I'll Be Your Santa Tonight - Rebecca Sharp Page 0,5

a doozy for Christmas to cut me a break for a few years.

But it seemed the respite was over… and it was over with a bang. Literally.

“Let me help you.”

I sucked in a breath as he stepped to my side and reached down for my tote, carefully pushing the half-spilled contents back in the top before rising and handing it to me.

Oh, that’s right. I’d only been on the way to the elevators.

“Thank you.”

“I’m Saint.” He left his hand extended in greeting, his smile broadening.

Saint. That devastating smile was anything but.

Braving a quick grin, I grasped the firm warmth and shook. “Holly.”

“Are you here for the holiday… Holly?” His expression danced with the alliteration.

Normally, I’d roll my eyes, but instead, his amusement made my stomach flip—a reaction that made no sense; it only ever annoyed me when people found my name entertaining.

I belonged in that Alanis Morissette song—it’s like being named Holly Jolly when you can’t celebrate Christmas. I was irony personified, and it didn’t even rhyme.

But him. Those eyes… that smile… I wondered what kinds of mockery I’d willingly subject myself to just to be able to stare at him.

Pull yourself together, Holly.

“God, no.” I laughed and shook my head, forcing the butterflies in my stomach to make an emergency landing.

“Not a fan, I take it?”

“A veritable Grinch.” I smirked, half-teasing. “What gave it away?” I winced as soon as the question left my mouth.

“Well, you did blow up Santa.”

Crap.

“He was already blown up,” I retorted, folding my arms over me and sending a missed remnant of that unfortunate balloon fluttering off my chest. Great. I snatched the evidence from the air and clutched it in my palm. “He just flew… a little too high.”

“Obviously never read the story of Icarus.”

My quick laugh bloomed into something more. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Something flickered in his gaze. My smile and my response caused a change in him that would’ve been imperceptible if I’d been able to stop staring at him.

“So, you’re just here for vacation then?” He returned to polite conversation.

“No.” I shook my head, twisting to reach for the handle on my suitcase, grateful that most of the spectators who’d witnessed the balloon debacle had already dispersed. “I’m here for work. I’m in charge of one of the biggest Christmas decorations in the city.”

When Saint didn’t respond right away, I glanced back at him only to find his gaze—and there was no other way to describe it—merry with mirth.

“How ironic,” he mused, ducking his head.

“You have no idea.” I flashed a sarcastic smile. “Well, as long as my boss doesn’t learn I’m the one who just blew up Santa, I should be okay.”

His lip quirked up on one side like he knew something I didn’t.

But what was more concerning was the flare of heat that went spiraling down through my body before erupting low and making my pulse skip. It was unexpected, the way he made my body respond. He was unexpected.

And it unsettled me.

His brilliant blues held mine captive for a long second before they scanned the lobby. “You know, I don’t see a bellman. Let me help you to the elevator.”

My head tipped. I expected this type of kind accommodation from the staff, but not from another guest.

My gaze slid down his person, confirming my initial assumption that he didn’t work for the hotel because he wasn’t wearing a uniform or nametag like Noelle had been. But on second—more thorough—look, I noticed not what he wasn’t wearing, but what he was.

A black suit with a pale green shirt. His tie coated with tiny mistletoes. A matching mistletoe tie clip.

And identical cufflinks.

I bit back a groan.

I’d just confessed to being a Grinch to this man. I’d just attacked balloon reindeer and sent Santa to his death in front of a Christmas-loving god.

Great.

This holiday never ceased to screw with me.

I opened my mouth to protest, but the gorgeous Saint already snagged the handle of my suitcase from my grasp.

Hoisting my bag higher on my shoulder, I followed him to the elevator.

“I take it you are a fan of Christmas?” I didn’t know why I continued the train of our conversation, but I couldn’t help myself.

The devious smile he shot me made parts of my body twinkle.

“What gave it away?” he teased, reaching out and pushing the button to call the elevator before tossing me a devious glance over his shoulder. “If I was any more of a fan, Holly, they’d have to call me Santa.”

The