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"Because you climbed onto the table in a tiny green dress and destroyed my concentration."

"Your hands were halfway under my dress!"

Miles slows and looks across at me. I'm not sure what he's looking for, but ahead of us, the group's voices fade ahead of us toward the Ski Bar.

Suddenly, the corridor goes quiet except for distant Christmas music drifting from the ballroom.

"Did you object?" he asks.

"What?"

He stops deadly still, eyes hard and locked on mine. "Did you object to where my hands were?"

I try to say something, but nothing comes out.

The silence stretches long enough to be an answer, and something shifts in his face—the laughter draining into something darker, more focused.

Not wanting this to be a thing in the middle of the corridor, I turn into a small alcove lined with boxed ornaments, spare garlands and wreaths waiting to be hung around the resort.

Of course, it's a mistake, because it's small and quiet and he follows me in.

"So." Miles looks at me again, eyes still dark and stormy. "You gonna answer me?"

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Because the truth is sitting right there on my tongue, dangerous and impossible to take back once I say it.

No.

I didn't object. I liked it.

I wanted more of it.

I've been thinking about those hands for four days straight, imagining them everywhere else they could go, and that's the problem, isn't it?

"I—" I start, then stop again.

Because four days ago, I was engaged. Four days ago, I was supposed to marry someone else. And even though that's over, even though I walked away from all of it and never want to go back, admitting I want Miles feels like crossing a line.

He plants one hand against the wall beside my head, patient as always.

The alcove shrinks. Heat pours off his body, and I can smell gingerbread and sugar, and my argument runs out of everything except breath.

"You know," Miles says, his voice dropping as he wets his lips, "I can think of one reliable way to stop you thinking about all of this too hard."

My pulse is pounding in places pulses have no business pounding. I lift my chin anyway.

"Oh really? Then maybe you should try it. Because I—"

He kisses me.

His mouth crashes onto mine and it's an explosion from the first taste, four days of restraint detonating all at once.

I grab his suspenders with both fists and haul him closer, kissing him back hard enough to destroy whatever control he had left.

"Fuck," Miles growls against my lips and pushes me into the wall.

One huge hand closes around my waist while the other slides into my hair, and the ridiculous elf hat hits the floor as his body presses against mine. The man is hard, hot, and considerably more convincing than every fantasy I've entertained since escaping to that mountain.

Fuck this.