Page 15 of Horns for the Holidays

“What?” she griped, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “We’re here to work, not... fraternize.”

I glanced at what had caught her eye—a couple locked in a passionate embrace beneath a glowing mistletoe arch. Hands roamed freely over exposed skin, and it was clear neither cared they had an audience.

Her pulse thumped wildly at her throat, and the scent of her arousal spiked.

“Of course,” I agreed smoothly.Thatwas a reaction to file away for later shower fantasies. “Strictly professional.”

She gave a terse nod and slipped her hand from my arm. I immediately missed her touch, but stayed close as we navigated the crowd. The entire island hummed with energy and temptation. With magic and decadence.

We made our way to a roped-off area where couples wearing enchanted mistletoe crowns mingled and danced. Throbbing music poured from hidden speakers, providing an insistent tempo for the sea of writhing bodies.

A vampire and satyr twirled past, their crowns blazing like miniature suns. His fangs grazed her neck as they moved to the music’s sensual rhythm. She moaned, loud enough to draw appreciative whoops from the crowd.

I swallowed hard, acutely aware of Laramie shifting beside me. What would happen if we tried on those crowns? Would they burst into flames? Short-circuit the entire system?

Would that be enough to convince her to stay?

“Well, well,” a familiar voice purred. “Look who decided to join the naughty list.”

I stiffened and turned to find Devlin sauntering toward us. She wore gauzy layers of black styled into something vaguely resembling an ancient priestess. A circlet of thorny branches and florals rested atop her bare head, another prop meant to evoke goddess vibes.

“Devlin,” I greeted flatly. Maybe I should work to bury the hatchet; her appearance worked better than a cold shower. “Quite the spectacle you’ve put together.”

She smiled, and it reminded me of a shark circling its prey. “Only the best for Shadow Daddies’ user base. Surely you haven’t forgotten how important keeping our customers happy is.”

My hand dropped possessively to Laramie’s lower back. Devlin’s yellow eyes flickered to the gesture, her lips curving into a knowing smirk.

“Love the dress, darling,” she told Laramie with poorly disguised cattiness. “Though a bit conservative for the Bad Santa theme, don’t you think? We do encourage guests to embrace their wild side.”

Anger simmered in my gut, and I let off a warning growl. “That’s enough, Devlin. She looks perfect.”

Devlin’s eyebrows shot up. To her credit, Laramie didn’t look the least bit intimidated. In fact, she seemed to grow several inches taller. Her chin jutted out defiantly as she leveled an unimpressed look at Devlin.

“Touchy, aren’t we?” Devlin’s grin turned predatory. She reached into her cleavage—because of course she did—and pulled out a key card. “In case you decide to be a little naughty. The view is... spectacular.”

I ignored the key. Devlin shrugged and tucked it into my jacket pocket anyway.

“Enjoy the party.” She winked and sashayed away.

As Devlin disappeared into the crowd, Laramie let out a shaky breath. “Well, that was...”

“Infuriating?” I supplied.

“I was going to say ‘intense,’ but yeah, that works, too.” She laughed, the sound sending warmth blooming in my chest. “Come on, let’s see what other ‘innovations’ they’ve cooked up for the wild side.”

We didn’t get more than three steps before a vendor materialized before us, brandishing a tray of shimmering, ruby-red shots.

“Care to sample Santa’s Secret Sauce?” she asked, gesturing to the glasses. “It’ll put you in the mood for a very merry Christmas.”

“We’ll pass,” I said, steering Laramie away from the vendor’s disappointed pout.

But the temptation crept up the back of my neck. How easy it would be to blame the drink, the atmosphere, the magic in the air. To taste those lips again...

From the way Laramie’s eyes followed the tray, I suspected she thought the same thing.

We found ourselves in a relatively quiet corner, away from the main crush of revelers. Dark, glittering snowflakes hung from the ceiling, casting shimmering patterns across plush velvet curtains. A curved bench beckoned, offering a modicum of privacy.

“You seem remarkably at ease,” I observed, unable to keep the hint of amusement from my voice. “Not quite what I expected from someone who hates the holidays.”

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