H ow the mighty have fallen .

I’m fucking standing outside a brownstone at nine in the morning, on a Saturday, banging on the door because no one answered the damn doorbell. This is not just any brownstone, however. I look down at the file I’m holding, pausing my knocking—just in case the neighbors in the adjacent townhouses are tempted to call the law .

This brownstone belongs to Keni Preston. That’s why I’m a fucking freak. I’m chasing a client down—a client I had an ill-advised one-night stand with. A one-night stand that could get me sued and destroy my business because I’m being a stalker. And a memory that I’ve jacked off to for the last three days .

A one-night stand I’m starting to think I’ll never be able to forget .

I’m about to turn around and say forget it when the door opens. I’m practically holding my breath—I’m that anxious to see Holly again. Disappointment fills me when a woman with red hair opens the door. She’s definitely not Holly. Her red hair isn’t a vibrant crown on her head. It’s pretty, but it doesn’t have the depth of color Holly’s does. She’s pretty, but she’s not my Holly .

Fuck .

My Holly .

My dick is sewn up over a woman I don’t even know. A woman who probably doesn’t believe my name is actually Nick. A woman who fucked me because of a Santa roleplaying scenario. Shit. I’ve had women fuck me for a lot of reasons. Admittedly, most of them have either fucked me for the size of my dick or the size of my wallet—but absolutely none have fucked me because I was wearing a red velvet coat .

And I can blame my lack of control where Holly is concerned over the fact I haven’t been with a woman in far too damn long. With my business being successful, and the workload keeping me busy, I have no time—or interest—in taking anyone to my bed. But then I saw Holly and everything changed. She made me break a cardinal rule about not getting involved with a client .

“Can I help you?” the woman asks and I notice her eyes are a pale blue. Maybe they would have been pretty before the heated look in Holly’s branded me .

Fuck .

“I’m looking for Holly…uh…Keni Preston ?”

“I’m Keni,” she answers, and the look on my face must have frightened her because she steps back behind the safety of the door .

“No. I’m talking about the Keni who hired Dreamers for a Christmas…” I see the way her eyes widen in surprise. She’s silent for a second and I wonder exactly what the fuck is going on .

“Stop!” she cries, looking around. “That was me,” she hisses. “But I’d rather not have my neighbors know. How did you find out? Who are you ? ”

What the fuck is going on here? I’m starting to get a sick feeling in my stomach and for once it has nothing to do with the fact that Holly isn’t underneath me—at least not entirely .

“I’m… I’m sorry, you’re the one who hired — ”

“Who are you?” she repeats again and I definitely see panic in her face, but she’s not lying. I’d bet everything I own on it .

“I’m Nick Jones. I own the company .”

Her throat works as she swallows. “You own Dreamers?” she asks, looking confused. Hell, she’s not the only one .

“Yes, and we were following up on the Christmas order placed by Keni…uh, you. Was the fantasy for you or for a friend?” I ask, praying she tells me it was for a friend and gives me the name. That’s the only explanation for the fucked-up situation I am now in .

I start to relax, thinking I have it all figured out. Holly—and just maybe that’s her real name—might think she can run away from me, but I’ve got her now. Maybe when I finally get her in my grasp again, Santa will have to spank her for being a naughty little girl. Fuck. Maybe I can make her naughtier? A quick image of Holly tied to my bed, my cum painted across her face, her tongue licking it off her lips while I’m still getting off across her tits, slams to my mind. I swear my cock swells rock hard. If I don’t find Holly soon, my fucking balls are going to explode. I’ve heard the term bust a nut my whole life, but not until this woman have I realized what the fuck it means—and the agony that comes with it .

“No… I mean, it was for me, but I just changed my mind. I chickened out, okay? I shouldn’t have ever booked it. It’s just this was my first Christmas as a single woman. My son is spending Christmas with his father and new stepmother and I just…panicked. I couldn’t go through with it, though. I didn’t think anything else about it. I mean, you had my deposit and… Shit. I should have canceled.” She’s rambling now, clearly nervous. “Am I responsible for the whole fee? That hardly seems fair, considering I didn’t show. I mean, maybe I should have called when I decided not to show up, but I didn’t actually decide not to—at least not until it was time to go there. I figured by then it was just too late. You know?” She’s breathing hard and fast .

I want to assure her things are fine, at least where she’s concerned, but she won’t let me get a word in .

“Is that why you’re here? To collect the outstanding amount? Is that standard practice? I mean, this is my home. If you had billed me—or even called, I would have come in,” she huffs, blathering on so much that I lose track .

Really, I stopped listening when I discovered she didn’t have a friend show up at the park in her place. I stopped listening when I realized that I have absolutely no idea who Holly is or how to find her .

She’s lost to me forever …