Page 8 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
His tongue sweeps against my bottom lip, question and demand all at once, and I open for him without thinking, without hesitation. The hand in my hair tightens just slightly, possessive, and I make a sound I’ve never made before—I purr against him.
This is insane. This is a stranger.This is Santa Claus.
I don’t care.
I kiss him back with everything I have, weeks of stress and tension dissolving into pure sensation. His mouth is hot against mine, demanding and giving at the same time, and I’m drowning in the taste of him, something dark and slightly sweet, addictive.
When we finally break apart, I’m gasping, dizzy, my lips tingling and my brain struggling to come back online.
I stare up at him.
That’s when reality crashes back in.
The Santa beard is hanging loose around his neck, forgotten, and the face above me makes my breath catch for an entirely different reason.
This is definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent not Declan.
This man is gorgeous in a way that should come with a warning label. Sharp jaw covered in dark stubble. High cheekbones. A mouth currently curved in a smirk that leaves me buzzing. And his eyes focused on me with an expression that’s equal parts amused and heated.
His dark hair falls across his forehead as if he just rolled out of bed. Combined with the Santa suit straining across his shoulders, it’s absurd and unfairly attractive all at once.
“You’re—” My voice comes out rough, and I have to clear my throat. “You’re not the Santa I hired.”
His smirk deepens, and there’s pure male satisfaction in those green eyes. “Definitely not Declan. Though I have to say, that’s one hell of a way to say hello. You make a habit of kissing strangers like you’re trying to set them on fire?”
My face goes nuclear. “I… that wasn’t… I needed?—”
“YOU BITCH!” Scot’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade.
I spin around, and the expression on his face makes my blood run cold. Fury and humiliation twist his features into something ugly, something I’ve never seen before. People are staring now, conversations dying as heads turn in our direction.
“Scot.” I step toward him, hands raised, trying to de-escalate. “Keep your voice down. Let’s go talk in private, as we’re at an event.”
“I don’t give a shit about the party!” He’s swaying, whiskey and rage making his movements jerky, unpredictable. “Youwon’t kiss me, but you’ll kiss some random asshole you don’t even know?”
My stomach hurts. “We’re business partners. That’s it. I’ve told you that repeatedly.” I reach for his arm, trying to calm him, trying to pull him away from the growing audience. “Scot, please, not here.”
He shakes me off hard enough that I stumble, catching myself on a nearby table. “Business partners? I brought you into this company! I vouched for you when my uncle wanted to hire someone with actual experience! And this is how you repay me?”
Santa moves closer behind me. I sense him there, solid and protective, a physical barrier between me and Scot’s escalating anger.
“Scot, you’re drunk. You’re making a scene.”
He takes a step closer, and several guests quickly move out of his way. “You’ve been stringing me along for months. Making me believe we were building something together, and not just the business. And now you humiliate me?”
“I never strung you along. I’ve been completely clear about boundaries from day one.”
“Bullshit.” The word comes out slurred. “You smiled at me. You laughed at my jokes. You worked late with me. What the hell was I supposed to think?”
“That I was being professional!” My voice rises despite my best efforts. “That I was being a decent colleague! That doesn’t mean I want to date you!”
“We’re done.” Scot is backing away now, pointing at me with the hand still holding his glass. Whiskey sloshes over the rim, spattering on the floor. “You hear me? Done. Find yourself a new business, because I’m out. My uncle’s going to hear about this. You’ll be finished in this town before New Year’s. Mark my fucking words, Hannah. You’re going to regret this.”
“Scot, wait…”
But he’s already turning, shouldering past confused guests who scramble out of his path, heading for the exit. I stare at him leaving, my partnership and my future walking out the door.
The room has gone quiet except for the music. Everyone is staring. The perfect evening I crafted is crumbling in real time, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
