Page 9 of One Twisted Christmas

I blink at the man, questioning once more if I fell at some point during the day and gave myself a concussion. This has got to be some kind of fever dream because did Fabian – the mob heir who terrifies half of Moth Hill with his mere existence – just ask me if he could have the restaurant pack dessert for me?

"I would like that," I tell him. It would be silly to refuse his offer to bring home desserts from this place. Plus, I want to sharethem with my dad and his caregiver, Annette, our neighbor since I was a little girl. She offered to stay with my father for the evening while I went out. She takes care of him when I'm working, but never at night. It was kind of her to offer to work tonight, especially since it’s Christmas Eve.

I watch Fabian talk to a waiter, but they are speaking in Italian, so I shift my focus from their exchange to the man himself. It's unfair just how good-looking Fabian is. There isn't a single lock of hair out of place, and everything about him is so put together. I fight the urge to reach up and tug at his hair or rustle his shirt. I bet his chest is firm and sturdy. It looks that way from where I'm seated.

For such a stoic man, I wonder what kind of expression he'd make if I touched him. Would he remain a tense rock and those eyes cold or would his features soften? Not that I have much or any experience when it comes to men but with Fabian, I find myself wondering what he looks like underneath his form-fitting suit. What he sounds like when he isn't on guard and… how that mouth would feel pressed against me. Trailing my skin and to my secret spots.

I gasp at the sudden squeeze in my panties, drawing attention to me. Fabian studies me for a second and it does nothing but fuel the fire building between my legs.

“Helena, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, clenching my thighs together but that only sends the intense feeling building in my core. It’s not the first time I’ve experienced this, I’m twenty-one for Christ’s sake, but it’s never been this intense.

Was it something I ate?

“Helena–”

“I need to use the bathroom,” I say, perhaps a little too loudly from the heads that turn my way. I flush at the attention before grabbing my purse and rushing towards the washrooms. I push into the first stall I come across and walk inside, my head reeling from what is happening to me.

It's arousal. I know what the heck it is, but why is it happening to me? Now and here of all places? Sure, I've been seated all night across the hottest man in Moth Hill with dark eyes that burn into my skin but that is no reason to get this hot and bothered. I've met tons of hot men before, well… none that could live up to Fabian's good looks but my point stays.

I place a hand on my chest and force myself to calm down, ignoring the wetness in my panties. I can get through the rest of the evening and then take care of this – whatever the hell “this” is – when I get home. Far away from the man that is causing it.

Even so, that doesn’t stop me from imagining what it would feel like if I let Fabian take care of it for me.

Snap out of it, Helena! You can’t forget why you are here tonight.

I take a moment to relax and gather my emotions before I feel ready to face the man once more. "I just need to get through the rest of the meal," I say to my reflection in the mirror as I wash my hands in the sink. "The night is almost over."

I think I've probably spent enough time in the bathroom, so I walk out and head back to our table. The waiter is gone, and Fabian is standing by the table holding my coat. Oh, we're leaving already? I push back the disappointment I feel and instead flash the man a smile.

“Are you okay, Helena?”

God, why does his voice have to be so deep and rich? It's doing things to me that it shouldn't. I swore off bad boys a long time ago and Fabian is the worst one of all. He is a mob heir for Christ's sake.

“I’m fine.”

“Good,” he says, helping me into my coat. “I asked them to pack and deliver a variety of desserts to your home.”

I swing around to look at him, shock clear in my eyes. “You did?” Heck, I didn’t even know Bella Cucina did food deliveries, but this is Fabian Lorenzo after all. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He offers me his arm and I slide my hand into his before following him out of the restaurant.

This is it.

The end of our evening together. An evening that was supposed to cover the debt my family owes this man and now… this is it. I’ll probably never get to see Fabian after this and that’s a good thing. Right?

Christ, I don’t know anymore.

My heart is thumping in my chest as we wait for his car to come around. A part of me wants Fabian to be a scum bag and prove me wrong. I want him to ask for more. For him to wrap his arms around my waist and yank me flush against his study chest. I want to feel that firm mouth against mine.

I want to taste the wine on his lips. I bet it tastes a hundred times more addictive on his tongue than straight from the glass. So, I wait for it. But it never comes.

His car, a sleek Mercedes, pulls up in front of us and the valet walks out but I make no move to walk towards the car. Something keeps my feet glued to the ground, unwilling to get into the car and let him drive me home. It’s only nine. Do I reallyneed to get back home this early? I could… stay a little longer with the man. If he wants. Does he want me to?

Christ, what is happening to me?

“Helena?”

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