matter if it took her ten times as long to get back to her godmother’s house, because she only had herself to think about. But it would make a huge difference to everyone else. “Janet, tell everyone to go home. I’ll clear up.”

“You can’t possibly do it all on your own.” Janet shook her head. “It’ll take you
ages
.”

“It’s fine, really. Go home now, before the snow gets any worse.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Janet looked doubtful.

“I’m sure,” Ellie said with a smile.

“Thank you. And for all your help today. You’ve really done Betty proud. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Ellie echoed with a smile. Though hers was going to be quiet, rather than merry. Her first Christmas in America. Her first Christmas on her own.

As parents collected their children one by one from the party, Ellie focused on clearing up. The paper plates all went into a rubbish bag, and she put the remaining nibbles on a tray ready to take through to the nursing staff.

“What’s next on the list of things to do?” a voice said beside her.

She looked up to see the stand-in Santa. “I thought you’d gone.”

“I just changed out of my costume. I didn’t think it would be right for the kids to see the man in red cleaning up. Where’s everyone else?”

“I sent them home.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because it’s started snowing and I didn’t want them to be stuck here when they need to be at home.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.” She brushed his concern aside with a polite smile.

“Okay.” He glanced around the room and gestured to the broom propped against the wall. “Do you want me to sweep the floor?”

Oh. So he’d actually meant it about helping. “Yes, please. Though this isn’t in the job description.”

“Well, hey, I can’t let Santa’s Chief Elf down, can I?” He actually smiled then—and Ellie discovered that he was breathtaking when he did. He had a mouth that promised sin and made her libido sit up and start begging.

Which was so inappropriate. They were clearing up from a children’s party. She shouldn’t be thinking about Santa and how attractive he was. For all she knew, he could be married, or at least with someone. Though, she thought, given how wary he’d been with the children at first, she was pretty sure he didn’t have kids of his own.

No. Nothing was going to happen. She was in America to help her godmother and to get her head together, not to start fantasizing about the first man who’d smiled at her.

Between them they made short work of clearing up, and he helped her carry the leftover party food to the nursing staff.

They walked to the entrance of the hospice together, and Ellie stood there, shocked by the drifts of white that confronted them. The last time she’d looked out of the window, huge flakes had been falling, but it had only just been starting to settle. Now, every surface was covered in snow. “Wow. I didn’t think you’d get that much snow in Philadelphia.”

“It varies. Some winters, you get a sprinkle of snow; others, you get a major snowstorm. Obviously this is a snowstorm year.” Stand-in Santa looked at her. “How are you getting home, Chief Elf?”

“I’m taking the bus.” Provided she could actually find the bus stop.

“The bus?” He looked at her as if she had two heads.

“I have a driving license, but I’m used to a right-hand-drive car, so I haven’t borrowed my godmother’s car,” she explained. “I got a lift here with Sally—she does the deliveries for my godmother.”

“I’ll check the timetable for you. Which line do you need?” She told him and he checked his cell phone. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it seems the buses aren’t running. The snow’s brought everything to a stop.”

She shrugged. “Then it looks as if I’ll have to walk.” It was a pity she didn’t have her Wellingtons with her. She might get a bit cold and wet, and it’d take her a long time to walk back to Betty’s house, but her shoes were flat and had a decent grip, so she probably wouldn’t fall over and hurt herself.

“Where are you going?”

She told him the neighborhood.

He shook his head. “You can’t possibly walk all that way. Look, my car’s just over here. I’ll give you a lift.”

She could see how thickly the snow was lying in the roads, and there wasn’t a single car actually driving through the streets. He hadn’t been exaggerating about everything coming to a standstill. “Thanks, but I don’t think it’d be a good idea to drive in this.”

“I’ve driven in worse. You just need to take it sensibly and slowly. Come on, let’s get going before the snow gets any deeper.”

Ellie thought about it. She didn’t know him from Adam—and he wasn’t the man she’d expected to arrive as Santa. Then again, Santa had been expecting Betty, so she supposed that made them even.

She
wanted
to trust him.

But she was nearly four thousand miles away from home, and the only people she really knew in the city… Well, one of them was stuck in a hospital bed. The others, she’d have to check the employee records back at the bakery to find out where they actually lived.

As if he guessed her worries, he said softly, “I should’ve introduced myself properly earlier. My name’s Mitch Carter. I work at Holford PR with C.J. Holford—the guy who was supposed to be Santa. You can look me up on the Internet if you want to make sure I’m who I say I am before you get in my car.”

He sounded plausible enough. And she felt mean for actually checking. But the last time she’d taken someone on trust, it had ended in tears. Hers. So was it so bad to want to play it safe this time?

He didn’t seem to mind waiting the few seconds while she looked up the firm on her cell phone and checked its website.

And there was his name, right underneath his picture. Mitch Carter.

He’d told her the truth.

She bit her lip. “Sorry.”

He spread his hands. “Don’t be. It’s always sensible to take precautions. Especially in a city you don’t know.”

“I’m Ellie Brown. Betty’s goddaughter. Well, you knew that bit.”

They shook hands, and she felt as if she’d been galvanized when his skin touched hers. She hadn’t reacted to someone like that in years, not even to Jeff. It made her want to run, yet it also made her want to stay and find out more about him.

She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her feel that flustered. It ought to worry her, yet little flickers of excitement were running down her spine.

“What’s the address?” he asked.

She told him. “Look, if it’s out of your way…”

“It is, a bit,” he admitted. “But I think the real Santa would take a dim view of me leaving his Chief Elf to her own devices. So I’m driving you home. No arguments.”

She could see that Mitch was used to taking charge. That moment in the hospice when he’d seemed lost and vulnerable clearly wasn’t a common occurrence.

“Okay. Thank you.” She followed him over to his car. She’d been half-expecting some flashy sports car to go with his designer clothes, but it was a dark gray sedan. A little more serious than she’d expected, though the inside was incredibly comfortable, all plush leather seats and glossy wood paneling.

“Very posh,” she said with a smile. This was the kind of car she’d never be able to afford.

He shrugged. “It was a good deal. And it’s good to drive.”

And that was that line of conversation exhausted, she thought. “Thank you for the lift.”

“No problem.”

Chapter Three

Mitch put Ellie’s address into his GPS and drove off. He couldn’t quite believe he was actually doing this. The atmosphere at the hospice must have affected him more than he thought. He was never deliberately rude to people, but he wouldn’t normally get involved, either. The way he’d grown up had taught him to keep himself separate. So why had he offered to drive a complete stranger home, in some of the worst weather conditions he’d seen in a while?

He had to admit that Ellie Brown intrigued him. And, given that she was the first woman in a long time who’d made him feel this way, Mitch wanted to work out just what it was about her that drew him.

He stole a brief glance. Now that she’d taken off her elf hat, he could see that her hair was a mass of red corkscrew curls. He itched to wind one around his finger and see if her hair was as soft as it looked. It was just as well that he was driving with both hands otherwise occupied.

“So what’s a Brit doing in Philadelphia?” he asked.

“Helping out. My godmother just had an operation for a hip replacement, so I’m looking after the bakery for her. Well, and obviously stepping in for her at the party today.”

That surprised him. C.J. had sounded impressed by Betty. So how come she’d had to call in help from a different continent? “And you were the nearest one to help? Four thousand miles away?”

Ellie shrugged. “I guess so.”

“She doesn’t have kids?”

“Not any more. Robin would’ve been the same age as me, but—well.” She gave an awkward grimace. “He’s why she caters the Christmas party at the hospice every year.”

He nodded. “So my boss told me. I’m sorry.”

“I assume your boss is Santa for the same reason?”

“Yeah. This time of year is rough on him.”

“Putting flowers on a grave instead of enjoying the holiday season together. It’s the same for Betty. And such a shame that she didn’t have any more children, because she would’ve made such a great mum.”

There was a wistfulness in Ellie’s tone that made him wonder if she was talking about herself, too. She was, what, nearly thirty? A couple of years younger than him. The age when a lot of women of his acquaintance started to hear their biological clocks ticking.

Not that it was any of his business.

Even so, he couldn’t help asking, “So your partner doesn’t mind you being away for Christmas?”

“No partner.” Her voice was very cool.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Though Mitch knew that wasn’t the whole truth. He found her attractive, from that stunning hair to those soft gray eyes to that cute, sexy British accent. In other circumstances, he might’ve asked her out to dinner—once he’d made it clear that he was offering just for fun and not forever. He didn’t do long-term relationships.

“Of course you weren’t. It’s natural to be curious. Why would someone travel thousands of miles away from their family at this time of year?” She shrugged. “I love Betty. She’s my godmother and she needed someone to step in and help. Of course I was going to offer.”

“So you’ve taken annual leave from your job?” he asked.

“Not exactly. I’m between jobs right now.”

So money was probably tight—yet she’d still flown over here from England. And, from the little he knew of Ellie, he was pretty sure that she would’ve insisted on paying her own way. “What did you do in your last job?”

“I was a pastry chef.”

He thought about it. “So that means you make the desserts, right?”

“Yes, and cakes. It’s the best job in the world.”

The smile her heard in her voice told him that she meant it. So the fact that she was between jobs didn’t make sense. From what he’d seen of her at the party, she was efficient and she wasn’t afraid of hard work, so he couldn’t imagine an employer letting her go. “Why did you quit?”

“Because the co-owner of my restaurant bought me out.”

Something clipped in her tone told him that she hadn’t wanted to be bought out. Time to back off. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m being oversensitive. Ignore me. What about you? What do you do?”

“I work in PR.”

“Oh, right. Holford PR. You know, when I first saw you I thought you were in media or finance. It’s your suit,” she explained when he raised an eyebrow. “It’s like the ones worn by the kind of people I used to cater for.”

“You catered functions?” he asked.

“Sometimes. But, actually, I meant the long business lunches and the red wine.”

He laughed. “That’s all in the past. Nowadays it’s a sandwich at your desk with a bottle of water, and you’ll be catching up on e-mails as you eat.”

“So that was your dream when you were a kid? To be a PR man?”

“Maybe.” Mitch couldn’t remember his dreams as a kid. Other than the need to get away as soon as he could. “Was that your dream—to be a pastry chef?”

“Yes. I always loved cooking, but especially cakes and desserts. I loved it when Betty came over to stay with us in the summer. She taught me how to make a proper gingerbread house.” Ellie smiled. “I made one for her to take into the hospital with her earlier this week.”

It didn’t surprise him. He’d already worked out that she was the sort who’d think of others.

He parked in the street as close to her place as he could. It looked as if it was one of the traditional Philadelphia row houses: three stories, with a flat roof and a bay window on the ground floor.

“I guess this is home, then,” he said.

“Yes. Well, my godmother’s.” She looked out of the window. “The snow’s getting worse. I didn’t see a snowplow all the way here, and I don’t like to think of you driving in this. Why don’t you come in for a while and wait it out? It’ll give the snowplows time to come and sort out the roads and make them safer for you to drive on later.”

What she said made perfect common sense—but it also gave Mitch an odd feeling. He wasn’t used to anyone being concerned about him. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“My family’s all in London and my godmother’s in hospital. I don’t have any plans other than visiting her tomorrow, so you’re no inconvenience to me.”

She wrinkled her nose. It was incredibly cute, and it made Mitch want to lean over and kiss her.

He stopped himself.

Just.

“Though I guess you need to get in touch with your family to let them know where you are and that you’re okay,” she said. “They’ll be worrying about you.”

No, they wouldn’t. He’d been gone too long. He shook his head. “There’s nobody to worry about me.”

“Nobody? But—won’t you be seeing your family or friends for Christmas?”

“Not everyone celebrates Christmas.”

She flushed deeply, looking mortified. “Oh, no. What with you being Santa, I made the wrong assumption. I’m sorry. Obviously you’re Jewish.”

“No, I’m not Jewish. I just don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Why not?”

“Just call me Ebenezer,” he said lightly.

“Ebenezer Scrooge wouldn’t help out at a kids’ party and donate the gifts,” she pointed out, frowning.

He couldn’t take credit that definitely wasn’t due. “I helped out because my boss asked me to, and he’s the one who paid for the gifts.”

“Even so. Scrooge still would’ve said no.”

“I just don’t like Christmas. I don’t have particularly good memories of it when I was growing up.” The words came out before could stop them.

Unbelievable.

She was practically a stranger and here he was, spilling his guts to her.

Big mistake. He needed to get going. Like
now
.

And yet there was no pity in her face when she looked at him. Just warmth and understanding. “I apologize for being pushy and nosy. Come in and have some coffee and warm up.”

He should say no. Make an excuse. Drive away as fast as the snow would let him.

But there was something about her he couldn’t resist, and he found himself saying thank you, locking his car, and following her into the house.

She ushered him through to the kitchen, put the kettle on, and started preheating the oven. Then she rummaged in the fridge, took out a roll of gingerbread dough, and in a flash she’d cut a few slices off and put them on a tray and they were baking in the oven.

“Given that you’re a pastry chef, I’m not going to be rude and suggest that’s store-bought dough you keep in there,” Mitch said lightly.

“No, I made it this morning. That’s part of the batch I’m planning to cook tomorrow before I visit Aunt Betty—something for the nurses on duty.” She shook coffee grounds into a French press and made two mugs of coffee. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Neither, thanks.”

She added a lot of milk to one mug, and handed him the other. “Would you excuse me for a moment while I change out of the elf costume?”

“Sure.”

“Take a seat in the living room. I’ll bring the gingerbread through when I’m dressed.”

Mitch wandered into the hallway and sipped his coffee while Ellie headed up the stairs. A mistletoe ball hung from the ceiling on a red ribbon, and he was tempted to linger there, so the Chief Elf might take the hint and kiss Santa underneath the mistletoe.

He smiled wryly. That would be pushing her too far. And hadn’t she suggested that he wait for her in the living room? He went through the doorway to the living room and discovered that it faced onto the street. The huge Christmas tree in one corner was a real one rather than artificial, and the decorations on the branches were perfectly arranged. Mitch was pretty sure they were homemade rather than store-bought, just as he was sure that either Ellie or Betty had made the evergreen garland draped along the mantelpiece. There were dozens of cards on display, too.

How different from his own flat. He never bothered with Christmas trimmings, and he left the cards in a bowl on the sideboard.

The contrast made him feel odd, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.

A few minutes later, Ellie came in wearing faded jeans and a thin sweater. Santa’s Chief Elf definitely had curves, he thought.

She put the plate of gingerbread on the coffee table. “Help yourself,” she said.

Funny how he suddenly felt nervous.

At least eating gingerbread meant that he wouldn’t have to talk. “Thanks,” he said, and took one. It was still warm from the oven, and as he took a bite he discovered that he hadn’t eaten anything this good in a long while.

“These are seriously good,” he said, taking a second.

“Thanks. So did you enjoy the party in the end?” she asked.

No. It had brought some uncomfortable truths home. Not that he wanted to tell her that. “It brings home how lucky we are.”

“But you didn’t enjoy being Santa.”

She obviously wasn’t fooled. “No. But I agreed to do it and I wasn’t going to let C.J. down.”

“Is he your friend as well as your boss?”

He didn’t really have friends. Acquaintances, yes, but he didn’t let people get that close to him. “I guess,” he said, as neutrally as he could.

She went over to the window and looked outside. “The snow’s slowing.”

He joined her. True, the blizzard appeared to be on its way out—but in the few minutes since they’d left his car, the snow was much deeper. And, more to the point, there was no sign of a snowplow having passed.

She clearly saw it, too, because she said, “No way can you drive in that. You’d better stay overnight.”

“I can’t impose on you like that.”

“You’re not imposing. You’re stuck. And that’s my fault for suggesting you wait it out.” She shrugged. “Though we hardly ever get snow like this in London, and when we do the city is always out clearing the roads pretty quickly.”

“We don’t often get it like this in Philly,” he admitted. “If we don’t get a thaw, you’re not going to get to see your godmother tomorrow.”

“And you’re going to end up having Christmas dinner here.” She bit her lip. “Though I’m afraid I don’t have a turkey in the fridge. I wasn’t expecting to cook tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to cook for me, Ellie.”

“Yes, I do. You’re my guest. Plus it’s my fault you’re in this mess.”

“It was my decision to accept your invitation for coffee,” he pointed out. “I’m just sorry I’m inconveniencing you.”

“You’re not.” She looked wistfully out at the snow. “I’ve not seen snow this deep in years. I always wanted to make a snow angel when I was a kid, but I never managed to get it to work.”

“Let’s do one now.” Mitch shocked himself when the words came out of his mouth—this so wasn’t the kind of thing his workaholic self did—but something about her made him want to do this. To have fun. “Let’s make a snow angel.”

She surveyed him and shook her head. “You can’t make a snow angel in that suit, and I think Aunt Betty gave all of Uncle Donald’s clothes to charity after he died—so I’ve got no clothes to fit you.”

“Who says I can’t make a snow angel in this suit?” he asked.

“Because it’s expensive and you’ll ruin it.”

“It’s only a little snow—and it’s been years since I made a snow angel.” The same year that he’d learned Santa didn’t exist. Though he wasn’t that scared little boy anymore. He was a man, and he could do anything he chose.

“Are you serious? You’d really make a snow angel with me?”

“Absolutely.”

He was rewarded with another of those smiles that lit up the room. And he almost—almost—gave in to the temptation to pull her into his arms in the hallway and kiss her underneath the mistletoe. But he followed her out to the kitchen; she unlocked the back door, and they went into the garden.

She stood there with her arms outstretched. “On the count of three?”

He nodded, and adopted the same pose. “One, two, three…” He let himself fall backward, then moved his arms up and down and his legs akimbo and back again, making a snow angel. He glanced to one side and she was doing the same, looking as thrilled as the younger children had looked when they’d seen him in his Santa suit.