Page 37 of Never Kiss a Krampus
“Well, alrighty then.” He adjusted his glasses. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay. Seemed like a busy day. For all of us.”
“The busiest,” I chirped, moving towards him to gently herd him back towards the door. “It was wonderful. Anyway, we should get going. Big day tomorrow.”
“Right. Well. Good night, then.” He gave Bastian one last, wary look.
The bells chimed, and then he and I were alone again, the silence rushing in to fill the space Mr. Peterson had occupied.
“You were going to eviscerate him, weren’t you?” I asked, only half teasing.
“I was considering it.” The rumble in his chest was pure annoyance.
“You can’t eviscerate my customers, Bastian. It’s bad for business.”
“He wasn’t a customer,” he retorted, turning to face me. The fire was back in his eyes, and the air crackled with it. “Where were we?”
The question was a challenge. A dare.
“I believe,” I said, my heart doing a frantic tap dance against my ribs, “we were in the middle of a significant transgression.”
He took a step towards me. The chains around his torso gave off a soft, sinister music that promised things I shouldn’t want. I stood my ground.
“Your proximity is affecting my judgment,” he said, his voice a low growl. “It is an unacceptable variable.”
“Trust me, the feeling is mutual.”
“You seem… unconcerned by the consequences.”
“I’m not,” I lied. I was very concerned. I was terrified. I was also thrumming with a need so powerful it drowned out everything else. “Maybe I’ve decided I like transgressions.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “A dangerous revelation.”
“Is it?” I took a step of my own, closing the distance between us until I was standing close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “Or is it an honest one?”
“Honesty,” he murmured, lifting a hand to cup my cheek, “is always a transgression in a world built on pleasant lies.” His thumb stroked my jaw, and I leaned into the touch before I could stop myself.
Before he could close the remaining distance, my phone buzzed from the counter. I flinched and fumbled for it, the screen lighting up my face with an unwelcome reminder of reality.
Jenna: Have you run away with your consultant? Why aren’t you at the meeting?
Right. The holiday market. The meeting I was supposed to be at half an hour ago. The meeting where I was supposed to present my ideas for the Good Deeds Extravaganza.
“Crap,” I muttered, shoving the phone back into my pocket. “I completely forgot.”
“Forgot what?” The desire in the air had been replaced by suspicion.
“The Holiday Market Committee meeting.” I ran a hand through my hair, already feeling the panic rising. “It was at 5:30. I was supposed to be there.”
“The committee that organizes the town’s festivities?”
“The very one.” I grabbed my purse and my notebook, my earlier exhaustion replaced by a fresh wave of adrenaline. “They’re going to crucify me.”
“Then we should go.”
I froze. “We? No. You can’t. You’ll… distract people.”
“Your judgment has not been rendered, and we are bound until then. Where you go, I go.”
“This is a small-town committee meeting, not a battlefront.”
