Page 13 of His for Christmas
My jaw clenches so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. Holly steps back slightly, putting professional distance between them.
"I think regular business hours will work fine," she says politely. "We're on a tight schedule with Christmas approaching."
Her response soothes some of my rage, but not enough. She shouldn't have to deflect his advances at all. Not in my house. Not when she's?—
Mine. The word forms with complete certainty. Holly Parker is mine, whether she fully realizes it yet or not. Last night confirmed what I've known since finding her in my collection room. She responds to me in ways she's never responded to anyone else. Her body recognizes its owner, even if her mind is still catching up.
I step fully into the hallway, my footsteps deliberately audible on the marble floor. Both Holly and the contractor turn toward the sound. Her eyes widen slightly when she sees me, a flush immediately coloring her cheeks. The contractor straightens, sensing authority without knowing exactly who I am.
"Ms. Parker," I say, my voice cool and controlled despite the heat of rage still simmering beneath the surface. "I need to speak with you about the ballroom concept."
"Of course, Mr. Sterling," she replies, her professional mask sliding back into place, though I can see the quickening pulse at the base of her throat. "Brian and I were just wrapping up."
Brian extends his hand toward me, oblivious to the danger he's in. "Brian Reynolds, sir. Sterling Lighting Solutions is handling the custom installation for the holiday decorations. Your home is magnificent."
I take his hand, applying slightly more pressure than necessary. "Dominic Sterling. And yes, I'm aware of who you are."
His eyes widen at my name, recognition and a hint of fear crossing his features. Good. Fear is the appropriate response.
"We were just reviewing the technical specifications for the lighting sequences," Holly explains, her voice steady though her eyes betray her awareness of the tension.
"I'm sure Mr. Reynolds can handle the implementation without further personal consultation," I say, my eyes never leaving his face. "His team will work under the supervision of my staff going forward."
Brian looks between Holly and me, something clicking into place in his expression. "Of course, Mr. Sterling. We'll coordinate through your team."
"See that you do." I turn to Holly. "My office, Ms. Parker. Now."
She gathers her sketches quickly, nodding a brief goodbye to the contractor before following me. I feel his eyes on us as we walk away, and take the calculated risk of placing my hand at the small of Holly's back as I guide her toward my office. The possessive gesture isn't lost on him, judging by his expression.
Once inside my office, I close the door firmly behind us. Holly turns to face me, her arms folded across her chest, her expression a mix of confusion and irritation.
"Was that really necessary?" she asks. "He's the lighting specialist we need for the installation."
"His team can handle it," I reply, moving closer to her. "He won't be working directly with you anymore."
Her eyes narrow slightly. "Because he was being friendly?"
"Because he was imagining you naked while discussing twinkling lights."
Her cheeks flush deeper, but she doesn't back down. "I can handle contractors being occasionally inappropriate. It's part of working in a male-dominated industry."
"Not in my house." The words come out more harshly than intended. "Not with you."
Something in my tone makes her pause, her expression shifting as she studies my face. "Dominic...are you jealous?"
The directness of her question catches me off guard. I'm not accustomed to being so transparent, to having my emotions read so easily. It's unsettling.
"I don't share what's mine," I say finally, deciding honesty is the most efficient path forward.
"I'm not yours," she counters, though her voice lacks conviction. "I work for you."
I step closer until only inches separate us. "We both know it's more than that, Holly. After last night, we can't pretend otherwise."
Her eyes drop to my mouth briefly before meeting mine again. "One make-out session doesn't make me your possession."
"No," I agree, raising my hand to brush my thumb across her lower lip, remembering how it felt against mine. "But it's a start."
She doesn't pull away from my touch, her breathing quickening slightly. This power I have over her body's responses—and she over mine—is dangerous and addictive.
