Page 4 of Holiday Queen

He raised his glass. “Let’s toast to kicking butt and raising the most money.” His entire career had been focused on winning and competition. He’d missed that excitement.

Now that Camille had relaxed her guard, her wit and her charming personality mesmerized him. The next few hours flew by, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so engaged. So alive. His sisters had been right––he was ready to test the dating waters. At least with Camille.

Maybe he should tell her about his own non-profit. He opened his mouth, then closed it. No, it was their first date––better to keep the focus on her and not delve into his sad past. His pulse thrummed in his veins. Better to keep the focus on tonight and the next twenty-four hours.

All he wanted to do was kiss her, to see if she tasted as incredible as she looked. She’d called him a gentleman earlier and he was doing his best to act like one. If he gave into the temptation to close the space between them and capture her soft pink mouth, the weekend could end before it had begun.

Musicians started setting up on the small stage, unpacking saxophones and all kinds of brass horns. While he’d been immersed in conversation with Camille, people had filled the bar to capacity. The booths and tables were packed, and the clinking of glasses and shouts of laughter filled the air.

“So, it looks like your first date lasted long enough to see the band. Are we staying?” Camille surveyed the noisy room, her eyes wide.

“I’d love to watch the band––I haven’t seen them in a long time. One more drink with me?”

She ran her tongue around her teeth. “I’d love to, but we should order some water too or tomorrow’s games might be rough. And we’ve got to win.”

“Two whiskies and a pitcher of water.” He caught the waiter’s eye. “So, tell me about the competition. How many people participate in the event?”

She shrugged a slim shoulder and glimmers of light caressed the curve of her cheek. “It varies, but usually several hundred. Each year, the organization gets creative and holds different types of fundraising events and tomorrow’s is a scavenger hunt. The evening gala is pretty standard.”

The informal orchestra broke into a lively version ofSanta Claus is Coming to Townand they groaned in unison. Impossible to evade the Christmas music the week before the holiday.

“So maybe it won’t be their usual set of jazz classics tonight.” Trent rubbed his jaw.

Camille glanced at her over-sized watch. “Wow, it’s already 8:30, we’ve been here for hours. I think this is a sign it’s time to get some sleep before tomorrow’s event.”

The waiter arrived with their drinks and Trent requested the check. A pang of disappointment filled him. He wasn’t ready for the night to end but maybe she was right. “Of course.”

When the band continued directly into another popular holiday tune, they toasted, finished their whiskies, and headed upstairs together.

Camille’s proximity was intoxicating—the warmth from her body, the sweet scent of her hair, the sound of her melodic voice all tantalizing him. It took all his self-control not to catch her hand and intertwine his fingers with hers. He shoved his hands into his pockets instead. Safer that way.

They stepped out onto the sidewalk and the chilly breeze stung his cheeks.

“Brrr…it’s freezing out here.” Camille leaned against him.

“I’ll keep you warm until your ride gets here.” Without thinking, he slid one arm around her waist and pulled her in close. Just for body heat.Right.

Camille snuggled against him. “Like I said earlier, you’re my guardian angel.”

“That’s me.” He savored the feel of her curves against him and silently thanked flaky Jen for not showing up tonight.

Clusters of people filled the streets and Christmas lights sparkled all around them. Despite the biting wind, being here with Camille filled him with warmth.

A few moments later a dark sedan approached. Reluctantly, he began to step away. She turned into him and wound her arms around his neck. He froze, every muscle leaping to full attention. She exerted gentle pressure and pulled his mouth down to meet hers in a featherlight kiss. Teasing. Examining. Sampling.

He slid his hands up to cup her jaw and slanted his mouth against hers, deepening the kiss with a groan. Her lips parted, inviting him inside. Their tongues stroked and tangled and danced. She tasted like whiskey and sunshine. Like a slice of heaven. Beyond how he’d imagined her tempting mouth would feel against his. She hummed and pressed herself against him, her soft breasts crushing against his chest, her fingers diving into his hair.

Her response flamed through him, and he went rock hard. Heat sparked through his veins and his hands stroked down her back and grasped her hips, rocking her closer to him. The brisk December air receded, everything faded into the background except for the feel of this woman.

A horn honked and he reluctantly lifted his head. “See you tomorrow?”

Her cat eyes were heavy-lidded, her lips parted, and she nodded. “1 o’clock at the Powell/Mason trolley stop. And don’t forget to wear red. Good night, Trent.”

“Good night, beautiful.” He watched her gracefully slide into the back seat.

He shoved down a hint of unease that slithered down his spine. She’d only broken up with her boyfriend mere hours ago––was he setting himself up to be the rebound guy?

He gritted his teeth––no, today luck had found him, and he wasn’t going to jinx it. He grabbed his phone and opened a ride-share app, eager for tomorrow.

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