Page 28 of All About Christmas

“This isn’t my hotel .” The man named Gus—“ but you can just call me Gus ”—leans against me and looks at the huge building in front of us, where GRAND HOTEL COLOGNE appears in large font on the facade.

I should have known better than to rely on the memory of someone who can’t even remember that his own name is not an abbreviation.

I close my eyes wearily. Why did I offer to do this again?

“Okay,” I say as I pick my brain looking for other ways to give this man a safe haven for the night. “Do you perhaps have your keycard in your wallet?”

Gus continues to look at me hazily. “Wallet?”

I let out a deep sigh. My elf shoes have little tread so I keep slipping on the snow.

Gus, who seems to be about as heavy as a hippo on anabolics, hangs over my shoulder.

I’ve tried calling José, but she doesn’t answer.

And I’m not going to be able to walk all the way back to the restaurant with him to ask her what hotel the candidates are staying in.

I know she had said it at the meeting, but I just can’t remember. It was something with an R.

“Fine,” I say. “Then I’ll take you to my hotel. It’s near here.”

“Okay.” The man would say okay to an endoscopy tonight without a second thought.

I lug Gus through the streets above which beautiful Christmas figures hang. The snow glistens in the light of the lampposts, and here and there laughter sounds from eateries.

By the time we get to the door of my hotel, I’m pretty sure I’ve fractured a few vertebrae. Gus is on the cusp of falling asleep, and I’m the only object within a thirty-centimetre radius that he can lean against.

I open the door and put my bag around the corner for a moment so I can help Gus up the stairs.

It takes a while, but it works, and when I open the door, Gus plops down on the couch almost immediately.

After about ten seconds, there’s a loud snoring sound, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

I throw the key on the small table and stretch. My back cracks in several places.

When I go to grab my cell phone to send José a message, I realize that my bag is still at the entrance downstairs. I quickly rush outside, the door closing behind me with a dull thud.

I hop off the first step, the costume’s thick skirt of green tulle billowing up a bit. It takes about five more jingle bell-filled steps before the realization sets in that I have just done something very, very stupid.

“Jeez, Holly!” Perhaps an hour has passed when Olivier comes running up the stairs.

He’s taken his elf suit off, and his black, wool coat hangs open a bit.

His distinctive grey blazer and white shirt are clearly visible underneath.

Some glistening snowflakes stick in his hair and eyebrows, which draw together in a worried frown. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. But Gus—that drunk contestant, you know?—is sleeping in my room.” I nod toward the closed door.

Olivier’s eyes widen with surprise. “What... How... What did you...?”

I slump down, defeated, with my back against the wall.

I probably look like the saddest elf ever.

“It’s not what you think,” I say. “He was so drunk he couldn’t remember what hotel he was in.

That’s why I let him crash on my couch. And now I’ve locked myself out, and he’s not responding to the doorbell because he’s basically in a coma. ”

Olivier shakes his head incredulously. “You single-handedly brought a drunk man you don’t know to your hotel room and let him crash there? Do you even know what could have happened?”

I shrug indifferently. “At this point, he would lose to a squirrel in an arm-wrestling match,” I say when I see the worried look in his eyes.

“If he’d wanted to try something, all I would’ve had to do is blow and he would’ve fallen over.

Besides, he doesn’t exactly look like someone who would kidnap Liam Neeson’s daughter. ”

“Hm.” He still sounds a little disapproving, but nevertheless holds out his hand to help me up. After much jingling, I’m back on my feet, and my nose is about five inches away from Olivier’s.

With any other person, I would have stepped back almost immediately, to avoid any potential discomfort.

But with Olivier, it’s not uncomfortable.

With Olivier, it feels... exciting. His lips part slightly, and his warm breath brushes over my face.

I see his pupils dilate slightly, and he swallows.

Then he gently lets go of my hand and takes a step back.

“Why do you still have your hat on?” he asks hoarsely. It seems like an attempt to broach a light-hearted subject.

I look at him in surprise for a moment. That’s a very good question.

Quickly, I pluck it off my head and play with the little bell.

“I forgot,” I reply. I look nervously at my room door.

If Gus doesn’t wake up soon, I’ll be condemned for the rest of the evening to wear an outfit that not even Lady Gaga would admire.

And that’s not the worst part: I won’t even have a place to sleep now that the local hotels are all full.

I step forward and push the doorbell of my room again, pressing my ear up against the door. Gus’s muffled snoring is audible through the thick wood.

“Well, at least he sounds like he’s still alive,” I say, trying to put a positive spin on this whole situation.

Olivier plays thoughtfully with his key. “You can sleep in my bed,” he says.

It takes me a while to process those words. “Sorry? That’s a very presumptuous suggestion.”

“No,” he says hastily. “I didn’t mean like that. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Oh.” I pick at my elf hat. “That’s very kind of you. But I can sleep on the couch, too, you know.”

“No.” Olivier shakes his head determinedly and turns his key in the lock. “You can sleep in the bed.”

When I see he won’t accept any opposing arguments, I nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

Getting out of the elf costume is such a hassle; Fort Knox is nothing in comparison. The back of the costume is closed with small buttons I can’t possibly reach. Martina had helped me put it on, but of course she’s not here. The only one present is—

“Any luck?” echoes Olivier’s voice through the closed door of the bathroom. “You’ve been in there for half an hour. And judging by that swearing, it isn’t going very smoothly.”

With my right hand, I flail behind me in an attempt to undo the next button. I just can’t reach it, which is about as frustrating as slow Internet connection.

“No,” I squeak weakly. I let out an exasperated sigh. “I can’t reach the buttons.”

“Do you need help?”

“Please.” I turn the lock open with a click after which I find myself face to face with Olivier. He has now taken off his coat and stands before me in only his shirt and blazer.

“Is that the jacket?” I ask as I run my gaze over the fabric. I’m glad that I’m not so nauseated that I’m in danger of vomiting this time, or that I don’t have some staining substance in my hands, which always seems to have extra gravitational pull to Olivier when I’m in his company.

Olivier chuckles. “No. I know better by now than to wear that thing when I’m around you.”

I snort scornfully, but hey, he has a point.

“Turn around.”

Because my first reaction to whatever command comes out of his mouth is to tell him to go ahead and do it himself, the words “turn around yourself” almost roll across my lips. But then I realize he’s saying it to help me.

I nod and slowly turn around until I’m looking at the bathroom’s large showerhead.

I feel Olivier opening the bodice of my outfit hesitantly at first, but then a lot more confidently as he makes his way further down the garment.

His warm hands undo the buttons one by one, exposing my back inch by inch.

He fingers gently graze my naked skin as he works, causing a shiver to go through my body.

My eyes flutter shut, and I inhale deeply through my nose.

Shit. This feels good.

Olivier’s breathing seems to become heavier, and he swallows audibly. “So,” he says when I feel he has undone the last button with fingers that difficult bra hooks would be no match for. His hands fall to my waist. “You’re free.”

Slowly, I turn around and he doesn’t let go of my body for even a second.

“Thank you,” I whisper softly, my voice a tad hoarse.

Only a wafer-thin edge of his irises is still visible. If anything, his jet-black pupils dilate even more as his gaze flashes to my lips. His hand slowly slides up to my face and he cups my jaw. His thumb caresses my cheek.

“Holly...” His voice is barely audible. His tongue darts out for a moment to moisten his lips.

I also want to lick his lips. To feel his hands all over and his irregular breathing blowing into my hair.

“Holly, I...”

Before he can even finish his sentence, I press my mouth to his. His hands immediately intertwine with my hair, and he inhales deeply through his nose.

I place my hands against his chest, which is as hard as unripe avocados. My mouth opens a few inches, and without so much as a second of hesitation, he deepens our kiss, which becomes intense. Much more intense.

Olivier rolls my elf suit off my shoulders and before I know it, I’m standing before him in only my black lace bra, skirt of green tulle, and striped stockings. The cool air gently caresses my skin.

He steps back and lets his gaze travel hungrily over my body, then kisses me even more passionately than before. His lips follow the line of my jaw and land on my neck.

With eager hands, I push his jacket off his shoulders and tear at the buttons of his shirt.

Somewhere, far away in my brain, is a little voice telling me I shouldn’t be doing this.

But I can’t help but ignore it when Olivier lifts me up, and I automatically wrap my legs around his hips.

He carries me to the lovely four-poster bed that stands in the middle of the room.

With a soft thud, I land on the soft blanket, the satin caressing my back.