His smile is slow and dangerous.“Good girl.”Then he closes the distance between us.
It’s not gentle.It’s not tentative.His mouth moves over mine with absolute confidence, like he’s done this a thousand times, like he knows exactly how to make me melt.My hands curl into his sweater, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, and I make a sound that would be embarrassing if I could think clearly enough to be embarrassed.
But I can’t think.Can’t do anything except feel—the press of his mouth, the solid strength of his body, the way his fingers flex against my hip like he wants to hold me tighter but is restraining himself.His hand slides deeper into my hair, tilting my head to exactly the angle he wants, and I let him.Let him control the kiss, control me, because apparently three glasses of whiskey have obliterated every professional boundary I’ve spent six years maintaining.
His tongue traces my lower lip.I open for him without thinking, and the kiss deepens into something that definitely shouldn’t be happening in the middle of an airport.He tastes like expensive scotch and something darker, something dangerous, and I’m drowning in it.
Somewhere in the background, those carolers hit a particularly off-key note on “Joy to the World.”Someone’s wheeling a suitcase past us, the wheels clicking rhythmically against the tile.The airport intercom crackles with an announcement about a delayed flight to Miami.But I don’t care about any of that because Alexander Castellano is kissing me like he means it, and I’m kissing him back like I’ve wanted to do this for longer than I’m willing to admit.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless and dizzy and completely disoriented.He’s watching me, his gray eyes dark and intense, his breathing just slightly elevated.His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, a gesture so tender it makes my chest ache.
“Realistic enough?”he asks, his voice rough around the edges.
I can’t speak.Can’t form words.Can only stare at him while my heart pounds against my ribs and “Silver Bells” continues overhead.
His mouth curves into something that might be satisfaction.“I’ll take that as a yes.”He releases me slowly, steadying me before letting go completely.“Good.Then it’s settled.”
He stands, pulling out his wallet and laying down cash on the bar—enough to cover all our drinks and a generous tip.Rick is still staring at us like we’re a particularly entertaining reality show.
“Thank you for your counsel, Rick,” Alexander says, his tone perfectly professional, like he didn’t just kiss me senseless thirty seconds ago.
“Uh, yeah.Sure.Good luck?”Rick looks completely bewildered.
Alexander picks up his own carry-on, then turns to me and holds out his hand.“Your ticket.”
I blink at him, my brain still sluggish from whiskey.And that kiss.“What?”
“Your plane ticket.Give it to me.”
“Why?”
His smile is measured.“Because if you’re taking your boyfriend home to meet your family, he needs to make an impression.We’re canceling your flight.”
“But—”
“We’re going shopping,” he says, like it’s already decided.“For your family.If I want to make a good impression on my girlfriend’s family, I can’t arrive empty-handed.Then we’ll book new flights.Together.”
I stare at him.Then I dig through my bag and pull out my boarding pass, holding it out to him.He takes it, tucking it into his pocket.“Come on.We have work to do.”
“This is insane,” I mutter.
“Probably.”He starts walking.“But it’ll work.”
I have no choice but to follow, my legs still unsteady.Behind me, those carolers launch into “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” and I can’t help but think that home is about to get a lot more complicated.
Iwatch the snow-covered Blue Ridge Mountains stretching beneath us as our plane cruises toward Asheville.The early morning sun has cleared the eastern ridges, casting a pale golden light across the pristine white landscape.Long blue shadows still fill the valleys, and wisps of mist rise from the forests like smoke.It looks like something from a Christmas card—perfect, untouched, waiting.
Beside me, Olivia sleeps.
Her head rests against the window, dark waves spilling over her shoulder, face turned away.She’s been out since we boarded at seven this morning, the combination of yesterday’s whiskey and our late-night shopping expedition finally catching up with her.
I reach over, gently guiding her head away from the hard window until she’s resting on my shoulder.She mumbles something unintelligible but doesn’t wake, just nestles closer like it’s the most natural thing in the world.Her hair smells like vanilla and something warmer—cinnamon, maybe.Nothing like the subtle floral perfume she wears at work.
This is Olivia without her walls.I don’t know the last time I saw her so vulnerable.I turn my attention back to the tablet, where I’ve been going over some reports, but it’s difficult to focus on anything but the woman beside me.
I’ve always found it hard to crack through my executive assistant’s composure.The only time I remember her being emotional was in the early days.My company had been struggling back then, and while my parents had offered to provide the funds I so desperately needed at that time, I had been determined to handle it myself.
I couldn’t afford an assistant, but I needed one because I was running myself into the ground.And when Olivia showed up, willing to work at the lowest possible salary if I would just hire her, I had caved.
