Page 2 of Starstruck with the Krampus

“Gianna here has done a good job, hasn’t she?” Mr. Webber says, oblivious to the fact that our client is now glaring at his hand as if he’s two seconds away from ripping it off.

I shrug lightly, not wanting to make a fuss out of it, and my boss finally takes the hint and moves to the head of the table to take the position of power, as he likes to call it. He starts the meeting off by reading through all the requirements that Mr. Koch had coming to our company, his voice droning on and on. I resist the urge to brush my shoulder, then look up at Mr. Koch.

He seems barely leashed, his hands balled into fists on top of the conference table. His dark eyes sparkle with gold, a detail I’ve never noticed before. I don’t know what kind of creature he is, but something about Mr. Webber seems to be setting him off.

I widen my eyes at him and shake my head almost imperceptibly, signaling to him to calm down. Whatever his non-human side is telling him, he cannot maul my boss just because the older man touched my shoulder.

If I felt unsafe working here, if Mr. Webber was a creep, I would have taken one of the out-of-town jobs rather than remain here. But as boring and obnoxious as he can be, he’s never acted inappropriately, so I know his behavior is only pompousness.

Mr. Koch’s gaze finally shutters, the gold sparkle disappearing. He sits back and puts his hands under the table, then angles his body ever so slightly away from me. A pang of hurt goes through me at the gesture, completely irrational. I fight down an embarrassed blush, wondering what on earth has gotten into me. He probably wasn’t even upset because of me. Maybe he has heartburn, and I’ve misinterpreted the entire thing.

Letting my hair out from behind my ears, I use the dark curtain to partially hide my face and pretend I’m making notes. The idea I had of asking him whether he’s coming to our Christmas party seems preposterous now. If anyone should invite him, it’s Mr. Webber, which I’m sure he’s done already, so I shouldn’t bother at all.

And even if he’s been invited, he probably won’t come. We’re no longer working together, so he has no reason to attend a boring work gathering.

This daydream has gone on long enough. I need to face the reality that I likely won’t see Mr. Koch again after today, or if I will, it’ll be from afar, in the street, while I hide behind a van, clutching my donut loot to my chest.

CHAPTER 2

DOMINIC

Miss Marino is the only reason Webber is still breathing. When he patted her shoulder, I had a visceral, violent image flash in my head of him writhing on the floor, his severed hand bleeding beside him. I barely held myself back, but it wasn’t until Miss Marino gave me a chastising glare that I pulled my shit together.

The older witch is lucky to have such a model employee. Not only did she create the branding for my company all by herself, she kept him from losing his hand and possibly his life. He should be giving her a fucking raise, not trying to make it sound as if he’s the one who did the bulk of work on my portfolio.

When I received an invitation to his ridiculous Christmas party several weeks ago, I was tempted to send a refusal. Then I realized it might be the last legitimate opportunity to spend time with Gianna without looking like an obsessed stalker, so I sent in my RSVP, even though I knew I’d have to endure Webber’s bloated speeches and mediocre food.

“It’s such an honor to conclude this project,” Webber is saying. “You’ve been our best client to date, Mr. Koch, and it was such a pleasure working with you.”

I nod, resisting the urge to look at Gianna. Miss Marino. I’ve been this company’s best client because ofher. I made up addition after addition to the branding package, requesting multiple versions and iterations for the opportunity to see her more often. I insisted on personal meetings, saying things of this nature couldn’t possibly be discussed over the phone—because I wanted to spend time with her.

I wanted to see that little furrow appear between her dark eyebrows, I wanted to spy on how her soft lips pinched together when she was annoyed with her boss. This was the closest I could get to her without ruining her, and I was a glutton for it. Her fucking scent clung to me after every meeting, and I’d keep the shirts unwashed for days, getting high on the essence of her.

And her thoughts…

I sink my fangs into my tongue to keep from groaning. Gods, I’m an addict. Every single sinful thing she’s thought in my presence has pulled me in. I’ve spent countless hours wondering what she’d feel like if I had her under me, all flushed and panting, asking me to bring her fantasies to life.

Because Miss Marino has the most deliciously filthy mind. The things she has imagined now live in my brain, taking up every waking thought. Under that prim dress is a body made to be worshipped, but I can’t touch her. She’s human, and she has no idea what she’d be getting herself into. Even if she thinks she can handle me, she can’t. So I’ve been watching her from afar, learning everything I can about her. It’s not hard—every time she’s near me, I sense her immediately, like the time she hid behind the car in the street, the delicate perfume of her body mixing with the salty-sweet aroma of the pastries she’d bought at the bakery.

I let her go that day, but every time I see her makes it harder for me to release her. My monstrous self has fixated on her, and having to wrench myself away has become painful lately. If I was a better man, a smarter man, I’d leave this town, hell, I’d leave this fucking country and get away from her.

But I can’t. I won’t.

“And that’s the end of it,” Webber announces in that self-important way of his. “I only need you to sign these,” he adds, sliding some papers over the table, “and we’re done. If you ever need anything else, you’ll contact us, of course. And I hope we’ll see you at the party tonight?”

From the corner of my eye, I see Miss Marino straighten in her chair. Oh, she’s interested in that, is she? I barely hold back a purr of satisfaction.

“Yes, I expect so.” I keep my gaze on the man. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

I scrawl my signature on the papers and hand them back to him. He busies himself with putting everything away, and it’s only then that I allow myself to glance at Gianna again. She’s watching me, her pink lips parted, her cheeks flushed. I don’t even have to extend my powers toward her—she’s projecting the images so strongly, they hit me with perfect clarity.

Naked flesh, rubbing together. Lips on skin, the wet slide of a tongue. Hands, holding down her wrists. A gasp of pleasure at being touched so intimately…

She drops her gaze to her notepad, but she cannot hide from me. The scent of her wafts through the air, and I swallow down a possessive growl. Webber, the oblivious idiot, prattles on about the party and the weather, moving slowly toward the door. He’s in the way—he’s keeping me from claiming the one woman who’s managed to awaken every protective, possessive instinct inside me, and if he doesn’t move his pasty ass out of my sight, I’m going to?—

A phone rings. The sound is jarring, too loud, and I cringe, then blink away the haze of lust and fury.

“Ah, that’s Mrs. Webber calling.” Gianna’s boss chuckles, pressing the phone to his chest. “It’ll be another catering emergency, I’m sure. I’m sorry, I have to take this. You can see Mr. Koch out, can’t you, Gianna?”

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