Page 64 of Filthy Christmas

Over the rims, over the tray.

And across the jacket of the man in front of me.

So much for thinking I'd get the rent paid.

He jumps back, exclaiming in surprise and anger, his deep voice cutting through me, making me cringe harder. “How can you be so clumsy? Look what you've done!”

“I am so sorry, sir.” Tears sting behind my eyes as I spin around, reaching blindly for napkins while placing the tray on the bar.

“Don't waste your time.” He yanks the clutch of napkins from my hand and tries to blot away the worst of it. I can't believe I blew this up so spectacularly.

“Really, I'm so sorry, I didn't—”

His head snaps up, his deep-set dark eyes blazing. The sight of them robs me of whatever was about to come out of my mouth—my tongue is tied, and I've forgotten every word I ever knew.

It isn’t fear freezing me in place, rendering me mute. It's the feeling that I know him. I've seen him before, but that can't be possible. Everybody here is a wealthy donor to the charity holding the event. Maybe he's famous, and I've seen him online or on the news.

His eyes continue to blaze, but the rest of his face rearranges itself into something less terrifying. A very nice, classically handsome face topped with a thick head of wavy black hair. He has to be a movie star or something. Nobody this attractive could be anything else.

“Accidents happen.”

I blink rapidly. “Pardon?”

“This is nothing.” He snorts, looking down at his jacket. “It could’ve been red wine. Even then, So what? It's just a tuxedo.”

He's screwing with me. Loosening me up before he lands the death blow. No way did he change his tune that suddenly.

“Hey!” the bartender just about bellows. “I reloaded you. Try not to spill it this time.”

“Have a little patience,” the stranger advises him in that deep, commanding voice, glaring over my shoulder. “I’m sure nobody will perish from lack of champagne.”

“I really should get back to work, though,” I offer, torn between wanting to thank him for his kindness and wishing I could climb him like a tree. What is it about him? Something beyond good looks—he’s not the only hot man in the world or even in the room.

It’s the way he looks at me. Like he knows me the way I feel I know him. It weakens my knees and leaves my insides feeling like red-hot lava.

His brow creases before he nods. “Of course. Wouldn’t want you to lose your job…”

“Oh. Winter.”

“Winter.” His smile is as gorgeous as the rest of him, right down to the dimple in his cheek. “I’m Warren. I’m glad we met, despite my soaked tux.” There’s laughter in his voice, though, so I can almost believe he won’t get me fired before I’ve even started.

He backs up a step, and I’m almost sorry he does, but now isn’t the time to crush on a man who’s so far beyond me he might as well live on the moon. I offer a brief, grateful smile before picking up the tray and hurrying off as safely as I can.

If I had to crash into somebody, I’m glad it was him.

2

WARREN

Winter.

It suits her. The pale, unblemished skin. The almost icy blue eyes. The shining, blond hair pulled back in a stern little knot at the nape of her long, slim neck. My fingers twitch from the impulse to follow her, to unpin that knot and sink my hands into her hair. To hold her in place. To claim her with my mouth, my tongue, my touch.

She’s a bulldozer, slamming into me, pushing aside everything I ever thought was important. I’ve known of her existence for no more than a minute or two, but the life I knew as I strolled into this ballroom is now the past. Before. Without.

It’s all about her now. I take a champagne flute when it’s offered to me before deciding no, something stronger is in order. “Whiskey. Double.” I narrow my eyes at the bartender who spoke so rudely to my angel, gratified but not surprised when he jumps into action.

Energy hums through my body the way it always does before I stake my claim. When I see what works, I waste no time taking it. That certainty, that belief I have in myself, is what brought me to this place.

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