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His eyes glowed a deeper red. "Sweetheart, I have what you need."

She grinned. "What I need is a few answers. I have some questions for you."

"My favorite color is green. Like yer eyes."

"Not that question." She smoothed her hands down his chest. "I could make it worth your while. If you answer, I'll…take something off."

His eyebrows rose. "Now that is naughty."

"Of course you have to agree to the same terms. If I answer one of your questions, you have to take something off."

"Agreed." He glanced around the room. "We'll leave separately. Meet me in the hall in three minutes." He strode away, leaving her alone on the dance floor.

She wandered back to the refreshment table for mortals with her mortal heart pounding in her ears. Good grief, what had she just agreed to? She wanted some answers, but stripping for them was likely to get out of hand.

Good. She smiled to herself. She wanted him. He wanted her. There was no denying that red glow in his eyes.

She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, then drank some punch. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a Santa leaving the ballroom. She drained her cup, then strolled toward the exit. She wandered down the hall in the direction of the chapel. Where was he?

A door to the right cracked open and an arm in a red velvet sleeve reached out and grabbed her. She gasped, then laughed as a Santa hauled her into a dark room. He shut the door and pinned her against it.

"You'd better be Ian."

"Aye." He nuzzled her neck.

"Take off that beard. I want to kiss you."

He chuckled. "Ye're a demanding lass." He locked the door, then led her into the room.

It was a conference room, she noted, with a long table surrounded by a dozen chairs. Ian had left the lights off, so the only light came from the red exit sign over the door and the lights from the parking lot outside the large plate-glass window.

"It's snowing outside." She wandered alongside the table. "Should we close the blinds?"

"It's one-way glass." He sat in a chair midway down the table. "So what's yer full name, Toni?"

"That again? Does it really matter?"

"I'm only curious because ye'll no' tell me."

"Okay, okay." She perched on the table next to him and propped one foot up on the arm of his chair. "But it'll be worth two articles of clothing."

He wrapped a hand around her ankle. "All right."

She leaned back, bracing her weight on her hands. "I only know what my grandmother told me, so my knowledge of the events is a bit sketchy. It appears my mother had a desire to marry a racecar driver when she was seventeen. She went to the Daytona 500 to find a driver and jumped a guy in a jumpsuit in a garage. She was a bit pissed to discover afterward that he was just a mechanic and even more pissed when she discovered herself pregnant."

Ian shook his head. "Yer mum continues to confound me."

"I guess she needed a reminder never to make such a stupid mistake again, 'cause she named me after the racetrack where I was conceived."

"Yer name is Daytona Five Hundred?"

"No." She glared at him. "Just Daytona. Isn't that humiliating enough? Please don't tell anyone."

His white beard twitched. "Daytona Davis. I like it."

"Daytona Lynn, actually. It's a Southern thing. Now strip, Santa. Two items."

He removed his red Santa cap with the attached wig. "That's one." He took off the beard. "And that's two." He tossed them on the table. "Yer turn."

"What's the secret Santa thing? And what are you all hiding behind the locked door across from the nursery?"

He circled his fingers around her ankle again. "That's two questions."

"But they're related, aren't they?"

"Och, now that's three."

She nudged him with her foot, and the bell on her slipper jingled. "Just answer the question."

He smiled. "Roman started the Secret Santa Pact in 1950 when he became coven master. We have a few Vamps around the country who work the night shift, sorting mail for the post office. Each year, they gather the letters addressed to Santa, and we collect toys. Then on Christmas Eve, some Vamps dress up like Santa to deliver the goods, including places like halfway houses and women's shelters."

Toni sat silent for a while, absorbing this latest news. What more proof did she need that these Vamps were kind and noble? "That is so awesome."

"Thank you." He pulled both her feet into his lap and removed one of her green slippers. "We enjoy it quite a bit." He took off the second slipper. They jingled when he tossed them on the table.

"You mean you're one of the Santas?"

"Aye. I've been doing it since I came here to work in 1955." He slid one of her fuzzy red socks off. "There are a hundred of us now." He pulled off her other sock.

"What are you doing?"

"I answered yer questions." He threw the socks on the table. "Two questions."

"But you removed four articles of clothing."

"Nay. Socks and shoes come in pairs." He wrapped his hands around one of her feet and began massaging it.

How could she argue when it felt so good? "Okay. Ask your next question."

He sat there, quietly rubbing her foot while he considered. "Do ye want children?"

That surprised her. "Yes."

He removed his belt and sword and slid them down the table to the pile of clothes.

"That's it?" she asked. "One lousy belt?"

"'Twas an easy question for you."

"Do you want children?" She knew the answer wouldn't be easy for him. He could never have children if he married a Vamp.

"If I ever have children, I would consider myself greatly blessed."

"That's a bit evasive. But still nice." She uncinched her brown leather belt, and her wooden stakes clattered onto the table.

He stood and shoved the stakes across the table, so that they tumbled onto the floor.

"A bit sensitive about those, aren't you?"

"Aye." He plucked the feathered cap off her head and tossed it onto the pile of clothing.

"What are you doing?"

"Ye asked a question, and I answered it. In fact, I just answered another one." He tugged at the lacings on her green elfin tunic.

"Stop that." She swatted his hand away. "Those questions didn't count. That was normal conversation. Now ask an official question, please."

"Verra well." He sat back down in his chair and studied her. "What do ye want most in life?"

"That's a big one. You'll have to remove five articles of clothing for that answer."

"Four."

"All right, four. But I get to choose which ones."

He smiled. "Agreed."

What did she want the most? "Every morning, I start my day with four affirmations. I guess you could say they're what I want most in life. Or what I want to believe the most. The first one is I deserve to be happy."

"Aye, ye do."

She slid off the table. "I'm taking your boots." She yanked them off and smiled at his argyle socks. So Scottish.

"Yer second affirmation?" he asked.

"I will accomplish my goals."

He nodded. "Ye have worthy goals."

She unbuttoned his red velvet jacket. "Take it off, Santa."

He tossed the jacket on the table, along with the small pillow that had masqueraded as a belly. "Go on."

"Number three is I will achieve something meaningful with my life."

"That is important. That's why I fight the Malcontents." He stood when she tugged on his white T-shirt. He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.

She eyed his bare chest. The patch of black, curly hair, the strong pecs, the six-pack abs. His red velvet pants were tied at his hips by a white drawstring. She took the end of the white cord in her fingers and gently pulled.

"And the fourth affirmation?"