Page 21 of 'Tis the season of Wicked Deeds

“Whatever. Move out of my way.”

He obliges by stepping out of my personal space. I grab my suitcase and march toward the front desk. Thankfully, without any tripping fiasco.

Behind me, I hear his footsteps following suit. What is he plotting? To stalk me around the resort we’re obviously sharing until I give in to our pull?

Whirling around, I order, “Stop following me.”

He says nothing and brushes past me with that infuriating grin plastered on his face. I turn in time to see him walk behind the sturdy desk with all the authority of a person belonging there. Hilda is nowhere in sight.

I close the distance and glare at him. “What are you doing, Kingston?”

He ignores me and grabs a keycard.

“Put it back. It’s not your personal property,” I hiss.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He finally meets my panicked gaze and smugly drops the bomb, “Did I not mention I own the resort?”

CHAPTER – 8

Twinkle

“What?” I all but shout.

“I recently inherited it from my father, who has decided to retire.” Glancing at the computer screen, he reads something and, with the keycard in hand, rounds the desk.

I’m stunned into silence and don’t stop him when he grabs the handle of my suitcase.

When he tugs it forward, I snap out of my shocked state.

Before I can protest, a staff member appears and says, “Let me, sir.”

I gape in awe at Kingston as he replies something fluently in German. I do not understand a single word but guess the gist that he’ll take me to my lodge himself when the guy walks away with a nod.

“Come on.” Kingston nudges me with a hand on my waist.

I move and curiously ask, “How many languages do you speak?”

“Four.”

“Overachiever much?”

“It was a necessity,” he answers, chuckling. “I moved around a lot growing up.”

I bite my tongue from wanting to ask about the places he lived.

It’s none of my business. We aren’t on a date.

We step out through the glass door I saw earlier and walk down the stone walkway with lamps illuminating the path on both sides. I ignore the way my heart races when he shuffles closer so his body heat keeps me warm.

At a distance, I see chalet lodges. They look cozy, inviting, and romantic with thick snow falling on the top. The pictures weren’t misleading. They’re more stunning in person.

So much curiosity is eating away at me, urging me to ask Kingston questions and learn more about him. His deepest, darkest secrets, for example. But I don’t voice any of them to keep my guard up.

My brain doesn’t get the message, and I blurt out, “Do you give special treatment to every guest or are you making an exception for me?”

Did that sound flirty? Of course, it did. Who am I kidding?

I swear I have only one setting around him—embarrassing myself.

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