Page 21 of Wicked Mistletoe

Then, like a cruel slap to reality, a phone starts shrilling through the air. My body goes rigid when I recognize the tune.

It’s my ringtone for Stacey.

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Rafael pushes away from me, releasing my hand and pulling out with one last, tender kiss to my cheek. I remain sagged against the wall, legs trembling, while he tugs his pants back up. My mind spins and panic squeezes my chest. Still, some part of me can’t help but note—he didn’t even strip fully. Just his cock. And honestly, that was enough.More than enough.

“You good?” he asks, his hand running down my spine as he glances at me in concern. The touch should be comforting, but all it does is amplify the whirlwind of emotions inside me. My mouth is cottony, and my throat feels tight, so I just nod. “Do you need me to get that for you?” He gestures towards my purse on the floor, where my phone continues its insistent chorus.

Oh hell no.My eyes widen in pure horror, and I push away from the wall. “No!” The word bursts out of me. I move too quickly, and my knees give out instantly. But before I can crumple into a pathetic puddle on the floor, Rafael’s strong hands are there—steady, firm, saving me from myself. Again.

“Careful,” he scolds, his face pulled in a tight scowl. “I won’t get your phone if you don’t want me to. I need to leave anyway.”

But I barely hear him. My attention is now wholly focused on my ringing phone, so all I manage is another absent nod.

“Think about my offer, okay?” His voice drops softer as he brushes a hand down my cheek before releasing me. When he’s sure I can stand on my own, he takes a step back, and with a last lingering look, he leaves the room.

Don’t go, I want to cry out. But I bite my tongue. This is for the best. This is what needs to happen.

I have a job to do. I can’t let my feelings—or libido—get in the way.

Seconds later, the front door slams shut—right as my phone goes silent.

But relief doesn’t last. It just starts ringing again. “Oh, for crying out loud,” I groan, snatching my purse from the floorand fishing out the damn thing. I clear my throat several times, desperately trying to compose myself before finally answering.

“Hello?”

“I was worried something might have happened to you,” Stacey’s voice, laced with concern, hits me hard. And there it is—shame. Red-hot and burning through me like acid, eating away at the afterglow of the most intense sexual experience of my life.What the hell did I just do?

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I repeat, as much for myself as for her. “I couldn’t answer becausehewas with me. But he just left.”

“How was dinner?”

I bite my lip, torn between duty and the desire to keep this night for myself. But I can’t keep it. This is my mission, after all. Bile creeps up my throat as I recount the mundane details of our dinner conversation and Rafael’s proposal. But there’s no way I’m mentioning what just happened at my apartment. That’s too personal, too raw. The memory belongs to me and me alone.

“Very good,” Stacey approves. “Things are going even better than I expected. You’re definitely going to accept his offer, Emily. It will help put you closer to him.”

I make a noncommittal sound, and she praises me for a job well done, expressing her eagerness to hear more from me. By the time she finishes talking, my nausea has piled up to the back of my throat, and I have to breathe through my mouth.

The moment the call ends, I bolt for my ensuite, where my fancy dinner makes a violent reappearance. But it’s not the act of betraying Rafael that leaves me retching—but because I have to do it again. And again. And again, until I’ve succeeded.

Because it’s my job.

Because I need to prove his innocence.

Because I’m already desperate to see him again.

5

RAFAEL

“Now that the first phase of our takeover is complete, we need to clamp down on our boroughs. No cracks, no loose ends. Anyone who even thinks about challenging us needs to piss their pants at the mere thought.” My voice rings out in the conference room.

I scan the faces of my brothers, my eyes lingering on each one. Maximo nods, his dark eyes focused on me from across the table. Next to him, Michael’s fingers fly over his laptop keyboard, his brow furrowed in concentration. The constant click-clack grates on my nerves.

For fuck’s sake, is he even listening?

“Michael,” I growl “You with us, or should I send a search party into that tech-addled brain of yours?”

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