Page 17 of His for Christmas
"Shh," I silence her with a brief, hard kiss. "No discussion. No analysis. Just feel, Holly."
She nods, seemingly beyond words. I stroke my thumb across her lower lip, still wet from my kiss.
"Go home," I tell her, my voice rough with restraint. "Put on that green dress I saw in your closet when my security team vetted your apartment."
Her eyes widen slightly at this revelation, but she doesn't seem surprised that I've had her background thoroughly investigated. She understands, on some level, the kind of man I am.
"And then?" she whispers.
"And then," I say, finally stepping back, creating space between us though it physically pains me to do so, "you'll come to dinner. We'll talk about the decorations, about your vision for transforming my home. We'll drink wine, eat excellent food, and pretend we're having a normal business dinner."
I reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers trail down her neck afterward. "And then I'll take you to my bed, where I'll spend hours learning every inch of your body. Where I'll make you come so many times you forget your ownname, but never mine. Where you'll finally understand that from the moment you stepped into my house, you've belonged to me."
Her breath catches, her chest rising and falling rapidly. There's no protest in her eyes, no outrage at my presumption. Only heat and anticipation and a hunger that matches my own.
"Now go," I say, stepping fully away from her. "My driver is waiting."
She pushes away from the wall on unsteady legs, smoothing her sweater with trembling hands. Before she can pass me, I catch her wrist, bringing it to my lips for a kiss that's oddly formal after the carnality of moments before.
"One hour," I remind her. "Don't make me wait longer."
She nods, still seemingly incapable of speech, and hurries down the corridor. I watch her go, satisfaction flowing through me like fine whiskey. Tonight, the waiting ends. Tonight, Holly Parker becomes mine in every way that matters.
Chapter
Five
HOLLY
The green dresshangs on my closet door like a question. How did he know about it? The thought of Dominic's security team in my small apartment, examining my belongings, should disturb me more than it does. Instead, I find myself wondering what else he knows about me, what other details he's collected and filed away. The dress was an impulse buy six months ago—an emerald silk that cost more than I usually spend on an entire month's worth of clothes. I've never worn it, never had an occasion that warranted something so overtly sensual. The neckline dips lower than I'm comfortable with, the fabric clings to curves I usually try to downplay, and the slit up the side reveals more leg than I typically show. It's a dress designed to attract attention. His attention, specifically, though I didn't know that when I bought it.
My hands shake as I apply mascara, a rare addition to my typically minimal makeup routine. My reflection shows a woman I barely recognize—cheeks flushed, eyes too bright, lips slightly swollen from Dominic's demanding kiss. That kiss in the alcove replays in my mind on constant loop. The way he pressed me against the wall, his body hard against mine, his handtangled in my hair. The absolute possession in his touch, as if he'd been claiming territory. And the most disturbing part? How completely I surrendered to it. How eagerly my body responded to his dominance.
This isn't me. I don't lose control like this, don't let attraction overpower my professional judgment. I've worked with attractive clients before without falling into their beds. I've built a reputation for being professional, reliable, discreet. Yet one week with Dominic Sterling, and I'm preparing for a dinner that we both know will end in his bedroom.
"What are you doing, Holly?" I whisper to my reflection.
The woman in the mirror has no answers, only questions. How did we get here so quickly? Why does my body respond to him like it's been waiting for his touch my entire life? What will happen after tonight—after we cross this line that can't be uncrossed?
I've dated, of course. Had relationships that were pleasant, comfortable, occasionally even passionate in a mild sort of way. But I've never felt this—this consuming need that makes it hard to breathe when Dominic is near. Never had a man look at me the way he does, like he can see through every layer I've built around myself, straight to the core of desires I didn't know I had.
His intensity should frighten me. The possessiveness in his eyes when he caught me with the lighting contractor, the calculated way he arranged for me to work near his office all day, the presumption in his declaration that I've belonged to him since I first entered his house—these should all be red flags. Instead, they ignite something in me that I've never felt before. A desire to be possessed, to be the focus of that singular attention.
I slip the green dress from its hanger, the silk cool and fluid in my hands. Putting it on feels like a decision, a surrender, an acknowledgment that I want what's coming next. The fabric slides over my skin, settling against my curves like a lover'shands. When I look in the full-length mirror, I barely recognize myself. The woman reflected back at me is sensual, confident, ready for whatever the night brings.
It's almost seven-thirty. Dominic's driver will be here any minute. My stomach twists with nervous anticipation, butterflies performing acrobatics beneath the silk of my dress. I've never been this nervous about a date—if that's even what this is. Date seems too casual a word for what Dominic has orchestrated.
I think of his words in the alcove: "I'll take you to my bed, where I'll spend hours learning every inch of your body. Where I'll make you come so many times you forget your own name, but never mine."
Heat floods through me at the memory, settling low in my abdomen. The raw hunger in his voice, the absolute certainty—as if my agreement was a foregone conclusion. And wasn't it? Haven't I been moving toward this since the moment our eyes first met in his private collection room?
The doorbell rings, startling me from my thoughts. I grab my clutch, take one last look in the mirror, and go to meet my fate.
Dominic's driver is professionally discreet, opening the door to a sleek black car without comment on my appearance or the unusual nature of the pickup. The back seat is luxurious—soft leather, plenty of legroom, a subtle scent of something expensive and masculine that reminds me of Dominic himself. As we pull away from my modest apartment building, I feel like I'm leaving more than just my home behind. I'm leaving the old Holly—cautious, professional, content with the safe and expected—and moving toward someone new. Someone who craves what Dominic is offering.
The city lights blur past the tinted windows. In less than thirty minutes, I'll be sitting across from him, pretending we're discussing business while both of us know exactly where thenight is heading. The thought should make me turn around, tell the driver to take me back home. Instead, I find myself watching the minutes tick by on my phone, impatient for our arrival.
What is it about him that affects me this way? It's not just his wealth or power—I've worked for wealthy, powerful men before without this reaction. It's not just his physical appearance, though God knows he's the most attractive man I've ever seen. It's something more fundamental, something in the way he looks at me like he sees parts of me I've kept hidden from everyone else. The way he touches me with absolute certainty that my body belongs in his hands.
