Then he steps back. I’m sucking in a breath, grasping the counter for balance. He disappears in a blur of expensive linen and wool. God, I’m in way over my head with him.

Then again, his threat was probably empty. There are a hundred beautiful young women upstairs. Many of them would be willing to go into a dark alcove with him tonight. Despite the religious reason for the season, there are always hookups that happen at the gala.

The thought of him with another woman makes my stomach drop.

Which is ridiculous.

I have no claim on him. And more importantly, he has no claim on me.

No man will ever have power over me. Not again.

Chapter Two

Finn Hughes

I keep to the fringes of the gala, lingering near the fragrant pine trees adorned with black, white, and gold ornaments. An errant bough drags a small line of wet across the back of my hand. Without taking my eyes off my prey, I suck the sap from my skin. I’m pretending it’s her skin, of course. Pretending it’s her arousal. Pretending the pine-water taste is the sweet, earthy scent of a woman.

There’s only one woman I want. Eva Morelli. She glides through the crowd, bestowing smiles on drunk old men and stuffy old women, greeting each person by name, asking after some baby or wedding or retirement.

Even lined with ten-foot-high Frasier firs, the ballroom easily fits five hundred people. Most of them mingle with champagne. Others dance to the old-timey song Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree crooned by a guy in a white suit. He used to be famous—a few decades ago. Now he probably ekes out a decent living on the private circuit, flashing those veneers to the country club set. Maybe he even makes extra by going home with a rich, lonely widow.

A few women—and a few men—look more than willing to pay.

Outside there’s an eight-thousand-square-foot heated tent with a lobster buffet.

There’s also a North Pole replica complete with a human-size edible Gingerbread house.

My whole life I’ve attended parties like this one. Extravagant. Over the top.

It’s as ordinary to me as a family barbeque would be for someone else.

The fact that Constantines are invited this year… that’s new, but it’s not surprising. Those two families are obsessed with each other. They may pretend they’re getting along for the sake of Leo and Lucian, but the truth is they’re keeping their enemies close.

Doesn’t matter. The Hughes have always been above that, even though Caroline Constantine is my aunt. My father came from oil money in Dallas. We’ve always been welcome at the Morelli Christmas Gala. Sarah Morelli, in particular, loves me. I catch sight of her stark black dress through the crowd. She murmurs something to Eva, who scurries off to do her bidding.