Excerpt - My Favorite Holidate

Wilder

She grabs the wreath from the bag and hangs it on the hook. It's made with burlap and colorful ribbons. She adjusts it so Santa's ass, stuck in a chimney, is sticking out of my door.

But I'm still stuck on the last thing she said. "You made this? For the contest?"

She gives me a soft smile. "Yes. Well, it's really for you," she says, a flash of nervousness in her eyes, but hope too. "I wanted your office to look the best. And you've been so generous with your gifts. The least I could do was make you something from scratch."

I stare at the wreath, even more astonished. "This is incredible."

"You think so?" she asks, beaming.

"I do." I roam my eyes up and down the door, then turn my gaze to my designer. The woman who enjoys making homemade items. The woman who went all out for me. The woman I can't stop thinking about. Decorating might not be my thing, but I could decorate all day with her. "It's not fine," I say, correcting my earlier statement. "It's the finest."

"Thank you." Her smile is its own reward. It's wide and joyful, and I want to swipe my thumb along her bottom lip, kiss the corner of her mouth, taste her.

Which brings me to a vital topic in the do's and don'ts. I've been tiptoeing around the main attraction. Avoiding it. But I can't any longer. Since this topic is best addressed behind closed doors, I motion to my office. "Let's finish in here," I say.

"Perfect. Because I brought lights for your desk."

I stare at her, a little amazed. She goes above and beyond in her creativity. "You did?"

"Yes. But will it cramp your style if some corporate bigwig comes into a meeting and sees the flashing lights on your desk? I don't want to ruin the big bad wolf vibe you've got going on."

I lift a brow. "Is that how you see me?"

Her lips curve up the slightest bit. "I don't know, Wilder. Do big bad wolves send mint ice cream?"

Two can play at her game. "Perhaps they send them to little red riding hood," I say as we head into my office.

"Well then, little red riding hood approves."

"So does the wolf," I say, and I am so fucked. Five minutes after telling myself to follow some rules for self-protection, I already know that I won't stop sending her gifts. I won't stop texting. This has been the most fun I've had in a while and I'm…addicted—and I'm allowed to be. Nothing can come of this ruse, of course. How could anything come of a romance that started as a lie? But I'll enjoy it while I can.

I shut the door behind us.

She beelines for my desk, fishing around in her bag of tricks for lights, presumably. In no time, she gets to work on stringing them around my desk. Yes, this is the moment. She's occupied with a task, so I say as coolly as I can, "And what about a kiss?"

She spins around, a string of lights in her hand, question marks in her eyes. "Now?"

What? Now? Before I can even answer—and I'm too stunned to answer—she adds, "Sure. A practice kiss couldn't hurt."

I can't think. I can't breathe. She keeps surprising me left and right, and I barely know what to do. I'm a man who prides himself on control, on strategy, on knowing what cards to play at all times. With her, I'm knocked senseless, especially as she sets the lights down on the desk, then closes the distance to me a few feet away.

I still haven't said a word. I really need to say something. Anything . She tips up her chin, offering her pretty lips to me. Questions rattle in my head. Should I do this? Is this crossing a line? Is this wrong?

Finally, I manage to ask, "Are you sure?" It comes out like it scrapes my throat.

A tilt of her head. A curve of her lips. "You don't bite, do you? Like the big bad wolf?"

A bolt of lust shoots down my spine. I try to ignore it, to resist it when all I can think is the better to eat you with . "Only if you want me to."

Her eyes flicker with something that looks a lot like lust. "I'll take a rain check on the biting. But it's a yes on the practice," she says, then parts her lips the slightest bit.

I didn't plan this meeting as a dress rehearsal for a kiss. But I also know how to spot an opportunity and how to seize one. I step closer, run a finger along some silky strands of auburn hair, taking my time to sweep them across her face and tuck them behind her ear. Her breath hitches. I let go of those strands of hair, then brush the back of my fingers along her jaw. Her chest rises and falls. Her eyes track me the whole time, watching my face, then my hand.

I'm drawing out this moment, stretching it like elastic till my fingers reach her chin, holding her.