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Her eyes refocus on mine, and the electric connection between us crackles to life. Then her fingers curl around the collar of my shirt as she suddenly leans into me. Our lips meet in a fiery kiss, the intensity surprising even me.
And after a moment of stunned tension, I relax into the exchange. Heat races through my veins as I wrap my arms around Mia, holding her close as she kisses me deeply. The passion with which she consumes me awakens my desire. But this connection goes beyond physical attraction. Somewhere along the line, we developed a shared understanding that goes deeper than the surface. Beyond the outlandishly good sex.
When she finally pulls away, Mia peers up into my eyes with a need that makes my lungs freeze.
“I have to go,” she breathes.
“What, now?” I ask, astonished by the suddenness of her statement.
“Yes. Now.” She laughs, her expression endearing. “But, Cilian? Thank you.” She presses another soft kiss to my lips.
Then she’s gone, vanishing through the door like she’s on a mission.
The feel of her lips lingers on mine, though, like the ghost of Christmas past, staying with me long after she disappears into the crowd. And it reminds me just why I came to Aspen this Christmas.
12
MIA
The night is quiet, interrupted only by the soft hum of the oven and the occasional clatter of utensils. I glance at the clock—it’s well past midnight, long since the last of the party guests would have gone to bed. I should be exhausted, but the excitement pulsing through my veins keeps me going.
Cilian inspired me to come up with a business plan, not just one I think might work, but one I intend to show Daddy when he arrives. I think this one might actually make him proud. And at least then, I won’t be a complete disappointment when I reveal that I’m pregnant with one of his best friends’ child.
At least I can hope.
The scents of sugar and cinnamon fill the air as I continue to roll out the cookie dough. Christmas carols play softly in the background, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in my mind. The idea of presenting my father with beautifully decorated Christmas cookies seems like the perfect way to pitch my idea.
Though I intend to make it into a year-round business.After all, people need cookies for baby showers, right? Birthdays? Wedding events?Not to mention all the other holidays of the year. Yes, I really think this might work.
I glance at the clock again, realizing that the morning staff will be arriving in just a few short hours. I need to finish and clean up before they find me here. Hopefully, Stephanie, the head chef, won’t be too upset with me for having raided her supplies.
I work quickly, my hands moving almost mechanically as I cut out festive shapes, bake a batch, let them cool, then carefully ice each cookie with vibrant colors and creative holiday designs. The kitchen becomes a makeshift workshop, and I am the tireless artist behind it all.
As the first light of dawn sneaks through the kitchen window, I finally finish the last cookie. Exhaustion hits me like a cartoon piano dropped from the second story, and I decide to sit down for a moment, resting my arms on the counter and cradling my head in the crook of my elbow. The hard, cold surface of the granite is surprisingly comfortable. My eyelids feel heavy, and before I know it, I’ve succumbed to sleep.
I’m awakened by the sounds of the kitchen staff entering, their bright chatter filling the room in an instant. Then they stop, seeming shocked to find me, bleary eyed, with a rat’s nest for hair, sitting up next to several cooling racks of decorated sugar cookies.
Panicking, I glance at the clock—it’s later than I thought.
“Morning,” I say hastily, slipping off the bar stool as I try to clean up the remains of my mess.
“Morning, Miss Mia,” Stephanie says, her voice stunned as she takes in the sight of me. “Late night?”
Usually, that question means something very different when she asks me. Normally, it means I’m dragging my feet into the kitchen for a bloody Mary to revive me after a night of drinking.
I giggle nervously. “Yeah. Sorry, I got a wild hair to start baking.”
“That’s alright. It looks like you’ve done my job for me—and did a better one of it, I might add.” She smiles, and I return the gesture with a breathy laugh.
“I’ll just clean this up and get out of your hair,” I promise.
With a burst of energy, I gather the cookies and hastily stash them in the fridge to help the icing set properly. I can’t help but smile at the colorful array before me. This, I hope, will be the start of something good.
But when I try to clean up the flour-coated counters, Stephanie won’t hear of it. She shoos me from the kitchen, assuring me that my father hired the kitchen staff to clean as well as cook.
Relieved of my duties and with the cookies safely tucked away, I head to my room to take a shower and change. It’s going to be a long day after so few hours of sleep. But at least the morning is left fairly open for guests to enjoy the house and the slopes—should they get the inkling to ski—as well as the town of Aspen at their leisure.
Maybe I’ll have time to sneak in a nap before Daddy arrives—or I’m required to continue my duties as MC.
