10. Michael

MICHAEL

T he whiskey settles on my tongue, and I let the warmth fill my senses before I swallow.

Alice, my Christmas Aphrodite, is sitting so close I can almost smell her sweet sugar scent. But no matter how near she is, she’s still out of reach.

I tip my glass back, draining the rest of my drink.

The whole crew is staying in the same hotel, so we’re all having a late dinner in the same hotel bar.

It’s a nice place, and it’s attached to the St. Paul Convention Center that we’re using to shoot this special, so it makes everything easy. I might be considered a big shot by some, but I’m not one of those famous, stuck-up types that require fancy-ass accommodations or a certain brand of bottled water. And now more than ever, I’m happy for that fact, because it means I’ll be sleeping under the same roof as my Alice.

I shift in my seat, trying to give my dick some breathing room.

A chorus of laughter from the other side of the bar makes my jaw tick.

Most of the crew is over there with the contestants, including Hot Shot Joey.

There aren’t many rules for us on the show—since it’s usually low drama—but, while we’re shooting, the judges are supposed to stay away from the contestants during any downtime. So no eating dinner together. No drinking together. And, sadly, no getting naked together.

I hear more laughter, but when I narrow my gaze, I notice Alice isn’t one of the people laughing. She’s sitting back in her seat, cradling the same glass of white wine she started with, softly smiling as she glances around the table.

She’s the prettiest creature I’ve ever seen, and I can’t fathom why anyone would let her out in public alone.

If she was mine… That thought trails off.

Does she already belong to someone?

She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. I’m sure of it.

I didn’t specifically look, but I’m sure I would’ve noticed.

My head gives a slow shake.

No, there’s no one else.

If there was another man, he’s done now. He let her out, let her cross my path, and that’s his own fault. Because if she was mine, I’d keep her tied to my side. Literally, if necessary.

I swirl the ice in my glass, wishing I had more alcohol to dull the pounding urge to claim her.

How I’m managing to keep myself from dropping to one knee, and demanding for her hand in marriage, is beyond me.

Pamela nudges my arm while she’s saying something to the producer sitting across the table from us, and I nod like I’m listening. But I’m not listening because now Alice is biting her bottom lip. She’s biting her lip, and she looks so goddamn fuckable I need to have her.

I’m sliding my chair back from the table before I even register what I’m doing.

What’re you gonna do? Just walk over there and ask if she’d like to sit in your lap? Ask to hear what’s on her wish list?

Alice’s teeth let go, and her lip plumps back into shape, making me groan.

Bed. I need to go to bed.

“You okay?” Pamela asks, mistaking my sound for one of pain.

“Ye—” My answer cuts off when Alice’s eyes suddenly lift to meet mine.

She jerks her eyes away, but not before I see the shock covering her features. And the guilt tinting her cheeks.

She was looking for me.

I set my glass down a little harder than necessary and get up.

“See you tomorrow,” I grumble to Pamela, pretending it’s a proper goodbye, and stride out of the bar.

I need to be alone. In my room.