Page 28 of His for Christmas
The reminder of our unequal positions—employer and employee, billionaire and decorator—should cool my ardor. Instead, it adds a forbidden edge to my desire that I'm not proud of but can't deny.
His fingers trace my jawline, tilting my face up to his. "I can see every thought crossing your mind, Holly. The professional concern. The worry about what others might think. And beneath it all, the desire you're still trying to fight." His thumb brushes across my lower lip. "Stop fighting it. Stop fighting us."
"It's not that simple," I whisper, even as I lean into his touch.
"It is exactly that simple." His voice holds absolute certainty. "You want me. I want you. Everything else is just noise."
He lowers his mouth to mine again, this kiss harder, more demanding. His hand slides from my waist to my hip, fingers digging in possessively as he pulls me tighter against him. I'm drowning in sensation, all thoughts of propriety evaporating under the heat of his touch.
The sound of voices from the foyer below breaks through my haze of desire. Dominic hears them too but doesn't immediately release me. Instead, he takes his time, drawing back slowly, his eyes holding mine with unmistakable promise.
"We'll continue this conversation tonight," he says, straightening my collar where his attentions have disheveled it. "Eight o'clock. Don't be late."
He bends to retrieve the fallen wire spool, placing it in my trembling hand with deliberate care. His fingers brush mine again, lingering longer than necessary. "The garland looks perfect," he observes, his voice returning to normal volume as the voices below grow closer. "Just like everything you touch."
He steps back just as two of my team members appear at the bottom of the staircase, their expressions carefully neutral though I'm sure they can see my flushed face and slightly swollen lips from where they stand.
"Excellent progress, Ms. Parker," Dominic says, his tone suddenly professional though his eyes still burn with promise. "I look forward to seeing the finished installation."
With that, he descends the staircase, nodding acknowledgment to my team members as he passes them in the foyer. I remain at the top landing, clutching the wire spool, trying to gather my scattered composure.
"We've finished the ballroom centerpieces," calls Jen from below. "Ready for your approval whenever you are."
"I'll be right there," I reply, grateful that my voice sounds steadier than I feel.
As I take a deep breath, smoothing my hair and straightening my clothes, I catch sight of myself in a gilded mirror on the landing wall. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes too bright, my lips visibly kissed. I look exactly like what I am—a woman completely undone by Dominic Sterling's touch.
And the most terrifying part? I'm already counting the hours until eight o'clock.
It's past ten when I return to the main staircase. The mansion is quiet, most of the staff gone for the night, the installation team departed hours ago. I've just left Dominic's suite after our "dinner"—a meal we barely touched before falling into his bed, continuing what began on this very staircase this afternoon. Now I'm back, ostensibly to check the garland lighting beforetomorrow's work begins, but really because I need a moment of professional focus to ground myself after the intensity of the past few hours.
The staircase is transformed in the evening light. We activated the lights earlier, and now the garland glows softly, tiny white bulbs creating the falling star effect I envisioned. From the bottom of the stairs, the cascading lights lead the eye upward, an illuminated pathway to the upper floors. It's exactly as I planned, and the professional satisfaction centers me after hours of losing myself in Dominic's arms.
I climb a few steps, adjusting a section where the lights seem bunched too closely together. The house is silent except for the occasional creak of settling wood and distant hum of the heating system. It's peaceful, almost meditative, as I lose myself in the small adjustments that most people would never notice but make all the difference to my critical eye.
"Even more beautiful at night," comes Dominic's voice from behind me, startling me so badly I nearly lose my balance on the step.
I turn to find him at the bottom of the staircase, watching me with that intense gaze that seems to see straight through to my core. He's changed from his earlier attire into black lounge pants and a thin gray t-shirt that clings to his muscled chest. I've never seen him dressed so casually, and somehow it makes him more intimidating rather than less—this glimpse of the private man beneath the powerful executive.
"I thought you were taking a call with Tokyo," I say, my hand instinctively moving to my throat where I know he's left marks despite my protests about professionalism.
"Finished early." He begins climbing the stairs toward me, his movements unhurried but purposeful. "When I found my bed empty, I had to investigate."
I gesture to the garland. "Just making some final adjustments. The lighting sequence needed tweaking."
He reaches the step below mine, bringing us eye to eye. "Always the perfectionist. Another quality we share."
His proximity makes my heart race despite the hours we just spent together. There's something about Dominic Sterling that keeps me perpetually off-balance, perpetually aware.
"I was about to head back up," I tell him, though we both know I'm not talking about returning to his suite.
"Were you?" He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear in that gesture that's become so familiar. "Or were you avoiding me?"
I frown. "Why would I be avoiding you? I just spent three hours in your bed."
A slow smile spreads across his face. "And yet you slipped away the moment I stepped into the shower." His finger traces the outline of my jaw. "Almost as if you needed space to remember who you are outside of what we create together."
His perception is unnerving. That's exactly what I was doing—trying to reclaim some sense of myself, my purpose here beyond being Dominic's lover.
