"Just tonight?" she asks, her voice barely audible over the orchestra.
The question sends a surge of satisfaction through me. She's acknowledging the possibility of more, opening the door I've been methodically unlocking all evening.
"That," I say, drawing her impossibly closer, "depends entirely on you."
Our bodies move in perfect synchrony now, the pretense of formal dancing abandoned for something more intimate, more honest. Her softness yields against my hardness, creating a friction that has nothing to do with the dance and everything to do with the inevitable conclusion of this night.
"I should be running from you," she confesses, the words breathed against my collar. "Everything about this—about you—screams danger."
"Not danger," I correct her, my lips close to her ear. "Certainty. There's a difference."
The music swells around us, but all I hear is her breathing, all I feel is her body against mine, all I want is to take her somewhere private and show her exactly what this certainty means.
"Christian," she whispers, my name a question and a surrender all at once.
The music ends, but I don't release her. Not yet. I hold her gaze, letting her see everything I usually keep hidden—the hunger, the possession, the absolute determination.
"This is just the beginning, Sophie," I promise her. "The night has barely started."
And I intend to make every moment of it count.
Chapter
Six
SOPHIE
The dance ends,but Christian's words echo in my head like a promise—or a warning. "This is just the beginning, Sophie. The night has barely started." His hands linger at my waist, reluctant to release me even though the music has stopped. I should pull away. Should remind him—remind myself—that I'm just here to display my ornaments, to make business connections, to advance my little shop's prospects. I'm not here to fall under the spell of a man who says things like "you're mine tonight" and actually growls at other men who approach me. I'm definitely not here to enjoy it when he does.
But I do. God help me, I do.
The way he looked at that man—Victor?—like he was Bening territory, staking a claim…it should have offended me. Instead, it sent a thrill racing down my spine that pooled low in my stomach, hot and liquid. No one has ever wanted me with that kind of raw intensity before. Like I'm something precious. Something worth fighting for.
I take a half-step back, needing space to think clearly. Christian's hands drop from my waist, but he captures my fingers in his, maintaining contact.
"I need a minute," I say, my voice sounding breathless even to my own ears. "That was..."
"Inevitable," he supplies, gray eyes locked on mine.
Before I can respond, a tapping sound echoes through the ballroom. The CEO of Christian's company—no, I remind myself, Christian is the CEO. This must be someone else important. The board chairman, perhaps. He stands on a small platform near the orchestra, microphone in hand, champagne in the other.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announces, his voice carrying across the crowd as conversations quiet. "As is tradition at our annual holiday gala, it's time for the Mistletoe Challenge!"
A ripple of excitement passes through the room. Several staff members appear, distributing what look like small sprigs of mistletoe tied with red ribbon to various guests.
"For our new guests," the chairman continues, nodding in my direction with a knowing smile that makes my cheeks heat, "the rules are simple. Throughout the next hour, our designated 'mistletoe bearers' will circulate among you. If you find yourself beneath the mistletoe with someone, tradition demands a kiss. The more creative the location, the more…enthusiastic the participation, the better!"
Laughter and applause follow his announcement. I feel my stomach drop. A public kissing game? Among the city's elite? This is the stuff of my nightmares—being put on display, being expected to perform. I'm already out of my depth in this glittering crowd, already feeling like an imposter in this borrowed dress.
"Don't look so terrified," Christian murmurs, amusement coloring his tone. "It's mostly harmless. The board thinks it encourages 'team bonding.'"
"I'm not on your team," I point out, trying to hide my panic. "I'm just a vendor."
His eyes darken. "You're considerably more than that."
I can't handle this—not now, not with my emotions already in turmoil from our dance, from the way he defended me against other men, from the growing awareness that I'm falling into something I don't understand and can't control.
"Bathroom," I blurt, pulling my hand from his. "I need a minute. I'll be right back."
