Page 5 of Dark Christmas

Claire’s grin is downright devious. “Then I’ll be more than happy to cover for you if you need a little extra time.” She winks, and I let out a half-nervous, half-excited squeal.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” I say, grabbing the box of muffins. My heart is already racing, and it only beats faster as I hurry out the front door, muffin box clutched to my chest like it’s a damn life raft.

The cool morning air hits me as I walk down the street, but it does nothing to calm the storm of nerves and excitement swirling inside me. I seriously cannot believe I’m about to do this.

As I turn the corner onto my block, I catch sight of him just as he slips inside his house. My heart skips a beat—I was kind of hoping he wasn’t home yet.

I stop a few feet away, psyching myself up for what I’m about to do. “Okay,” I mutter to myself, clutching the muffin box a little tighter. “Just drop it off, say something flirty, and then run.”

I stand at the front door and take a deep breath.

I ring the doorbell and wait, trying not to squeeze the box so hard that I crush the pastries inside. After what seems like a full minute, there is still no answer. Glancing around, I spot a small table for packages near the door. “Okay, just leave it and go,” I tell myself. As I bend down to set the muffin box on the table, I notice a big envelope sitting there, half-hidden under some junk mail.

Not wanting to squish whatever’s inside, I move the envelope carefully and place the box down before setting the envelope neatly on top without turning it over. Who his mail comes from is none of my business.

Perfect. I take a step back to admire my handiwork. Mission accomplished. Now, all I have to do is get out of here before my mind wanders back into the gutter.

I turn to leave, but something stops me. I glance back at the box. Normally, we seal our boxes with one of our cute little logo stickers, making it clear it’s from Sweet Talk. But Claire, in her rush, tied it up with ribbon, forgetting the sticker, so the box is just blank. No way Sexy Accountant’s going to know where these muffins are from.

Sighing, I pull out the pen from my apron and scribble a quick note on top of the box:

Hey, neighbor! Thought you might enjoy some treats from down the street. — Amelia from Sweet Talk

I head back down the steps, closing the gate behind me. With my heart still racing from this whole ridiculous muffin delivery, I make my way back to the bakery, trying to wrap my head around what just happened, wondering if I’ll ever hear from Mr. Sexy Accountant.

Chapter 4

Melor

The chime from the front door echoes through the house, but I’m not in the mood for company. Whoever it is can wait or, better yet, go away.

Instead, I strip off my sweat-soaked running clothes, tossing them aside as I make my way to the shower. The sleek tiles are cold under my feet, but I welcome the chill.

On my way, I catch my reflection in the mirror. Broad shoulders, lean muscle, and a body still in fighting shape. The scars tell stories I don’t care to relive—one across my side from a knife fight in Moscow, another on my arm, a bullet that came a little too close. The Bratva tattoos etched into my skin are a permanent reminder of who I was, and who I still am beneath the surface.

I frown at my image. I’ve been working too much lately—meetings, deals, logistics—so much that I’ve been slacking on the gym, even though it’s right in the basement. No excuses. I can’t afford to slip up, not in the world I live in.

I shake my head and step into the shower. The hot water hits my skin, rinsing away the grime from the run, but not the tension that’s settled in my shoulders. Steam fills the space, but my mind is elsewhere, already working through the next items on my list that I need to handle.

No distractions. Not now.

I’ve got a meeting with Borealis Tech—a billion-dollar corporation drowning in their own incompetence. They’ve been hacked three times in the past six months, and now they’re desperate enough to finally come to me. No doubt they cut corners and went with some low-rent cybersecurity firm instead of the best. And now, they’re paying for it.

The deal will be mine. That’s all that matters.

I finish up in the shower, steam swirling around me as I dry off. I pull on a crisp, tailored off-white shirt, open at the collar, and pair it with dark grey slacks. Sharp, business-casual, but with enough edge to remind them who they’re dealing with.

I head down the stairs to the first floor, the sound of my footsteps echoing in the quiet expanse of the house. My thoughts drift back to the doorbell earlier. Whoever it was, they’re probably long gone by now. I can always check the camera footage later if necessary. But as I open the front door, something unexpected catches my eye.

A box.

Strange.

On top of it sits an envelope, but my attention turns to a little note scribbled across the top of the box. I read it, the corner of my mouth twitching in mild amusement, though I remaincautious. It’s from one of the girls at Sweet Talk, the bakery I jog past now and then. I don’t frequent places like that, but I’ve noticed them working inside. And I know right away which girl this is from.

There are only two women who run the place. One of them is heavily pregnant, which leaves the other—the one I’ve caught sneaking glances at me more than once from across the street.

She’s hard to miss. Shoulder-length blonde hair that falls in loose waves, striking green eyes that always seem to linger a second too long, and pale skin that practically glows under the sunlight. Short, curvy in all the right ways. Sexy enough that I’ve got a clear image of her in my mind, and just thinking about her now makes my cock twitch.

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