Their Yuletide Promise

by Stacy Connelly

  The man, Travis, handed over a wad of cash. “Next time we’ll find a more interesting wager.”

  “Name it,” the winner challenged, holding up the bills. “Your money’s on me.”

  A shiver raced down Evie’s spine at the sound of that deep, slightly amused, slightly arrogant voice. She leaned to one side of the bar stool, gasping when she almost toppled over. Jeez, how strong did they make these martinis? Bracing a hand on the edge of the bar, she tried to get a better look at the trio.

  She recognized the dark-haired Travis and his blond friend as locals, but the third man in the group, standing with his back to Evie, was the one who caught her attention. His thick golden-brown hair gleamed even in the bar’s dim atmosphere. Broad shoulders stretched the limits of a pale blue tailored shirt, the sleeves rolled back to reveal leanly muscled forearms.

  One hand held a pool cue with a confident ease that had Evie thinking of Paul Newman in that old black-and-white movie. He tucked the wad of cash into his pocket with his other hand, the material of his slate-gray trousers pulling tight against a perfectly formed backside.

  Her mouth went dry and she struggled to swallow.

  It almost sounded like... Almost looked like... But it wouldn’t be...couldn’t be...

  Evie jumped, nearly losing her balance once again, startled by a loud clatter. Ice rattled around in a stainless steel shaker as the bartender mixed her martinis before straining the chilled concoction into the two glasses. Her heart still pounding, she refused his offer of a menu and glanced back across the bar. The Clearville locals had taken over the pool table, and the third man was gone.

  She had to be imagining things. No way would Griffin James, heir to the James Hotels empire, be hustling pool in tiny Clearville. A childhood friend of Alexa’s, he was coming into town for her wedding, though Alexa had been somewhat vague about when. Griffin wasn’t the type to abide by schedules, something made easier by the wealth that afforded him not only a pilot’s license but his own private plane, as well.

  Evie pushed all thoughts of Griffin James from her mind. She had a sound, logical plan to put into motion, and for that plan to work, she needed a sound, logical man. Someone who would fit into the equation with comfort and ease. No messy complications. No unwanted surprises. No uncontrolled mix of emotions.

  That sound, logical plan didn’t stop her from glancing toward the pool table again, hoping to catch another glimpse of the man who wouldn’t be—couldn’t be—the same one she absolutely had not been thinking about since his stay at Hillcrest House almost two months ago.

  Because Griffin James was not standing by the pool table.

  “For me?” As the deep—and familiar—voice murmured in her ear, Evie realized he was, in fact, standing right behind her.

  A masculine arm reached around her, and she caught sight of pale blue material rolled back to reveal tanned skin dusted with dark blond hair. He claimed one of the martinis, his palm cupping the delicate glass, and Evie’s mouth went dry. “I’m really more of a beer kind of guy, but I never refuse when a lady offers me a drink.”

  “I didn’t offer, and I don’t believe you.” The words popped out before she could stop them, a bad habit made worse when she was nervous. But she wasn’t about to let him know he had that effect—any effect—on her.

  With that thought in mind, she turned. And found herself staring at a patch of skin exposed by the open collar of his shirt. At five-eight plus heels, Evie was accustomed to looking a man in the eye—if not literally looking down on him. But not this man.

  She had to look up beyond that tempting triangle of skin, up the strong column of his neck, past the cleft in his chin where her attention snagged on his confident smile and the sexy mouth inches from her own. Heat suffused her body, and the pounding of her heart matched the pounding in her ears as the music switched to Bruce Springsteen’s “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”

  But the only words Evie could hear were her aunt’s. You’ve locked yourself away from the world at a time when you should be out living your life instead of letting it pass you by...

  Evie didn’t want to admit her aunt was right about, well, any of the reasons why she shouldn’t be the one to run the hotel. But maybe her moratorium on the opposite sex had gone on for too long if she’d lost her ability to handle a ridiculous charmer like Griffin James.

  Evie didn’t do charm.

  And yet Griffin didn’t appear the least bit discouraged by her outburst. “You don’t believe...?”

  “I don’t believe beer is your drink of choice. You probably bathe in champagne.”

  White teeth flashed in a quick smile. “Imagining me naked again, Ms. McClaren?”

  “No, not again.” Catching the knowing arch in his brow, she belatedly recognized her slip. Flustered, she amended, “Not—not even in the first place.”

  “Are you sure? Because I specifically recall you trying to take my clothes off the night we met.”

  The night they’d met, Chance and Griffin had gotten in a fight over Alexa, who—at the time—had been Griffin’s fiancée.

  Raising her chin, she said, “I offered to have your shirt sent to the cleaners after you so thoughtlessly bled on the silk. You really shouldn’t have such nice things if you aren’t going to take care of them.”

  “I promise you, Evie...” Despite the din surrounding them, his deep voice wrapped around her, all warmth and seduction melting her from the inside out. And if that wasn’t enough to sway her under his spell, he reached up and trailed a fingertip across her cheek as he brushed a lock of hair back from her face. “I take very good care of the fine things in my hands.”

  The light touch sent shivers racing over her skin. Such a small taste of what those hands could do if Griffin really put his mind to it. But a split second before Evie would have ducked and run, Griffin stepped back and lifted his—her—glass. His attitude once more laid-back and casual, he offered a friendly, flirty wink. “You might as well admit it. You were worried about me...and wanted to see me with my shirt off.”

  The lighthearted teasing put them back on even ground, and Evie sucked in a quick breath. Good grief! Overreact much? So what if Griffin was flirting? That was what Griffin James did.

  “If I was worried, it was that you might sue the hotel after my cousin beat you up. And speaking of Chance...” Recalling a pop-up from the calendar app that ruled her life, she asked, “Isn’t his bachelor party tonight? Shouldn’t you be hanging out with the guys?”

  Griffin smirked a little. “I wasn’t invited to Chance’s party.”

  “I can’t imagine why not.”

  “I thought about crashing, but like you said, it’s just a bunch of guys hanging out. What’s the fun in that?” He flashed a devilish smile as he added, “I think maybe I’ll show up for Alexa’s party tomorrow instead.”

  He was kidding. He had to be kidding. “You do that, and this time my cousin might kill you.”

  “I’m not afraid of Chance.”

  “Who said anything about Chance? You ruin the bridal shower, and Rory will be the one you’ll have to watch out for.”

  “Ah, yes, Hillcrest House’s wedding planner extraordinaire.”

  Of course, Griffin would know who Rory was. After all, she’d taken him on a tour of the hotel—when Griffin and Alexa had been the ones thinking of getting married.

  Not that he seemed particularly distraught over his broken engagement, Evie mused, as she reached for her own drink and eyed him over the sugared rim. A slightly mocking smile tilted his too-tempting lips, but something in his eyes—something a little envious, a little lonely?—grabbed hold of Evie.

  After all, Griffin wasn’t the only one whose wedding plans had stopped a few yards short of a walk down the aisle.

  “Rory explained all about Hillcrest’s promise of happily-ever-after. How it’s a place where two hearts come toge
ther to find a lasting love.” His eyebrows rose at the disbelieving snort she couldn’t quite silence. “You don’t believe it?”

  “You’re telling me you do? Even after Alexa dumped you?” Evie regretted the words she’d blurted out the second they left her mouth. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  “What? Told it like it is? Don’t apologize for that.” He leaned forward to set his glass on the bar, erasing the slight distance she’d put between them. “It’s one of the things I like best about you, Evie.”

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever met anyone who actually liked how outspoken she was. And that was only one of the things? As in, there was more about her that he liked? Tipsy butterflies took flight in her stomach, and even though Evie wanted to roll her eyes and dismiss the whole idea, she couldn’t manage to pull her gaze away from his.

  And what was it he’d asked her? Oh, right. About the hotel. About happily-ever-after. But she didn’t dare let herself be distracted. Not when there was so much at stake. Not when Hillcrest House was at stake. She had to focus on her plan. If only she wasn’t starting to feel like she’d need a Christmas miracle to pull it off.

  “Happily-ever-after is Rory’s forte. She’s Hillcrest’s heart. I’m the brains of the operation.” She cringed a little. “Not that Rory isn’t smart. I’m just—”

  “Smarter?” Griffin supplied, tongue in cheek.

  Lifting her martini for another drink, she muttered, “Better with numbers than with people. Obviously.”

  He laughed at that, the warm, appreciative sound setting off little sparklers of pleasure along Evie’s nerve endings. Maybe he really did like how apt she was to say whatever was on her mind.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Evie. Rory might be the heart of Hillcrest House, but something tells me you’re its soul.”

  * * *

  Despite his recently acquired reputation as a jilted fiancé, Griffin was enjoying himself more than he likely should.

  Something his father thought he did far too often.

  He still didn’t know why his father had taken such an interest in Hillcrest House. Though adorably quaint and comfortable, the Victorian hotel was hardly on par with the epic, ultramodern edifices the James brand boasted all over the world. New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Amsterdam, Dubai... Clearville? Even Griffin could figure out which one of those didn’t belong.

  Yet, for some reason, the boutique hotel remained on Frederick James’s agenda.

  But speaking of something—or someone—who didn’t belong...

  Despite the fact that she was sitting on a bar stool, Evie McClaren’s posture was ramrod straight, her narrow nose and slightly pointed chin raised to a proud angle. But Griffin could see a slight flush rising in her high cheekbones, a hint of awareness in the sidelong glances she cast his way.

  He leaned closer to be heard over the holiday tunes. Her perfume, something softly floral and feminine, such a contrast to her strictly business persona, intrigued him all the more and tempted him to linger.

  With her blunt-cut dark hair, tall, slender body and serious personality, she was not his usual type. But his usual type—wealthy party girls—had started to bore him lately. To the point where he had proposed—sort of—to Alexa Mayhew. With his childhood friend pregnant as the result of a weekend fling, he’d thought a marriage based on friendship, affection and love could benefit them both.

  But that was before Alexa reunited with the father of her unborn baby.

  Griffin had willingly stepped aside, knowing Alexa loved Chance, but it did put him firmly back at square one when it came to the strings his father had attached to his trust fund. Strings that would strangle him if he didn’t find a way to cut them, freeing him to finally go after his own dreams rather than living in the long shadows cast by the James empire.

  “So, tell me, Ms. McClaren, what are you doing sitting in a bar alone on a Saturday night?”

  Evie sighed, the exhale of air seeming to deflate her a little. But instead of answering his question, she asked one of her own. “Has there ever been something you wanted so badly you can picture it perfectly, and yet it’s just out of reach?”

  Griffin started, setting the martini back on the bar before he ended up spilling the drink. She might as well have read his mind and voiced the frustration building inside him. To the longing, the touch of desperation tinged with a hint of doubt that the dream would ever come true.

  But Evie shook her head before giving him the chance to respond. “Of course not.” Lifting her glass in a mocking toast, she said, “Look who I’m talking to.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he told her, her words adding to a feeling of connection that had pulled at him from the moment he’d seen her sitting by herself.

  Evie’s blue eyes narrowed as she seemed to come to a conclusion. “Alexa’s marrying another guy in a few days. Longing after a lost love just makes you...” She dismissed the emotion with a wave of her hand. Fortunately it was not the hand holding the martini or he might well have been down yet another shirt.

  “Hopelessly romantic?” he filled in as her words trailed away.

  “I was going more for hopelessly pathetic, but sure.”

  Griffin laughed. Evie was prickly on the outside, that was for sure, but he was from Southern California. A land of sun and sand. Of palm trees and cacti. But it was the lush, hardy bougainvillea Griffin pictured when he thought of Evie: tough yet beautiful, able to thrive despite heat and drought with its bright fuchsia blooms—and killer inch-long thorns.

  If he tangled with the challenging brunette he’d likely end up with some scars to show for it. But he also knew the pleasure would be well worth the pain.

  He wondered if she realized how that stubborn, defiant tilt to her head only managed to bring her lips ever closer. Wondered if she wasn’t—subconsciously—asking to be kissed. Or maybe he was the one ready to beg to feel her lips beneath his own...

  He cleared his throat and took another swallow of the bright red cocktail. “Enough about me. We were talking about you. What do you want, Evie?”

  Tell me what you want, Evie, so I can do everything in my power to give it to you...

  It was a ridiculous thought, especially for a man like Griffin. How many times had his father warned him about women who would chase after him for his family’s wealth and prestige? As if he cared that they were as interested in his trust fund as they were his looks or his charm. As long as those women were focused on his wallet, Griffin didn’t have to worry about guarding his heart.

  He’d seen what loving a woman could do to a man. He’d seen what loving and losing his mother had done to his father. At fourteen, he’d witnessed how all the money and doctors and treatments in the world hadn’t saved her from the agony of the cancer that spread through her body. Hadn’t saved him from the pain of losing her.

  So no, Griffin didn’t care that those women were after his money. He made sure not to care too deeply about anything or anyone. And yet his breath caught in his chest as he waited to hear what Evie McClaren longed for.

  “I want...” Her voice trailed off as her gaze met his, and Griffin felt his heart do some kind of strange slow-motion roll in his chest. Her elegant throat moved as she swallowed, and her dark lashes lowered in a languid blink.

  The alcohol was catching up to her, but Griffin had no excuse for the riot of thoughts stumbling through his head like a drunk on a dance floor. Me, Evie, you want me. But there’s nothing hopeless about it because I am right here. Ready, willing and eager, and I am all yours.

  A laughing trio of girls bumped into them on their way to the bar, breaking the moment and allowing Griffin to suck in some much-needed air before he passed out dead on the floor. He reached for his glass even as Evie shook her head, as if she, too, was trying to snap out of whatever had held them spellbound.

  Clearing her throat, she raised her chin and met
his gaze head-on. “More than anything, I want Hillcrest House.”

  Griffin choked on the sugary-sweet sip of peppermint. “You—”

  “I want to run my family’s hotel.”

  He stared at her as what sounded like his father’s rarely heard laughter echoed through his head. Evie’s one great wish was for the very thing he longed to escape.

  The towering James hotels stretched toward the heavens, but Griffin’s dreams soared higher than that. From the time he was a teenager, he’d loved to fly. He loved the freedom, the excitement, the escape of leaving the earth behind to touch the skies. Of course, to hear his father tell it, Griffin had always had his head in the clouds, long before he’d gotten his pilot’s license or his own plane. And Frederick James wanted nothing more than his only son’s feet planted firmly on the ground and following in his own weighty footsteps.

  But Evie’s dreams hardly seemed like that much of a stretch. “You are running the hotel, right?”

  “Temporarily,” she pointed out. “While my aunt’s been...away. She isn’t sure she wants to run the hotel anymore. She’s even...” Evie trailed off, but Griffin knew the words she didn’t want to say.

  Evelyn McClaren had been considering selling the hotel. That was the reason his father had sent Griffin to Hillcrest two months ago. He’d dug around a little, but at the time, Evie hadn’t been talking.

  Not the way she was now.

  “I told her I would take on that role, managing the hotel full-time, and she could act as an advisor.”

  “That makes sense,” he agreed. Far more sense than adding a quaint small-town Victorian property to the James brand.

  “That’s what I thought, too. Only my aunt isn’t sure I’m the right person for the job.”

  Griffin could barely make out the words, but even without the loud music and laughter, he would have had a hard time hearing Evie as she made that admission. She ducked her head, the earlier confident tilt to her chin wilting as if she couldn’t manage to hold his gaze. As if she were ashamed for somehow not being enough.