A Hot Daddy For Christmas

The Ghost of His Touch

The air inside Ariana’s staff apartment was tight with nervous energy and the heavy scent of hairspray. Ariana pulled a sleek black dress over her head, the unwelcome mark left by Mateo's rude, dominant examination earlier that day.

He thinks he can control me?

Ariana stared at her reflection. She looked fire. Tonight was about proving her independence, about burning the memory of his touch out of her system.

The doorbell rang. Camila was a cyclone of excitement and high fashion, already halfway out the door before Ariana could grab her tiny clutch.

"You look amazing, Ari. Now, let’s go find a man who doesn't treat you like a disobedient subordinate!" Camila said, throwing her car keys into the air.

"No hospital talk," Ariana commanded, sliding into the passenger seat of Camila's small, sporty car. "Tonight, I'm just an American girl who hates her boss."

The club, Tribunal, was a living, breathing wall of bass, sweat, and flashing colored lights. It was exactly the kind of sensory overload Ariana craved. She immediately targeted the bar, ordering her first drink, and then another—a potent, neon-colored concoction that tasted like desperation and sugar.

They slammed their drinks together, shouting "¡A la mierda el trabajo!" (To hell with work!) over the pounding music.

Ariana didn't sip—she drowned it. Soon, the alcohol hit, dissolving the tension in her shoulders. She and Camila immediately hit the crowded dance floor, letting the heavy rhythm dictate their movements. They danced fiercely, synchronized in their recklessness, throwing their heads back and laughing wildly into the flashing lights.

It was in a brief, dizzy break back at the bar that Camila nudged her hard, pointing across the room with a delighted grin.

"Forget the bar. That is your distraction," Camila slurred, already slightly tipsy.

Ariuna followed her gaze to a man leaning casually against a pillar,he was indeed smoking hot, with dark, intense eyes and a smile that promised trouble.

"He's perfect, Ari. Go tell that stiff, controlling Doctor to shove it. Go dance with him," Camila commanded, giving Ariana a gentle shove toward the crowd.

Ariana grinned, feeling the liquid courage thrumming in her veins. "Be right back. Don't die without me."

"Never!" Camila promised.

Ariana didn't have to wait long. Rafael, having clearly spotted her, soon found his way to them. His name was Rafael he was charming, easy, and bought them more strong drinks. He focused his attention entirely on Ariana, leaning in to whisper compliments against her ear, and she let the flattery wash over her.

Meanwhile, Camila was not to be left out. She was soon deep in an animated discussion—and then a passionate, loud kiss—with a tall, silver-haired man who looked like he owned the entire VIP section. The two best friends were lost in their respective bubbles of hedonistic fun.

Ariana allowed her body to move close to Rafael's. She was feeling wild and free.

As the music intensified, Camila, momentarily pulling away from her conquest, grabbed Ariana’s arm. "I'm sloshed, girl. I'm going to ruin this dress. We need the car." She fumbled with her phone. This time, after a few failed attempts, the line connected. Camila spoke quickly in Spanish, then hung up, relieved. "Got him! Javier is on his way, be here in twenty minutes. Let's find somewhere to sit."

Ariana nodded, but Rafael was already tugging her hand. "Forget sitting. Follow me."

He led her through the crush of bodies toward the restroom area, where a small, quiet, dark passage offered reprieve. Rafael didn't waste time, pulling her against the cold wall and crushing his mouth against hers.

The kiss was everything the night had promised: wild, messy, and exhilarating. The alcohol boosted her confidence, making her touch just as bold as his. She kissed him back fiercely, enjoying the sudden, raw heat. His hand slid beneath the fabric of her dress, and she gasped against his mouth, a thrill shooting through her.

Then, Rafael shifted his hold, and his thumb—thick and warm—brushed the precise area on her back, near her shoulder blade, where Mateo’s hard, scrutinizing fingers had pressed hours earlier.

The pleasure shattered. The image of Rafael vanished, replaced by a ghost. A sharp, terrifying shock ran through her. It was Mateo’s face, his eyes cold and commanding, superimposed over Rafael’s. The easy heat was replaced by the demanding, unyielding pressure of Mateo's involuntary claim.

What the f**k?

Ariana ripped her mouth from Rafael’s, shoving him away. "No. Stop. What the f**k?"

Rafael stumbled back, his eyes narrowing in angry confusion. "What's your problem? You were into it!" He grabbed her wrist, his voice turning hard. "Don't be a tease, chica. Get back in here."

Ariana yanked her arm, desperate to escape. "Let go of me!"

Just then, Camila emerged from the crowd, having spotted the struggling pair. She saw Rafael’s angry grip and Ariana’s panic, and her instincts took over immediately.

"Get your hands off her!" Camila roared. She launched forward, delivering a stinging, open-handed slap across Rafael’s jaw that cracked through the low bass.

Rafael released Ariana, clutching his face in shock. "What the hell is wrong with you maniacs?"

"We are a package deal, idiota!" Ariana yelled, immediately backing up Camila. She grabbed Rafael’s free arm and twisted it while Camila delivered a precise, painful kick to his shin.

The brawl was short, messy, and fueled by pure, shared feminine rage. Rafael howled, clutching his leg, and the girls used the opportunity to bolt.

They raced laughing, hysterical, and utterly exhilarated through the crowded floor. Rafael, now limping and shouting threats, was far behind them.

"We messed up his pretty boy face!" Camila shrieked, doubled over in laughter as they reached the club entrance. "The look on his face! Maniacs? We are legends!"

"Adiós, perro!" Ariana shouted as they saw a sleek black car pull up. It was Javier Cami's driver. They tumbled into the back seat, still shrieking with laughter and exchanging victorious insults until Javier smoothly pulled away, leaving a furious, cursing Rafael in the dust.

In the safety of the car, their laughter turned to gasping breaths, then to silence. The adrenaline faded, and the sheer volume of alcohol took over. One moment they were huddled together, replaying the brawl; the next, they were slumped against the expensive leather, instantly passed out.

Javier pulled up to Camila’s enormous, quiet suburban villa. He gently roused Camila, who mumbled an incoherent thanks.They went straight to Camila’s plush room and collapsed onto the bed, deeply asleep.

Across town, in a discreet, dimly-lit bar, Mateo sat with Diego, slowly sipping a single-malt whiskey. Diego was relating a technical anecdote, but Mateo was only listening with half an ear. His attention was frayed, pulled taut by the memory of a defiant voice and the soft skin under his palm.

"—and I had to use the curved clamp, which was unorthodox, but necessary. Mateo? Are you even here?" Diego frowned.

Mateo blinked. "It's nothing. Just professional distraction."

"Professional, huh?" Diego leaned back, a knowing smirk on his face. "This is the third time you haven't corrected my technique. That means it’s a woman. What's wrong?"

Mateo swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "The girl from the airport was in my office today."

Diego's eyes widened. "The one who called you a douchebag? The American girl?"

"She is the newest nurse on my team," Mateo confirmed, the admission tasting like ash.

Diego laughed, loud and long. "This is magnificent! This is fate, Mateo. Destiny delivered a fiery little nuisance right into your department!"

"It's not fate," Mateo snapped, his tone flat. "It is temptation. She is young. Too young. She could be my daughter, Diego. She is reckless, uninhibited, and entirely disruptive. I cannot allow myself to be drawn into this."

Diego pushed his glass across the table. "Then don't. But you're here, alone, fighting. Look around the bar, Mateo. There are several very willing women here who could make you forget a rebellious nurse in about ten minutes. Go take one home. Flush the temptation out of your system."

Mateo looked across the bar. He saw the easy solution Diego offered—a simple, clean, transactional relief.

He closed his eyes for a moment, He saw only a small, fierce face, eyes blazing with defiance, and the way her body had felt, soft and rebellious, against his hand just hours ago. The unwanted desire was a tangible, agonizing ache.