A Cinderella Story: Maid Under the Mistletoe / My Fair Billionaire / Second Chance with the CEO

“I brought more cookies.”

He turned in his chair to look at her, and even from across the room, he felt that now-familiar punch of awareness. Of heat. And he knew it was too late to leave.

At her smile, one eyebrow lifted and he asked, “More reindeer and Santas?”

That smile widened until it sparkled in her eyes. She walked toward him, carrying a tray that held the plate of cookies and two glasses of golden wine.

“This time we have snowmen and wreaths and—” she paused “—winter trees.”

He shook his head and sighed. It seemed she was determined to shove Christmas down his throat whether he liked it or not. “You’re relentless.”

Why did he like that about her?

“That’s been said before,” she told him and took her usual seat in the chair beside his. Setting the tray down on the table between them, she took a cookie then lifted her glass for a sip of wine.

“Really. Cookies and wine.”

“Separately, they’re both good,” she said, waving her cookie at the plate, challenging him to join her. “Together, they’re amazing.”

The cookies were good, Sam thought, reaching out to pick one up and bite in. All he’d had to do was close his eyes so he wasn’t faced with iced, sprinkled Santas and they were just cookies. “Good.”

“Thanks.” She sat back in the chair. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“What?”

“Talking to me.” She folded her legs up beneath her, took another sip of her wine and continued. “We’ve been sitting in this room together for five nights now and usually, the only voice I hear is my own.”

He frowned, took the wine and drank. Gave him an excuse for not addressing that remark. Of course, it was true, but that wasn’t the point. He hadn’t asked her to join him every night, had he? When she only looked at him, waiting, he finally said, “Didn’t seem to bother you any.”

“Oh, I don’t mind talking to myself—”

“No kidding.”

She grinned. “But it’s more fun talking to other people.”

Sam told himself not to notice how her hair shined golden in the firelight. How her eyes gleamed and her mouth curved as if she were always caught on the verge of a smile. His gaze dropped to the plain blue shirt she wore and how the buttons pulled across her chest. Her jeans were faded and soft, clinging to her legs as she curled up and got comfortable. Red polish decorated her toes. Why that gave him a quick, hot jolt, he couldn’t have said.

Everything in him wanted to pull her out of that chair, wrap his arms around her and take her tantalizing mouth in a kiss that would sear both of them. And why, he asked himself, did he suddenly feel like a cheating husband? Because since Dani, no other woman had pulled at him like this. And even as he wanted Joy, he hated that he wanted her. The cookie turned to chalk in his mouth and he took a sip of wine to wash it down.

“Okay, someone just had a dark thought,” she mused.

“Stay out of my head,” Sam said, slanting her a look.

Feeling desire didn’t mean that he welcomed it. Life had been—not easier—but more clear before Joy walked into his house. He’d known who he was then. A widower. A father without a child. And he’d wrapped himself up in memories designed to keep him separate from a world he wasn’t interested in anyway.

Yet now, after less than a week, he could feel those layers of insulation peeling away and he wasn’t sure how to stop it or even if he wanted to. The shredding of his cloak of invisibility was painful and still he couldn’t stop it.

Dinner with Joy and Holly had tripped him up, too, and he had a feeling she’d known it would. If he’d been smart, he would have walked out of the room as soon as he’d seen them at the table. But one look into Joy’s and Holly’s eyes had ended that idea before it could begin. So instead of having his solitary meal, he’d been part of a unit—and for a few minutes, he’d enjoyed it. Listening to Holly’s excited chatter, sharing knowing looks with Joy. Then, of course, he remembered that Joy and Holly weren’t his. And that was what he had to keep in mind.

Taking another drink of the icy wine, he shifted his gaze to the fire. Safer to look into the flames than to stare at the deep blue of her eyes. “Yeah,” he said, finally responding to her last statement, “I don’t really talk to people anymore.”

“No kidding.” She threw his earlier words back at him, and Sam nodded at the jab.

“Kaye tends to steer clear of me most of the time.”

“Kaye doesn’t like talking to people, either,” Joy said, laughing. “You two are a match made in heaven.”

“There’s a thought,” he muttered.

She laughed again, and the sound of it filled every empty corner of the room. It was both balm and torture to hear it, to know he wanted to hear it. How was it possible that she’d made such an impact on him in such a short time? He hadn’t even noticed her worming her way past his defenses until it was impossible to block her.

“So,” she asked suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts, “any idea where I can find a puppy?”

“No,” he said shortly, then decided there was no reason to bark at her because he was having trouble dealing with her. He looked at her. “I don’t know people around here.”

“See, you should,” she said, tipping her head to one side to look at him. “You’ve lived here five years, Sam.”

“I didn’t move here for friends.” He came to the mountains to find the peace that still eluded him.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t make some.” Sighing, she turned her head to the flames. “If you did know people, you could help me on the puppy situation.” Shaking her head, she added, “I’ve got her princess dolls and a fairy princess dress and the other small things she asked for. The puppy worries me.”

He didn’t want to think about children’s Christmas dreams. Sam remembered another child dictating letters to Santa and waking to the splendor of Christmas morning. And through the pain he also recalled how he and his wife had worked to make those dreams come true for their little boy. So, though he hated it, he said, “You could get her a stuffed puppy with a note that Santa will bring her the real thing as soon as the puppy’s ready for a new home.”

She tipped her head to one side and studied him, a wide smile on her face. God, when she smiled, her eyes shone and something inside him fisted into knots.

“A note from Santa himself? That’s a good idea. I think Holly would love that he’s going to make a special trip just for her.” Clearly getting into it, she continued, “I could make up a certificate or something. You know—” she deepened her voice for dramatic effect “—this is to certify that Holly Curran will be receiving a puppy from Santa as soon as the puppy is ready for a home.” Wrinkling her brow, she added thoughtfully, “Maybe I could draw a Christmas border on the paper and we could frame it for her—you know, with Santa’s signature—and hang it in her bedroom. It could become an heirloom, something she passes down to her kids.”

He shrugged, as if it meant nothing, but in his head, he could see Holly’s excitement at a special visit from Santa after Christmas. But once December was done, he wouldn’t be seeing Joy or Holly again, so he wouldn’t know how the Santa promise went, would he? Frowning to himself, he tried to ignore the ripple of regret that swept through him.

“Okay, I am not responsible for your latest frown.”

“What?” He turned his head to look at her again.

She laughed shortly. “Nothing. So, what’d you work on today?”

“Seriously?” Usually she just launched into a monologue.

“Well, you’re actually speaking tonight,” she said with a shrug, “so I thought I’d ask a question that wasn’t rhetorical.”

“Right.” Shaking his head, he said, “I’m starting a new project.”

“Another table?”

“No.”

“Talking,” she acknowledged, “but still far from chatty.”

“Men are not chatty.”