Once Upon a Christmas (15 page)

The doorbell chimed. Great—somebody was early. Holly would
lay odds it was her mother. She stared toward the living room, frozen. So did
Sam.

“Do you want me to get that while you go change?”

Considering the idea, Holly examined his naked chest, dark
cotton boxer shorts, and bare feet. A burble of hysterical laughter stuck in
her throat. “My mother would have a heart attack if you answered my front
door looking like that.”

Ding…DING!

“Okay,” Sam said. “I’ve got a plan. I’ll get
dressed, go buy a loaf of bread, and sneak it back in. Nobody will ever know.”

Feeling desperate, Holly nodded.

“Cover me.” Grinning, Sam ducked so he wouldn’t be
seen from the windows overlooking the front porch and headed toward his
bedroom.

Once he’d vanished down the hallway, Holly decided it was
safe to open the door. “Mom!”

“Hi, sweetie.” Linda Aldridge dropped her
cigarette and crushed it beneath the two-inch curved heel of her navy spectator
pumps. Smiling, she enveloped her daughter in a Giorgio-scented,
bracelet-clinking hug. “I hope I’m not too early.”

“Maybe just a few minutes,” Holly replied, smiling
apologetically. Somehow she never felt quite ready for her mother. Out of the
corner of her eye, she saw Sam’s head peek around the hallway corner.
Frantically, Holly waved him back.

Her mother glanced at Holly’s shorts and T-shirt. “It
must be so liberating not to feel as if you have to get all fixed up for
company. You girls all look so wonderfully casual these days.”

Loosely translated,
whatever possessed you to put on that
pile of rags?

Holly glanced down, too. “I haven’t had a chance to
change yet. I’ll just be a minute. Why don’t you help yourself to a cup of
coffee while you wait?”

“Nonsense. I’ll help with brunch.”

Her mother headed for the kitchen, leaving Holly staring at
her impeccably dressed back. There was a series of thumps—her briefcase,
cigarette case, and cell phone hitting the countertop.

“You’re lucky I got here before the rest of your
guests,” she called. “It looks as though you still have a lot to do.”

Holly hurried to the hallway. “The coast’s clear,”
she whispered to Sam, grabbing a handful of his sleeve to urge him into the
living room. They got partway to the front door before the click-click of her
mother’s heels on the kitchen linoleum stopped them. Holly shoved Sam back into
the hallway just as her mother appeared beneath the kitchen archway.

“Didn’t you hear me? I was wondering what you want me
to do with this?” She held out a sauté pan filled with shrunken, black,
inedible-looking disks. They were still sizzling.

Holly leaned against the hallway arch, blocking it with her
body. “Err…throw it out, I guess. It used to be the Canadian bacon.”

Sam whispered, “I’ll get bacon, too.”

“Shhh,”
she hissed under her breath. She
smiled at her mother, spreading her arms wider in case Sam was peeking around
the corner again. “I think I’ve got more someplace. I’ll, umm…be right
there to help, okay?”

Wrinkling her nose, Linda returned to the kitchen.

Holly ducked into the hall and grabbed Sam’s sleeve. “Hurry.
Now’s your chance.”

He leaned against the wall for a minute, arms crossed,
seeming almost as if he was enjoying himself.

“You look wonderfully casual to me, too,” he
mimicked, grinning down at her shorts and T-shirt.

Holly remembered she wasn’t even wearing a bra, never mind
nice clothes. She clapped her hands over her chest.

Sam pulled her to him and gave her a fast kiss. “Back
in a minute,” he said, and was gone before she could say a word.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam hadn’t returned, and Holly was on
the verge of strangling her mother with a length of sparkly garland. So far,
her mother had offered advice on how to best scramble eggs, brew coffee, wrap
gifts, and choose a car insurance company. She was in the middle of writing the
name of a good hairdresser on the back of one of her business cards when the doorbell
rang.

“Sorry, got to get that.” With relief, Holly
bolted to the doorway to let Clarissa and David in.

It was Sam.

“What are you doing ringing the doorbell?”
Frantically, Holly looked toward the kitchen.

Her mother, thankfully oblivious to them, was humming and
rearranging the place settings on the banquette table. Holly went outside and
closed the door behind her. She stood nose-to-chest with Sam on the porch’s
candy-cane-print doormat.

“Would you believe I’m the grocery delivery boy? You
can just tip me whatever you think my services are worth.” Sam winked,
lifting the brown paper sack in his arms.

Holly didn’t feel much like kidding around. “What if my
mother had answered the door and seen all those groceries?”

“What if she had?”

“She’d have known I can’t even manage brunch for four
people, that’s what.” She grabbed for the sack.

Sam held onto it. “So? She’s your mom, not an
entertainment critic. She’s not going to care if you forgot the bread.”

“You don’t know my mother.” Holly sucked in a
deep, calming breath. “Thanks for getting this.”

“You’re welcome. Need anything else?”

“Yes. Just once I need to have my mother
not
criticize everything I do. Kidding,” she added upon seeing the look on Sam’s
face. “She’s not that bad. What I really need is to get this stuff inside
without being seen.”

Pausing, Holly thought about it for a second. “I’ll go
inside and get my mom away from the kitchen somehow. Just give me a minute or
two, then bring everything inside, okay?”

Sam squinted at her, probably wishing he’d had more coffee
before being forced to deal with her family. “Are you sure this is
necessary?”

She nodded. “Thanks, Sam. You don’t know what this
means to me.” With another deep breath for courage, she headed back
inside.

Sam had a pretty good idea what it meant to Holly, despite
wishing he didn’t. After hearing her conversation with her mother, he was
starting to understand why she was so persnickety about everything. She was
trying to make everything she did mistake-proof. Trying to get the jump on her
mother’s constant criticism.

Shouldering the grocery sack, Sam counted to one hundred,
then cautiously opened the front door. All clear. He started toward the
kitchen. Halfway there, the doorbell chimed loudly enough to make his left
eardrum go numb.

He was standing beneath the old-fashioned doorbell chimes
mounted near the ceiling. Sam whipped open the door.

Clarissa and David looked at him, then at the sack he was
holding. “Is that a door prize?” Clarissa asked with a teasing grin, “or
did Holly finally kick you out for leaving your socks in the refrigerator one
too many times?”

David chuckled. He and Clarissa were a perfect match. He
actually seemed to think his wife’s jokes were funny.

“It was just that one time,” Sam said. “I set
them down while I was getting a beer.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He couldn’t believe Holly had actually told someone about
the sock incident.

“Get used to it, Sam,” David put in. “I don’t
have any secrets left.”

“Holly really told you about that?”

“Holly tells me
all
about you.” Clarissa sauntered
inside, sniffing. “Is Holly’s mom here already? I thought I smelled that
ritzy perfume of hers when we were coming up the walk.”

“She’s here, all right.” Sam carried the groceries
to the kitchen. Clarissa and David followed. “She’s making Holly crazy.”

“That’s what mothers are for,” came the sound of
an evenly modulated voice behind him. A voice belonging to Holly’s mother, Sam
assumed.

They all turned to face Linda Aldridge. Standing on the
other side of the built-in bar, she looked like an older, brittler version of
Holly, with auburn helmet hair, a lot of careful makeup, and a slick business
suit. She said hello to Clarissa and David, then smiled and came around the bar
to meet Sam.

“Isn’t it a mother’s job to watch out for her child?”
She offered him a bejeweled handshake—and a quick once-over. “I don’t
think we’ve met. I’m Linda Aldridge, Holly’s mother. And you’re…?”

Sam glanced behind her, where Holly stood watching.

“I’m Sam McKenzie. Clarissa’s cousin.” He juggled
the grocery sack to accept her handshake. “I hope you don’t mind me
crashing the party. I offered to…ah, cook.”

Holly’s eyes widened. She shook her head.

“My, isn’t that enlightened? It’s nice to meet you,
Stan.”

“Sam.”

“Of course. Silly me.” Linda put both hands
together and tilted her head. “Why don’t we all go in the other room and
give Sam here room to work?” she suggested.

“He’s not the caterer, Mom.”

“Oh.”

Sam bit back a grin. Now he understood why Holly was
concerned about being dressed up enough for her mother’s visit.

Holly hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want some
help, Sam?”
Please let me help,
her expression said.

He shook his head. The least he could do was let Holly off
the hook in case the French toast tasted like soggy cardboard and wrecked her
brunch party. “Leave it all up to me.”

The women—except for Holly—beamed at him.

“I think it will be nice to be catered to by a man, for
a change,” Linda said, smiling. Clarissa agreed. Holly groaned.

“You ladies go on,” David put in with a subtle
lift of his chest. “We men will take care of you.”

Sam didn’t want to raise expectations too high, so he only
smiled encouragingly. Once the women had disappeared into the living room, he
turned to David. And gave him a shove.

“Are you nuts? ‘We
men
will take care of you’?”
He smacked his hand on his forehead, then winced. “I’ve got the hangover
of the week—thanks to you, by the way—and you’re going on as if we’re culinary
geniuses, here. Have you ever made French toast before?”

David shrugged. “How hard can it be? I’ve watched Clarissa
do it.”

Scowling, Sam upended the grocery sack. Two loaves of Wonder
bread and a pound of bacon fell on the countertop. The selection at the
mini-market on the corner wasn’t the greatest, but it was at least close by.

“As for the hangover,” David continued, “I’m
not the one who poured all those beers down your throat last night.” He
gave Sam a sympathetic look. “Did you talk to Holly when you got home,
like you said you were going to?”

“No. The timing wasn’t right.”

It never would be right, as long as Holly was hung up on
making things work with Brad. After she’d left for her romantic dinner with him
at Francie’s, Sam had rambled around for a while in the empty house, trying not
to wonder what they were doing together. It had taken him about five minutes to
realize he needed a stronger dose of distraction. Somehow he’d wound up in a
bar downtown until after midnight, spilling his guts to David.

“The timing wasn’t right?” David shook his head. “You’ve
got to go after what you want, Sam. Grab Holly and make her forget about Brad.
Make her yours, man. Tame her!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “She’s a woman, not a wild horse.
Does Clarissa know about these caveman episodes of yours?”

“Are you kidding? She’d probably kick my ass if she
heard me say that.” David laughed and took a carton of eggs from the
refrigerator. “The point is, Holly and Brad together were about as hot as
day-old bread. He treated her more like a roommate than you do, if you catch my
drift. Like a business partner. That guy’s cold. I don’t know why she can’t see
it.”

Sam unwrapped the polka-dotted Wonder bread package and
stacked the slices on a plate. He didn’t want to think about Brad the Bad
anymore. “Let’s just get on with this.”

“Besides,” David persisted, “they’re split.
It’s just taking Holly a while to catch up. She’ll give up sooner or later.”

Sam hoped he wouldn’t be a gray-haired, arthritic old man by
the time that happened. From the living room came the sound of Holly’s mother,
asking how things were coming in the kitchen.

“Just fine, Mrs. Aldridge,” David called. “We’d
better get busy.” He lifted his baseball cap, then rammed it in an
I
mean business
fashion on his curly black hair.

“You know, the hat makes all the difference. Now you
really
do
look like a culinary genius.”

David cheerfully raised his middle finger in reply. “Stand
back,” he said, grinning as he cracked eggs in a bowl, “and watch a
real
master at work.”

“It’s too bad Brad can’t be here,” Holly’s mother
said.

They all took their places at the banquette table—Clarissa
and David on one side, Holly and her mother on the other, Sam perched at the
end—then dug into the plates of French toast, strawberries, and bacon.

“He’s working,” Holly said quickly, crossing her
fingers beneath the napkin on her lap. “Maybe he’ll be here next time.”

Sam shot her a dark look, one she understood better than she
wanted to. No matter which way she turned, it seemed she hurt somebody.

“Well,” her mother continued, “I wanted to
invite you both to my company’s annual holiday party. It’s at the Cheshire Hotel downtown, two weeks from Saturday night.” After chewing a bite of
French toast with strawberries, she rested her fork atop her plate. “I’ve
never had anything quite like this, boys.”

Holly doubted her mother meant it kindly, but David smiled
at her anyway.

“Glad you like it,” he said. “Sam deserves
most of the credit, though.”

As a show of loyalty, Holly helped herself to another piece.
It tasted a little eggy, but she wanted Sam to know she appreciated his trying
to help her.

“I’d love to come to your Christmas party, Mom,”
she said, “but I’m not sure Brad will be able to make it.”

Linda pursed her lips. “I hope he will.” She
leaned forward and, as an aside to Sam, added, “Brad is Holly’s fiancé. A
doctor. He always makes
such
a good impression at these events. We’re
all very proud of him.”

Holly sunk a little lower in her seat. Dating Brad was the
first thing she’d ever done that her mother actually approved of. How was she
going to break it to her if things didn’t work out according to her plan?

“Yes, Brad and I have met,” Sam said. “Briefly.
He’s a busy guy. If Brad can’t make it, Holly, I’d be glad to escort you.”

Sam gazed straight at her, his eyes so blue and honest she
could read his feelings in them.
Be with me.

“It’s a formal business function, dear,” her
mother put in, frowning. “Don’t you think Sam might be a little
uncomfortable? I hope this doesn’t sound too harsh, but these are professional
people who—”

“I don’t think Sam would be uncomfortable anyplace,”
Holly interrupted, smiling as she gazed back at him. “No matter who was
there. And come to think of it, I’m just about positive Brad won’t be able to
make it.”

Complete silence descended. All four of them stared at her.
Holly’s knees starting shaking, and her throat closed up with panic. How was
she going to follow up on that?

Beneath the table, Sam squeezed her knee. His show of
encouragement brought a fresh sting of tears to her eyes. She had to blink them
back before she could go on.

“I’d love it if you escorted me, Sam,” Holly blurted.

Her mother’s mouth dropped open. “What will Brad say?”

“He’ll probably say he’s got to work late,” Holly
answered truthfully, “like he usually does.” She hoped she wasn’t
making a stupid, life-changing mistake. Taking a deep breath, she clarified. “I’d
really like to go to your party, Mom. But it will have to be with Sam.”

Thirty seconds later, her mother’s voice broke the silence. “If…if
you insist,” she said, sounding bewildered.

Across the table, Clarissa applauded.

Despite her impending date with Sam, Holly wasn’t ready to
give up on her plan yet. How else was she going to get her life back to normal?
How else was she going to feel like
herself
again? She’d even started
skipping workouts once a week and leaving work at five o’clock most of the
time, all so she could spend more time with Sam. It wasn’t like her at all. She
needed to re-focus on her goals.

So Holly spent the next week thinking up ways to put the
final seduction phase of her plan into play. Friday night, Brad dropped the
solution in her hands by asking her to stop by his office the next morning to
evaluate a new accounting software package he was considering for his office.

His request couldn’t have been more convenient. Even better,
the place was usually deserted on the weekend.

Late Saturday morning, all systems were go.

Just before noon, Holly drove to the parking lot outside the
medical complex that housed Brad’s office. She couldn’t pull into either of the
spaces right next to Brad’s shiny BMW, since he’d parked on the line between
them, so she parked nearby and turned off the ignition. Her old convertible’s
engine clattered loudly enough to wake the dead as it gradually wound to a
stop.

Wincing at the sound, Holly checked her makeup in the rear
view mirror. Tasteful, yet flamboyant enough so Brad would know she wasn’t the
same old unspontaneous Holly, she decided. Good. She slid her briefcase across
the seat. The implements of her mission—the bottles of Lover’s Potion and
Aphrodisia Massage Oil—clinked together inside. She checked to make sure her
garter belt fasteners were still holding, gave her hair one last pat, then got
out of the car.

Brad wouldn’t know what hit him. The thought made Holly
smile as she opened the front door with the key he’d given her long ago, then
locked it again behind her. It was now or never.

Dressed only in a belted trench coat with her new lingerie
beneath—Clarissa’s idea—Holly navigated the wide austere corridors that led to
Brad’s office. The hallways were chilly. Then again, it was probably perfectly
comfortable for people who were dressed. A nervous shiver passed through her.
Steeling her resolve, she pressed on, the whisper of her stockinged legs
sounding unnaturally loud in the deserted building.

Holly breathed a sigh of relief when her key still turned in
Brad’s office door. Opening it quietly, she tiptoed into the darkened recesses
of the suite, where Brad kept his private office. The red spike-heeled shoes
Clarissa had talked her into buying didn’t make a whisper of sound on the
carpeted floor, but Holly could have sworn her heart was thumping loudly enough
to announce her arrival a mile away. And if the hammering of her heart didn’t
do it, then the aggressively musky perfume she’d dabbed on would give her
presence away for sure.

Neither did. Rounding the corner, she heard the low-pitched
hum of Brad’s computer and the tap-tap-tapping of his fingers as he typed. She
gripped her briefcase handle tighter, took a deep breath, and approached his
open office door.

Her thong panties chose that moment to shoot the rest of the
way up her behind.

Holly flung herself against the wall. A long, agonizing
minute passed before she was sure Brad hadn’t seen her. Lowering her briefcase
gingerly to the floor, she flipped up the back of her tan trench coat and tried
to extricate herself from her thong-panty prison.

It was a tricky maneuver, at least when performed on
three-inch spike heels. Wavering a little, Holly tugged at the strip of
flowered fabric. It stayed in a comfortable position for all of thirty seconds.
She might as well have put on the rubber band from the Sunday newspaper, called
it underwear, and saved herself a few bucks, for all the luck she had getting
the thing to stay where it belonged.

She sagged against the wall to catch her breath. The way things
were going, she was tempted to just back up, really slowly, and leave.

No. She wasn’t giving up yet. Spreading her knees further
apart, balancing precariously on her shoes, Holly tightened her grip on the
thong. Nervous perspiration trickled between her breasts, dampening the red and
black velvet groping-hands bra. Great, that would make a really sexy
impression. Stifling a groan, she gave it another try.

Still holding the panty away from her behind, Holly snapped
her knees together again, performed the greatest butt squeeze of her life, and
released the thong. The thought crossed her mind that this was probably a
pretty good workout—Thongs of Steel. Tight Thongs in Thirty Days. Thong
Aerobics.

Oh, boy. Getting hysterical wasn’t helping. But she thought
the butt squeeze might. Reaching back, Holly gave it one last try, squeezing
for all she was worth this time. As long as she stayed clenched, the thong
stayed put. Success!

Smiling triumphantly, Holly grabbed her briefcase and
glanced up. Brad leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his
chest, watching her.

“I thought I heard something out here,” he said
mildly. “I was afraid the cleaning lady was having a heart attack, judging
by all the thumping on the wall and the heavy breathing.”

He raised his eyebrow—just one, a trick that always
irritated her a little because it made him look so superior. Also because she
couldn’t do it.

“You’re late,” he said. “I thought you’d
changed your mind.”

“Are you kidding?” Holly laughed, stepping closer
to him.
You can do this. Confidence is sexy,
she told herself. “I’d
love to have a look at your, ahh…hardware, Brad.”

He frowned. “It’s software. Didn’t I tell you that?”

Geez, he used to understand innuendo.

“That’s not what I meant.” She clarified her
intentions with a caressing hand on his starched shirtfront. The sharp scent of
Brad’s aftershave hit her with the force of a dozen memories, helping to shore
up her courage. Lowering her voice seductively, she said, “I’ve got more
than accounting software on my mind.”

Brad lifted her hand from his shirt, then straightened his
glasses. He peered closely at her. “You should get that hoarseness checked
out,” he said, stepping backward. “It might be bronchitis.”

For a second, Holly wished she did have some virulent,
highly contagious illness. Something Brad could catch from her that would make
him feel miserable, but wouldn’t be life-threatening.

In her normal voice, she said, “I feel fine. I just
think we’ve been apart long enough, don’t you?”

Think sexy,
Holly commanded herself.
It’s your
last chance—be bold.
She advanced toward him. Brad backed up, all the way
into his office. Slamming the door shut with her foot—hey, this was fun!—Holly
tossed her briefcase on the leather sofa that lined one wall and reached for her
coat sash.