Under the Millionaire's Mistletoe

the Cameron house. She watched her father fight past his own disappointments and worries and knew she could do no less.

“Yes, we do, Dad. Want me to go get them from the kitchen?”

“Please. Take them into the living room by the tree.” He stood up, still smiling tightly. “I’ll just give Clarissa a hand finding her cold medication and we’ll join you.”

“Okay.” There was a knot in her throat but she wouldn’t let her father down. If he wanted to have a normal Christmas morning, then that’s exactly what they would do. As he started walking away, though, she said, “I love you, Dad.”

His smile was warm and real as he answered, “I love you, too, Anna. Now don’t worry, all right?”

She nodded, though her concerns were still there. But she wouldn’t contribute to her father’s worries, so she silently vowed to keep her anxiety well-hidden.

“Have you heard from him?” Tula asked later that night over a Christmas dinner of takeout tacos.

Because Tula had no family, the two of them always had Christmas dinner together-with only one rule. Nobody cooked. So every year, they looked around for any restaurant that happened to be open. This year, it was Garcia’s Familia. The food was terrific, but Anna wasn’t enjoying it anyway.

Hard to eat when it felt as though there was a ball of lead in the pit of your stomach.

“Sam?” Anna shook her head and took a sip of wine. She pushed the tines of her fork through the Mexican rice as if drawing a picture. “No. And it’s better that way. Really.”

“Yeah,” Tula told her. “I can see that. This is working out great for you.”

Sighing, Anna set her plate on the coffee table and sat back on her couch. Her gaze fixed blankly on the brightly lit Christmas tree, she wondered what Sam was doing. If he missed her as much as she missed him. And she wondered how he had become so important to her in such a short length of time.

“Anna, you’re miserable. Why don’t you call him?”

She glanced at her friend and ruefully shook her head. “What would be the point? Nothing’s changed. Even if it’s not a conscious notion, he still thinks I’m after him for his money.”

“That’s crazy,” Tula said with a snort of derision. Picking up her wine, she took a drink and said, “You had a fight. People always say things they don’t mean in a fight.”

“Or the truth comes out,” Anna suggested. She’d already had this same conversation with herself a dozen times. She’d thought about that last fight from every angle and each time she came to one conclusion. “Either way, it’s just over.”

The phone rang, but she didn’t move to pick it up. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone anyway. Her heart hurt, not just for what she’d lost in Sam, but for her father. And there was nothing she could do about either situation.

“You’re not going to get that?” Tula asked.

She shook her head. “Let the machine pick it up.”

Which it did a moment later. She listened to her outgoing message and then her heart jolted at the sound of Sam’s voice.

“Anna?” His deep voice sounded commanding. “If you’re there, pick up.”

Tula waved at her frantically, but Anna shook her head again. She had to curl her fingers into fists to keep from reaching for the stupid phone, but she did it. She couldn’t talk to him. Not now. Maybe not ever again. It was hard, but it would be even more difficult if she didn’t stay strong.

Sam sighed into the phone, then said, “Listen, I, uh, wanted to say merry Christmas-”

Anna’s heart tugged a little at that and the twisting pain made her close her eyes. If things had been different, Sam might have been here right now, with her and Tula, having dinner and laughing. But things weren’t different and they weren’t going to be.

“Talk to me, Anna. Don’t let it end like this.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

When she still didn’t pick up, he muttered something unintelligible and hung up.

“Yeah,” Tula said, every word coated in sarcasm, “I can see why you don’t want to talk to him. Sounds like a heartless bastard.”

“You’re not helping,” Anna told her.

“This time,” her friend said sagely, “I think you’re going to have to help yourself.”

Sam glared at the damn phone as if Anna not speaking to him were its fault instead of his own. “Idiot,” he muttered thickly, shoving one hand through his hair. He’d done nothing but think about Anna for the last few days. Their last argument was on constant replay in his thoughts. And every time he relived it, he saw the shock on her face and the hurt in her eyes. He still wasn’t sure how the damn argument had erupted and he’d like nothing better than to step back in time and bite back the words that had hurt her so badly.

Why the hell had he said something so stupid? He knew damn well that she wasn’t after his money. He had been convinced of that as soon as he saw how much time and effort and artistry she’d poured into the mural she had painted for him. No mercenary woman would have cared so much about doing a good job. She would have come in, slapped some color on a wall and cashed his check.

But Anna had pride. Integrity.

And his heart, damn it.

He poured a Scotch and took a seat on the sofa. The Christmas tree was lit up and soft jazz pumped through the stereo. It would have been perfect, he thought. If Anna were there.

Instead, there was a hollow spot in his chest that he couldn’t see being filled anytime soon. God, if he had to live the rest of his life with this emptiness inside…

“Sitting alone in the dark?” Garret said when he came into the room. “Not a good sign, Sam.”

“It’s not dark,” he protested lamely. “The tree lights are on.”

“Yeah.” Garret grabbed a beer from the wet bar, then sat down in a chair close to his brother. He took a long drink and said, “So, you want to tell me what’s eating you?”

“What?” Sam shot his brother a look.

“I was gone like a week or so, not years. You’re…” he tipped his head to one side and studied Sam “…different, somehow. Still mean as hell, of course, but there’s something else, too.”

This was a rare moment, Sam thought. His younger brother was noticing something outside himself. And maybe it was a sign that the younger Hale brother was finally taking a step toward maturity. God, he hoped so. Because Sam knew what he had to do.

He’d missed Anna like he would have an arm or a leg. Somehow, in the last couple of weeks, she had become as necessary to him as breathing. And he couldn’t live without her. So he had to tell his brother that not only wasn’t Garret going to get Anna back, but also that Sam was in love with her himself.

Love.

Wasn’t the first time he’d thought that word over the last few days. But it was the first time he’d welcomed it. And admitting the truth, if only to himself, made him feel…good. He looked at his brother and knew that what he was about to say could cost him the relationship. But he had no choice. He had to try to make things right with Anna.

“Actually,” Sam said, setting his glass of Scotch aside. He sat up, and braced his forearms on his thighs. Looking directly into his brother’s eyes he said, “There is something else.”

Garret paled at the suddenly serious tone. “Are you okay? You’re not sick are you?”

“No.” Sam laughed shortly and realized it was the first time he’d even smiled since losing Anna. That thought steeled him for what came next. “Nothing like that. But you remember when I told you to break up with Anna Cameron?”

Garret rolled his eyes. “You mean when you ordered me to stop seeing the man-hunting gold digger? Yeah, Sam. I remember.”

Sam bristled, hearing his own words tossed at him. God, he’d been an idiot. “She’s not, you know. A gold digger.”

One of Garret’s eyebrows lifted and he took a swig of his beer. “Interesting. I seem to recall trying to convince