Page 12 of His for Christmas
"Beautiful," he murmurs, bending to press his lips to the newly exposed skin.
A sound from the hallway—distant voices, a door closing—breaks through our haze of desire. Dominic freezes, then slowly straightens, his breath coming as fast as mine. His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my swollen lower lip.
"Not like this," he says, voice rough with restraint. "Not rushed against a wall with the household staff nearby."
I want to protest, want to pull him back to me, but some small part of my brain recognizes he's right. I nod, unable to form coherent words.
He steps back slightly, creating space between our bodies that feels like a physical ache. With gentle fingers, he refastens the buttons of my blouse, the domestic gesture somehow more intimate than the passionate ones preceding it.
"When I take you to my bed, Holly," he says, his eyes never leaving mine, "we'll have all night. No interruptions. No holding back."
The promise in his words sends a fresh wave of desire through me. I can only nod again, still dazed from the intensity of what just happened.
He presses one last, surprisingly gentle kiss to my lips. "I'll have my driver take you home. You shouldn't be driving in this state."
"What state is that?" I manage to ask, finding my voice at last.
A slow smile spreads across his face. "The same state I'm in. Halfway to combustion."
As I gather my things with trembling hands, I catch a glimpse of myself in a decorative mirror. My hair is tousled, my lips swollen, my eyes wide and dark with lingering desire. I look like a woman who's been thoroughly kissed. A woman on the precipice of something dangerous and irresistible.
Dominic watches me, making no effort to hide his satisfaction at my dishevelment. This should bother me—the possessive gleam in his eye, the way he's so confident of my desire. Instead, it sends another thrill through me. Whatever is happening between us is beyond my experience, beyond my control.
And for the first time in my carefully ordered life, I don't want to be in control. I want to fall. I want to surrender.
God help me, I want it all.
Chapter
Four
DOMINIC
I don't likethe way he looks at her. The lighting contractor—Ryan or Bryan, some interchangeable name—has been reviewing Holly's design plans for thirty minutes, and he's spent at least twenty of those minutes staring at her rather than the blueprints. I'm supposed to be on a conference call with Singapore, not watching from my office doorway as another man visibly appreciates what's mine. But I dismissed Patricia five minutes into the call when I spotted Holly in the main hall with a stranger. A male stranger who keeps finding reasons to stand too close to her. A male stranger whose eyes linger on her curves when she turns to indicate something on her sketch.
His company came highly recommended—specializing in custom lighting installations for high-end properties. I approved the hire without much thought, delegating the details to Patricia. A decision I'm now regretting as I watch him smile too widely at something Holly says.
"So for the main staircase, I'm thinking cascading lights intertwined with the garlands," Holly explains, pointing to her detailed sketch. "Almost like stars falling."
"Beautiful concept," the contractor says, leaning closer than necessary. "I can already visualize it. Your designs are extraordinary, Holly."
The familiarity of using her first name sends a cold spike of irritation through me. He's known her for half an hour at most. The way her name sounds in his mouth feels like trespassing.
"Thank you, Brian," she replies with a professional smile. "The custom programming will be key. Each section needs to twinkle in sequence to create the falling effect."
So it's Brian. I file away the name, though I have no intention of using it. In my mind, he's already categorized as "soon to be removed."
He nods enthusiastically. "We can definitely make that happen. I've done similar effects for commercial installations, but never in a private residence. This will be a showpiece."
His gaze drops to Holly's mouth as she speaks, then lower to where her simple blouse hints at the curves beneath. A primitive possessiveness surges through me—an unfamiliar and unwelcome emotion. I don't get jealous. I've never had reason to. Women come to me, stay as long as I wish, and leave when I'm done. I don't pursue, don't compete, and certainly don't feel this burning rage at another man's appreciative glance.
Yet here I stand, calculating exactly how quickly I could terminate this contractor's services and how much the breach of contract would cost me.
Holly turns to indicate the chandelier, unaware of his wandering eyes or my murderous thoughts. She's entirely professional—her voice steady, her gestures precise as she explains her vision. Nothing in her demeanor invites his attention. But she doesn't need to invite it. She draws eyes naturally, with her genuine enthusiasm, her quiet confidence in her work, the way her body moves with unconscious grace.
Last night's interlude in the sitting room replays in my mind—the feel of her pressed against me, the soft sounds she made when I touched her, the way she yielded and responded with a passion that matched my own. Twelve hours later, and I can still taste her on my tongue.
"If you'd like, I could come by after hours sometime to show you some of our specialty lighting effects," Brian suggests, his hand touching Holly's arm in a gesture that's supposedly professional but lingers too long. "Some things are better demonstrated in person."
