I arch a brow. “Or what?”
His voice drops. “You don’t wanna know.”
A shiver slides down my spine. Not from fear. Frominterest.
Which is dumb.
So dumb.
But the way he’s looking at me—like he could peel me open and feast on every part I’ve been trying to hide—it short circuits my brain.
“Careful, Hollis,” I murmur. “You’re starting to sound like foreplay.”
He stops a foot from me. “You want foreplay, tinsel girl?”
My mouth goes dry.
He leans in, close enough for his heat to lick at my skin.
“Try stringing up a strand of that glittery crap and see what happens.”
My lips part, ready to toss back something sharp, but the words get stuck in my throat.
He’s so close. Smells like cedar soap and something dark and masculine and devastating.
I swallow. “You really don’t want to know what happens when I get glittery.”
He chuckles. Low. Dangerous. “Oh, I have a few guesses.”
We stare at each other.
The fire cracks behind us. Wind howls outside.
He doesn’t move. Neither do I.
Finally, he straightens, that muscle in his jaw ticking.
“You’ve got forty-eight hours,” he says. “Decorate whatever the hell you want. But you stay out of my room. You don’t touch my kitchen. And if you hang a single elf, I’ll burn the place down.”
I smile. Sweetly.
“You’re gonna be so pretty with twinkle lights in your beard.”
He mutters something that sounds likeI hate everythingand storms off down the hall.
And me?
I plop a red velvet bow on the mantel and grin.
This might be the worst idea I’ve ever had.
Or the best one.
Either way?
It’s gonna be onehellof a week.
Chapter 2
