Something flickered across his face, surprise, perhaps, at my honesty. Or maybe recognition of the vulnerability I'd justexposed. For a heartbeat, I thought I saw something soften in those predatory eyes. His thumb brushed across my cheek in what could almost be mistaken for a caress.
"All you have," he repeated, his voice a contemplative rumble. "We'll see about that."
The air between us crackled. I was suddenly, acutely aware of how close we were standing, heat radiating from his body which had me effectively trapped between the counter and his chest. If he leaned down just slightly, his lips would—
"I need to check on the... the thing," I blurted, ducking beneath his arm in a graceless escape attempt. "In the back. The important thing. That needs checking. Right now."
I backed away, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste to put distance between us.
"By all means," he said, making no move to stop me. "Don't let me prevent you from... checking things."
The way he said "checking things" made it clear I wasn't fooling him. My face burned as I turned and fled toward the kitchen, my only potential sanctuary from the intensity of his presence.
My pulse pounded in my throat, each beat a reminder of how thoroughly he'd affected me with nothing more than a touch and a few words. My breathing came in uneven gasps, as if I'd run a marathon rather than simply standing too close to my intimidating boss. My legs felt unsteady, wobbling like I'd had three shots of espresso on an empty stomach. I pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, desperate for a moment to collect myself. To remember why giving in to this attraction was the worst possible idea. And convince my treacherous body that distance was more important than the heat still lingering where his claw had traced my lip.
I'd barely caught my breath when the door swung open behind me. Krampus ducked through the entrance, his horns nearlyscraping the top of the doorframe. He closed the door, the soft click of the latch echoing in the suddenly silent room. We were alone, truly alone, for the first time since he'd stormed into my café and turned my carefully ordered world upside down.
He stood between me and the only exit, his broad shoulders blocking any hope of escape. Not that I was certain I wanted to escape anymore. The rational part of my brain screamed about boundaries and power dynamics, but it was rapidly being drowned out by the part that noticed how his eyes seemed to glow brighter in the kitchen's softer lighting.
Time stretched like pulled taffy, sweet and sticky and impossible to measure. The café beyond the door fell silent, as though the entire building was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next. Or maybe that was just me, my lungs suddenly forgetting how to perform their basic function as he took one step closer, then another.
"Running away?" His voice was low, almost teasing, but with an edge that raised goosebumps along my arms.
"Not running," I managed, my back pressed against the metal prep table. "Just trying to keep things…professional."
His mouth curved into something too predatory to be called a smile. "Professional," he repeated. "Is that what we're calling this?"
He moved closer until I could smell him, an intoxicating blend of smoke and pine and winter nights.
"Calling what?" I asked, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
His eyes tracked slowly down my body, lingering on my lips, my throat, the curve of my breasts beneath my dress. When he looked back into my eyes, the look of wanting made my knees weak.
"This," he said simply. "This tension that crackles between us every time I come near you. This scent of arousal that follows you like perfume whenever I enter a room."
My face blazed with heat. "I don't—I'm not—"
"Lies," he rumbled, leaning closer until his breath tickled my ear. "Your body betrays you, Simone. Your heart races. Your pupils dilate. Your skin warms." One clawed finger traced a line from my collarbone to the hollow of my throat, where my pulse hammered visibly. "You want me."
The accusation hung in the air between us, daring me to deny it. I opened my mouth, ready to offer some weak protest about employee-employer relations. But what emerged instead was a simple, devastating truth.
"Yes."
The confession seemed to surprise us both. His eyes widened fractionally, and for a heartbeat, he was perfectly still. Then something shifted in his expression, hunger overtaking surprise. With startling clarity, I realized I wanted him to kiss me. Needed it like air. The thought had barely formed before he closed the remaining distance between us, one massive hand cupping the back of my neck while the other settled possessively at my waist. His lips were warmer than human, firm yet surprisingly soft as they pressed against mine. The contact sent electricity crackling through me, a jolt of pure sensation that had me gasping against his mouth. He took immediate advantage, his tongue, longer than a human's sliding between my parted lips to tangle with mine.
I melted against him, my hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit. His growl of approval vibrated through my entire body. The kiss was nothing like I'd imagined, and I had imagined it, in shameful detail during the sleepless night after our first meeting. It was better. Hotter. More consuming. His hand slid from my waist to palm my ass, strong fingers kneading the flesh as he dragged me closer against him. The evidence of his desire pressed hard and insistent against my stomach, larger than I'd expected, sendinganother flood of heat between my thighs. My nipples tightened to aching points, sensitive even through the layers of my bra and dress.
A soft moan escaped me when his tongue traced the seam of my lips before delving deeper, claiming my mouth with thorough possession. His claws pressed gently into the nape of my neck, a reminder of the danger I was playing with, only heightening the thrill coursing through me. Heat pooled in my stomach and lower, wetness gathering between my legs in embarrassing abundance. I'd never responded so quickly to anyone before, never felt desire like a living thing clawing at my insides, demanding satisfaction.
The door to the pastry kitchen suddenly banged open, the sound as jarring as a gunshot. We broke apart, though Krampus kept one possessive hand at my waist, unwilling to fully release me despite the interruption.
Silas stood in the doorway, a tray of chocolate éclairs tilting precariously in his hands. Drips of dark ganache slid toward the edges as he froze, ruby eyes widening at the scene before him. His gaze darted between us, taking in my swollen lips, disheveled appearance, and the guilty look I knew was all over my face.
"Unless you're frosting cakes, keep it outta my kitchen," he declared, recovering his composure with admirable speed. "And if I find any questionable substances on my counters, I'm quitting."
I wanted to die. Right there. Just spontaneously combust and be done with the humiliation. If the floor opened up and swallowed me, I wouldn't even fight it. I'd just say thank you to whatever merciful deity had decided to end my suffering.
Krampus, by contrast, seemed entirely unruffled. His thumb traced small circles on my hip, maintaining contact even as he straightened to his full, imposing height. The smirk playingat the corners of his mouth made it clear he was thoroughly enjoying my flustered state.
