Page 20 of All About Christmas
“But I don’t think I’m exactly your favourite person in this office either,” I say softly. “So what does it matter how I feel about you?”
Olivier exhales sharply through his nose, closes his eyes for a moment, and then takes a step closer so that the tips of his shoes are flush against mine.
When he opens his eyes again, I see that his pupils are a little larger.
His brown irises are adorned with dark green and gold speckles.
Just like those decorated chocolate wreaths.
I love chocolate wreaths.
“That’s a very good question,” he says softly. His gaze slides to my mouth again, his long eyelashes casting a shadow on his sharp cheekbones. The berries above us reflect the light from the spotlights, casting tiny sparkles on his skin like a disco ball.
For a moment he closes his eyes again, as if thinking, but then he gives a little tug on the mistletoe we still hold, as if it were a lifeline. I bend slightly with it. A strange feeling spreads from my lower abdomen through the rest of my body.
The hint of uncertainty that was evident in his eyes just a few moments ago turns into determination.
Then, suddenly, he lets go of the mistletoe, and before I can even spring back, his hand slips into my hair and folds around the back of my head.
He pulls me close to him in one fluid motion, and I barely get a chance to inhale before he presses his lips to mine.
For a split second, it is as if Hermione has fired Petrificus Totalus at me. I stiffen and Olivier feels it, because as quickly as he grabbed me, he lets go.
“Holly?” he says a tad uncertainly, his eyes darting over my face.
My fingertips touch my lips, and I blink my eyes in surprise. It’s as if every fibre in my body is alert. As if they were asleep and suddenly pricked awake. My heart pounds fanatically against my ribs, and it’s as though, with each beat, it says one more time, one more time .
Damn! That felt good. Really good. But short. Too short.
Olivier scratches his chin with his right hand. “Shit. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I...”
But I don’t let him finish his sentence. With a brisk step forward, I am now the one to close the distance.
His hands frame my face almost immediately, and he inhales deeply through his nose when our mouths find each other for the second time.
His lips feel soft against mine and with each movement, I get warmer inside.
Olivier’s delicious scent invades my nostrils.
He smells of something spicy and a fresh forest of pine trees.
Maybe it’s his aftershave, but it could also be the scented candles Noor has on her desk.
My lips part naturally, and Olivier doesn’t hesitate for a second to deepen the kiss. A mixture of peppermint and Earl Grey tea touches my tongue, and I decide here and now that that is my new favourite flavour combination.
And then the realization of what I am doing sinks in.
Oh, my goodness. I’m kissing Olivier!
And not timidly, either.
His fingers entwine themselves firmly in my hair and I can’t move.
I don’t want to. He puts a strong arm around my hip and pulls me even closer to him.
My breasts are pressed against his hard chest. A soft moan leaves his throat, one that does strange things to my insides.
Even if I wanted to stop, I don’t think I could.
This just feels too nice and too good. It’s a bit like opening a bag of M&Ms: the first chocolate ball blissfully snaps apart between your molars.
The crunchy layer crumbles off bit by bit.
You put the second one in your mouth even faster than the first. And then you keep going because you can’t get enough, until the bag is empty.
Olivier’s hands slide down my waist to my hips, where his long fingers press firmly into my skin as he lifts me.
My skirt slides up until it can go no further.
There’s a small excited sound, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s coming from my mouth.
I wrap my legs around his waist, and before I know what is happening, I feel the metal steps of the ladder prick my back as he presses me against them.
His skilled lips move passionately over mine and somehow he’s still not close enough.
My fingers weave into his hair, and I pull him into me.
I feel his lips curl into a satisfied smile.
“Mm…” he hums softly. “Is this what you want?”
All I can do is make an indulgent noise.
I’m so absorbed in Olivier that I easily could ignore the approaching footsteps. And the shocked gasp that follows. What could not pass me by, however, is the reprimanding, “Holly!” exclaimed by the intruder.
As if Olivier were made of lava, I quickly push him away from me.
He stumbles backward a few steps and finds support against the wall, where he then leans as casually as he can.
His chest rises and falls rapidly as he breathes heavily.
His hair stands in all directions. Somehow, I managed to undo the first few buttons of his shirt, exposing the top of his chest.
“Hey, Noor,” he says with a careless wave. “How’s it going?”
Noor looks, wide-eyed, from me to Olivier and back again. I straighten my sweater and comb my fingers through my hair.
“What the hell are you two doing!” she exclaims.
That’s a very good question. One I should have asked myself at least once in the last ten minutes. I bite my lip and look at Olivier, who seems to find the whole situation a lot more amusing than I do.
He slowly buttons his shirt. A small, arrogant smile graces his face. “Holly insisted on helping me.”
“With what? Flossing?” she asks.
I throw her a dirty look. “What’s up?”
I can see from Noor’s expression that she’s putting it to rest for now but that as soon as I take a step outside this room, I will be subjected to a line of questioning that operatives from the CIA could learn from.
“Maggie and Olaf are here,” she says. “They said they have an appointment with you.”
I slap a hand in front of my mouth. “Shit. Totally forgot.” Quickly, I straighten my skirt again, study my tights for any runs in the fabric, and then move toward Noor.
I hesitate for a moment to consider whether I should say anything else to Olivier, but since I’m not really sure what that should be, I walk out of the room without looking back.