Page 42 of Knot Beneath the Mistletoe

The silver star on top is slightly crooked, just like every year she put it up, refusing to fix it. “Some things are meant to be imperfect, Ruby,” she’d say, but now I wonder if she knew even then that everything would fall apart after she was gone.

“Earth to Ruby?” Ash waves a bottle of premium vodka at me. “Where’d you go just now?”

“Just...” I gesture vaguely at the room, my fingers automatically finding my aunt’s snowflake pendant. “Making sure everything’s perfect. We can’t screw this up, Ash.”

He sets down the bottle and comes over, squeezing my shoulder with a grin. “When have we ever screwed up an event?”

“There was the Thompson wedding.”

“That wasn’t our fault. How were we supposed to know the bride was running away with the cake decorator?”

Despite everything, I snort. “Or the Miller retirement party?”

“Okay, that one was definitely not our fault. Who brings a pet raccoon to a bar?”

The first notes ofAll I Want for Christmas Is Youdrift through the speakers—because apparently, I can’t escape Mariah Carey even in my own establishment—and I check my phone. 7:45 p.m. The party guests for the Christmas work party should start arriving any minute.

“Right.” I smooth down my dark green vintage-style dress, grateful I remembered to pair it with comfortable boots. It’s going to be a long night. “I should get out there.”

The main bar is already humming with the usual crowd. Old Joe’s in his corner spot, nursing what I know is his second whiskey of the night. The Henderson sisters occupy their usual table, Margaret’s silver hair catching the light as she leans in to whisper, most likely the latest gossip, to Anne. Tommy and his crew from the local lodge are huddled around the pool table.

The familiarity of it all helps steady my nerves, but there’s still that undercurrent of tension I can’t shake. Less than two weeks until I either marry a mate or lose everything. The thought makes my stomach churn.

The door chimes, and the first party guests start arriving. I direct them down the hallway, admiring the parade of cocktail dresses—a stunning red number with a sweetheart neckline, a midnight blue sheath that shines in the light. The women move casually, their heels clicking against the hardwood floors. A group of men and several women arrive next, and I direct them.

Then the door chimes again, and my world stops.

Hefills the doorway like he was carved to fit it, all broad shoulders and lethal grace. Every inch of me suddenly sits up and pays attention. The stranger has to be at least six-four. The mauve button-down he’s wearing clings to his chest, showing he works out. It’s tucked into black pants that look painted on strong thighs.

But it’s his face that makes my breath catch. Strong jawline shadowed with just enough stubble to make my fingers itch to touch it. High cheekbones. Ink black hair that falls past his jaw, some strands tucked behind his ear while others sweep across eyes that... oh God. His eyes are dark, impossibly dark, and they’re scanning the room with an intensity that makes heat pool in my stomach.

A small geometric tattoo peeks out from under his sleeve as he runs a hand through his hair. The simple gesture is so casual, it leaves me captivated. He moves like someone who knows exactly how dangerous he is and doesn’t need to prove it to anyone. Like gravity itself bends around him.

“Need some help picking your jaw up off the floor?” Ash appears beside me, his voice low and amused. “Or are you too busy falling for Mr. Sexy over there?”

“What?” I blink, trying to remember how words work. My insides feel too tight, too hot. “I’m not… I was just…”

“Sure, sure,” he smirks. “I need to grab some stuff for the party room. Try not to drool on the counter while I’m gone.”

I watch him disappear down the hallway, grateful for the moment to collect myself. This is ridiculous. I already have enough Alpha complications in my life with Knox and Garrett. I don’t need another one, especially not one who makes me want to bare my neck just by existing in my general vicinity. And this man is all Alpha. One look at him says it all. I turn to put some glasses away, needing to keep myself busy and distracted.

“Ruby, isn’t it?” The voice. Deep, smooth, and gravely coming from behind me. I turn slowly, and there he is, leaning slightly against my bar like he owns every room he enters. This close, I can see his eyes aren’t just dark, they’re practically black, with tiny flecks of gold that seem to spark when they meet mine.

“That’s me.” I manage to sound almost professional, despite the way my heart’s trying to escape my chest. The air between us feels charged, dangerous. “At Winterscape Bar.” I suddenly feel stupid for saying that last part because clearly that’s where he is.

His lips curve into something too wicked to be called a smile.

“Dominic Chase.”

It dawns on me that he’s the man who made the booking tonight.

He extends his hand, and when I take it, a buzz jolts up my arm so intensely, I almost gasp. His skin is hot against mine, his grip firm but not overwhelming.

“Though something tells me you’re the real welcome here.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “Smooth talker?”

“Only when it matters.” His thumb brushes across my knuckles before he releases my hand, the touch deliberate. “I own Sentinel Security. Thanks for accommodating our Christmas party on such short notice.”

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