Chapter four

Diana’s POV 

Two Years Later

The gin burned, but not as much as the memory of his voice in my head.

“You don’t choose,” he’d said that night. “You just keep men on standby.”

I stared into the bottom of my glass, the festive lights of the bar blurring into a smear of red and green. Christmas music hummed softly in the background, mocking in its cheer.

I was twenty-six, newly single, and hiding in the corner of a dimly lit lounge at the edge of the city—trying to forget the way everything in my life had imploded at once.

“Another one,” I muttered.

A large hand covered the rim of my glass.

“I think you’ve had enough, Di.”

That voice—

I’d know it in a graveyard. I’d know it in a vacuum. It was deep, like the low notes of a cello, and it carried a familiar warmth that made my lungs seize. I turned my head slowly, my neck feeling like it was made of lead.

"Gavin?"

He looked different. 

I guess two years in London had sharpened the edges of his jawline and filled out the breadth of his shoulders. He was dressed in a charcoal overcoat that screamed success, his dark hair windswept and dusted with a few melting snowflakes. 

He didn't look like the boy who used to climb my backyard fence. He looked like a man.

"You’re supposed to be in England," I whispered, my voice cracking.

"I heard my best friend was falling apart," he said, sliding onto the stool next to me. He didn't give me space. He leaned in deliberately, his thigh pressing firmly against mine, the hard muscle of his leg unmistakable through the thin fabric of my dress. Heat bloomed low in my belly, uninvited and undeniable. "I don't stay away when you’re hurting."

"I’m not hurting," I lied, looking away. "I’m just... celebrating. I’m single. Apparently, I’m an 'antique.' A priceless one at that."

Gavin’s hand moved from the glass to my chin, his fingers firm—almost possessive—as he forced me to look at him. 

His thumb grazed my lower lip, lingering far too long, tracing the curve of it with slow, deliberate pressure until my breath hitched and my lips parted on instinct. 

The pad of his thumb was rough, calloused in a way I didn’t remember, and the friction sent a sharp spark straight between my thighs.

"He was a fool who didn't know how to handle what he had," Gavin murmured. 

His eyes darkened, dropping to my mouth and staying there, as if he were already imagining all the ways he could ruin it. "He wanted a spark, but he didn't realize he was standing in front of a wildfire."

The tension between us snapped tight, vibrating like a live wire. 

I felt a sudden, desperate urge to reach out and pull him closer, to let his strength drown out my shame. 

My nipples tightened against the lace of my bra, aching with every shallow breath I took, and I prayed the dim lighting hid the way my body was already betraying me.

No... It was probably because of the alcohol. I was just drunk. Because there was no way I was imagining how my best friend would fuck me with that look in his eyes.

"I want to be a wildfire, Gav," I confessed, the alcohol stripping away my filters. "I’m tired of being the 'good girl.' I want to know what I’ve been missing. I want someone to teach me... everything. I want to feel wanted. So I told myself tonight I’d find Santa and ask for a different kind of gift."

Gavin’s grip on my chin tightened almost imperceptibly. 

A muscle in his jaw jumped. 

His gaze flicked down the length of my body, slow, appraising, like he was already undressing me in his mind—and when his eyes met mine again, the hunger in them made my core clench.

"Santa, huh?" He let out a low, rough laugh that sent a shiver straight down my spine and pooled hot and liquid between my legs. 

He leaned closer, his lips hovering just an inch from my ear, his warm breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of my neck. 

The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something cold, like winter rain—swirled around me, mixing with the faint trace of snow on his coat. "Be careful what you wish for, Diana. Some gifts aren't meant to be unwrapped in public."

I didn't understand that statement but I nodded to him anyway. 

Alcohol... I needed to keep reminding myself.

He reached out, his hand sliding down my arm with agonizing slowness, his palm dragging over my skin until goosebumps rose in its wake. 

When he reached my wrist, he didn't let go. 

His long fingers circled it completely, thumb pressing against my frantic pulse, holding me there as if to remind me how easily he could pin me down if he wanted to.

"You want to learn?" he whispered, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a velvety growl that vibrated through my chest and lower. 

His free hand settled on my bare knee under the bar, hidden from view, and then slid upward—just a few inches, but enough for his fingertips to graze the hem of my dress and brush the soft skin of my inner thigh. 

My breath caught audibly; I couldn’t help it. "I know a place, it's actually a private club and they’re hosting a... themed event tonight. No names. No judgments. Just wishes granted."

I looked at him, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I was sure he could feel it through the thin silk over my breasts. 

The way he was looking at me wasn't the way a "brother" looked at a "sister." It was predatory. It was hungry. It was the look of a man who already knew exactly what he wanted and he was doing to get it.

And for the first time in my life, I wanted to be hunted—caught, claimed, devoured.

"Take me there," I breathed, the words barely more than a needy exhale.

Gavin stood up slowly, never breaking eye contact. 

The movement brought his body flush against mine for a moment, the hard line of him pressing briefly against my hip. 

I felt it—the unmistakable ridge of his arousal—and a rush of slick heat flooded me at the evidence that he wanted this just as badly.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, silver-lined mask he’d apparently been carrying. 

He leaned in again, his chest pressing firmly against mine, the wool of his coat rough against the thin fabric covering my hardened nipples. 

For a heartbeat, I thought he was going to kiss me right there under the dim bar lights—prayed for it, even as my lips tingled in anticipation.

Instead, he whispered, his mouth so close I could almost taste him, "Go home. Change into something that makes you feel like the wildfire you are. Something that shows everyone every curve on your perfect body. I’ll send a car. Ask for the 'North Pole' suite. And Diana?"

"Yes?"

His hand slid to the nape of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tugging just hard enough to tilt my head back and expose my throat. 

His lips brushed the shell of my ear as he spoke, the barest graze that made me ache for more.

"Don't hold back. Santa doesn't like it when girls are shy. And tonight, little Di... You need to make sure you’re very, very naughty."

He released me abruptly and turned, walking out into the snow without looking back, leaving me trembling, my skin burning where he’d touched me, my thighs pressed tightly together to ease the throbbing ache he’d left behind, and the taste of a dangerous Christmas already lingering—hot, forbidden, and utterly irresistible—on my tongue.

"Gavin..." He turned around slightly, "will you be there?" I asked him. 

He just shook his head and continued walking away. 

I don't know why but there was this pang in my heart as I heard that.