Chapter 3 #2
He moves further into the room, his eyes never leaving mine as he approaches. "I appreciate the intellectual approach. Most decorators would have draped every surface with tinsel and called it festive."
"That's not my style," I reply, proud that my voice remains steady despite his proximity.
"No," he agrees, coming to stand beside me at the table. "Your style is much more…penetrating."
The double meaning isn't lost on me. Heat blooms in my cheeks, spreading down my neck.
"May I?" he asks, gesturing to the arrangement I'm working on.
I nod, stepping slightly aside but not far enough. He leans in, his shoulder brushing mine, to examine the delicate tableau of antique books and crystal. His scent envelops me—sandalwood and something darker, uniquely him. I find myself breathing deeper to capture more of it.
"The crystal represents ice?" he asks, though I sense he already knows the answer.
"Yes. I wanted to evoke the feeling of a frost-covered morning, the kind that features in so many Christmas stories. When everything is silent and transformed."
His fingers brush against mine as he reaches for one of the crystal drops. The contact is brief but electric, sending a shock wave up my arm.
"Transformed," he repeats, his voice dropping lower. "I understand that concept intimately."
He's standing so close now that I can see the varied shades of blue in his irises, the slight shadow of stubble along his jaw despite his immaculate appearance.
I should step back, maintain professional distance.
Instead, I find myself swaying slightly toward him, drawn by some invisible force I can't resist.
"Holly," he says my name like he's tasting it, "do you remember what we discussed yesterday about restraint?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"I find myself testing the limits of mine when I'm near you." His gaze drops to my lips, then returns to my eyes. "A novel experience for me."
"Mr. Sterling—"
"Dominic," he corrects, his voice firm.
"Dominic," I whisper. "This is—I'm here to work for you."
"Is that all you're here for?" He reaches up, his fingers hovering near my cheek without quite touching. "Because I think we both know there's something else happening here."
The air between us feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. I should deny it, should reestablish professional boundaries. Instead, I hear myself say, "I don't usually mix business with…personal matters."
"Usually," he echoes, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "But nothing about this situation is usual, is it?"
He's right. Nothing about my reaction to Dominic Sterling falls within the realm of normal client relations. I've never been drawn to someone with this intensity, this immediate and overwhelming pull.
His hand finally makes contact with my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone in a feather-light touch that nonetheless burns like a brand. I can't help but lean into it slightly, my eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.
"Do you know what I thought when I first saw you in my collection room?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that I feel as much as hear.
I shake my head slightly, careful not to dislodge his touch.
"I thought: finally. Something I didn't know I was looking for until I found it."
The words send a tremor through me. He's describing exactly how I feel—this unexpected recognition, this sense of finding something I never knew I was missing.
He leans closer, his breath warm against my lips. I'm certain he's going to kiss me, and every cell in my body leans toward that possibility. But at the last moment, he pulls back slightly.
"But I won't rush this," he says, his eyes still fixed on mine. "When I take what I want from you, Holly, I want your complete surrender. Not just a moment of weakness in the library."
The word "take" should offend me. I should step back, remind him that I'm not his to take. But the possessiveness in his tone ignites something primal within me—a desire to be wanted with such intensity, to be the focus of such single-minded attention.
"What if I don't surrender?" I challenge, surprising myself with my boldness.
A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features from merely handsome to devastating.
"You will." His confidence should be arrogant, but somehow it's not.
It's a simple statement of what he believes to be inevitable.
"But I'm willing to let you come to that realization in your own time. "
His hand drops from my face, leaving my skin feeling bereft. He steps back, restoring a modicum of professional distance between us.
"Continue with your work," he says, his tone shifting back toward the professional though his eyes remain dark with promise. "I'll check your progress later."
As he turns to leave, I find my voice again. "Dominic?"
He looks back, one eyebrow raised in question.
"What if I don't want to wait?" The words escape before I can censor them, revealing far more than I intended.
His expression intensifies, desire flashing across his features before he gets it under control. "Patience, Holly. Some things are worth the anticipation."
With that, he exits the library, leaving me standing beside my half-finished arrangement, my heart racing, my body humming with unfulfilled desire. I press my fingers to my lips, which tingle despite not being kissed.
I shouldn't be here this late. The small sitting room off the east wing is shadowy, lit only by a single lamp and the glow of my laptop screen.
Everyone else has gone home—even Ms. Winters left an hour ago with a pointed look at her watch.
But I needed the quiet to finalize the garland designs, needed space to think without feeling Dominic's eyes on me.
All day I've felt him watching, felt the weight of his attention like a physical touch.
Now it's past nine, and I should pack up, drive back to my apartment.
Instead, I keep working, knowing I'm tempting fate.
Knowing, on some level I won't admit, that I'm hoping he'll find me here alone.
The past three days have been an exquisite form of torture.
Since our moment in the library, Dominic has been everywhere and nowhere—appearing when I least expect him, watching me from doorways, asking pointed questions about my progress.
Each interaction charged with an electricity that makes it hard to breathe.
Each look promising something he's not yet delivered.
The anticipation is maddening. I'm not this person—I don't lose focus over men, don't let attraction interfere with my work.
Yet here I am, staying late, half-hoping, half-dreading that he'll appear.
I'm so absorbed in my thoughts that I don't hear him approach. Only when the door clicks shut do I look up, my heart leaping into my throat.
Dominic stands just inside the room, his tie loosened, suit jacket discarded. The white shirt with rolled-up sleeves reveals forearms corded with muscle. He looks less polished than usual, slightly rumpled after a long day, and somehow that makes him even more attractive.
"It's late," he says, his voice low in the quiet room.
I close my laptop, dimming the room further. "I was just finishing up."
"Were you?" He moves closer, his steps silent on the thick carpet. "Or were you waiting?"
The directness of his question steals my prepared excuses. I could lie, but something tells me he'd see right through it. "Maybe both," I admit softly.
He stops beside my chair, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"Three days," he says, reaching down to brush a strand of hair from my face.
"Three days of watching you work. Of seeing your hands create beauty from nothing.
Of smelling your perfume in rooms hours after you've left them. "
His fingers trail from my hair to my cheek, then to my jawline. My pulse beats wildly under his touch.
"Three days," he continues, "of extraordinary restraint."
"Is that what you call it?" I whisper, finding courage in the dimness. "Because it feels more like torture."
Something flashes in his eyes—satisfaction mixed with hunger. "So you've felt it too."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."
The single word seems to break something in him.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me to my feet and against him in one fluid motion.
Our bodies collide, soft curves meeting hard planes.
For a breathless moment, he simply holds me there, his eyes searching mine.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, his mouth hovering above mine.
But I can't. Won't. Instead, I eliminate the last inch between us, pressing my lips to his with all the pent-up desire of the past days.
The kiss ignites instantly. There's nothing tentative about it, nothing restrained. His mouth is demanding, claiming, his tongue sweeping inside when I gasp. I taste mint and something darker, more potent. My hands clutch at his shoulders, needing an anchor in the storm of sensation.
He backs me against the wall, his body pressing the full length of mine, making me achingly aware of every point of contact.
One of his hands remains tangled in my hair while the other slides down to my hip, fingers digging in possessively.
I should feel trapped. Instead, I feel claimed in a way that makes heat pool low in my belly.
"Do you have any idea," he growls against my mouth, "what you do to me?"
I can feel exactly what I do to him, hard evidence pressed against my stomach. The knowledge that this powerful, controlled man wants me with such intensity is intoxicating.
His mouth leaves mine to trail hot kisses down my neck, finding the pulse point and sucking gently.
I whimper, my head falling back against the wall, giving him better access.
His hand slides from my hip to the small of my back, pressing me more firmly against him, making me aware of the ache building between my legs.
"Dominic," I breathe his name like a prayer or a plea.
He captures my mouth again, the kiss deeper, hungrier. My hands find their way under his shirt, touching heated skin, feeling the muscles tense beneath my fingers. He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me.
When his hand moves to cup my breast through my blouse, my knees nearly buckle. Even through layers of fabric, his touch sends shockwaves of pleasure spiraling through me. My nipple pebbles instantly against his palm. He brushes his thumb across it, swallowing my moan with his kiss.
I'm drowning in sensation, surrendering to feelings I've never experienced with such intensity. This isn't like me—I don't make out against walls with clients, don't lose myself so completely in desire. Yet I can't stop, can't pull away. I want more. Want everything.
His hand moves to the buttons of my blouse, deftly unfastening the top one, then the next. Cool air hits my flushed skin as he exposes the top of my breasts, the edge of my bra. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, bending to press his lips to the newly exposed skin.
A sound from the hallway—distant voices, a door closing—breaks through our haze of desire. Dominic freezes, then slowly straightens, his breath coming as fast as mine. His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my swollen lower lip.
"Not like this," he says, voice rough with restraint. "Not rushed against a wall with the household staff nearby."
I want to protest, want to pull him back to me, but some small part of my brain recognizes he's right. I nod, unable to form coherent words.
He steps back slightly, creating space between our bodies that feels like a physical ache. With gentle fingers, he refastens the buttons of my blouse, the domestic gesture somehow more intimate than the passionate ones preceding it.
"When I take you to my bed, Holly," he says, his eyes never leaving mine, "we'll have all night. No interruptions. No holding back."
The promise in his words sends a fresh wave of desire through me. I can only nod again, still dazed from the intensity of what just happened.
He presses one last, surprisingly gentle kiss to my lips. "I'll have my driver take you home. You shouldn't be driving in this state."
"What state is that?" I manage to ask, finding my voice at last.
A slow smile spreads across his face. "The same state I'm in. Halfway to combustion."
As I gather my things with trembling hands, I catch a glimpse of myself in a decorative mirror. My hair is tousled, my lips swollen, my eyes wide and dark with lingering desire. I look like a woman who's been thoroughly kissed. A woman on the precipice of something dangerous and irresistible.
Dominic watches me, making no effort to hide his satisfaction at my dishevelment. This should bother me—the possessive gleam in his eye, the way he's so confident of my desire. Instead, it sends another thrill through me. Whatever is happening between us is beyond my experience, beyond my control.
And for the first time in my carefully ordered life, I don't want to be in control. I want to fall. I want to surrender.
God help me, I want it all.