Shit. Did the l-word just slip through my thoughts? I’m in so much trouble.
Pure Christmas joy slowly settles by the end of the evening.
The kids are rosy-cheeked and sugar-high, clutching candy canes and small presents.
The parents shake my hand, thanking me for another magical Christmas event.
But the truth is, Adam saved it. Saved me.
I watch him kneel to help a little boy tie his mitten, eyes bright with laughter, and I can hardly contain myself as the room finally empties out.
When we’re alone, I grab his bag hand and lead him out to the hall and up a back set of stairs.
In my pocket is a room key—the one room still free that I’ve never taken advantage of before.
He teases me as I open the door. “Who knew the Santa get-up would be your thing?”
I shrug and pull him inside. “I do like my men older.”
Adam laughs loudly as I close the door behind us.
“Take off the beard but leave the rest.” Because I do like him in it. I want to be the one to strip him from it.
“You really do have an old man fetish, don’t you?” He removes the beard.
I smile and shrug again. “Maybe I have a good man fetish.”
That lights him up, and he charges forward to wrap an arm around my waist and yank me against his chest.
He’s so solid, and the velvet under my hands is soft as I spread them over his shoulders.
Fingers curling in the white fur collar, I tug him closer, lifting on my toes for a kiss.
He complies, mouth firm but supple against mine. His capable hands smooth up my back.
Heat washes through me, and I open to him almost immediately.
Adam swoops in when I let him, claiming me like a caveman.
An alpha. And I swear he’s about to toss me over his shoulder and beat his chest.
I loop my arms around his neck, and I don’t miss my mark as he swings me up off my feet, wrapping my legs around his waist.
Which is a struggle with him so wide, but he holds me easily.
And I’m perfectly lined up to feel him hard through the flimsy suit.
I’m in so much trouble.
Because I want this. I want him.
And maybe it’s been obvious since day one with the attention he’s paid me, but I’m playing catch up.
Our kiss breaks, and I struggle to catch my breath. I touch his jaw, tracing the line up to his cheek. “I’m never going to look at Santa the same way again.”
His laugh is full, better than the one he put on for the kids. “God, Drew. You’re a breath of fresh air. You know that?”
Is he as surprised by this thing between us as I am? Maybe not anymore, but that first spark when we ran into each other on the street? Right before he offered me the job? Did he know this would be intense to the point that it’s nearly all consuming?
