The Wrong Mrs. Claus

Episode 9

ALEX.

I shouldn’t have gone out; I knew it even as I wrapped my coat tighter around myself and hurried through the cold streets, the distant hum of nightlife pulling me like a magnet I couldn’t resist. The ache in my chest hadn’t stopped since earlier; not after the tree, the garlands, not after seeing Sofia’s tiny hand carefully place an ornament shaped like a star at the very top. Everything about today felt like it had clawed at memories I spent years burying.

Right now, all I wanted and craved was some different kind of air, some noise maybe; something loud enough to drown out the memories that hurt more than they warmed.

And in my quest for a worthy distraction, I ended up at Pulse, a club pulsing with neon lights and bass heavy enough to rattle bones. Inside, the crowd moved in waves with bodies pressed together, drunk on music and heat. Exactly what I needed.

At first, I just danced. I let my hips sway with the rhythm, letting sweat gather at my hairline, letting the heavy beat blur the edges of my mind. I downed a drink, something fruity and too strong, and then another. The room warmed, buzzing with electric excitement. For the first time all day, I felt something other than grief.

I suddenly felt eyes on me; a slow, deliberate gaze that stroked over my skin like a warm hand. I turned and nearly forgot how to breathe.

He stood near the bar, a glass in his hand, half hidden in the dimness of the room, his face made visible by the flicker of lights that shone his way. He was dressed in dark clothing that seemed made to accentuate his presence. He was strikingly handsome, tall, broad-shouldered, with an effortlessly commanding aura. His hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his jawline was sharp enough to be a weapon. It was his eyes that pinned me; dark, intense and observant like he was studying me, not with curiosity, but with intention.

My stomach fluttered. I was a goal-getter, and there was nothing wrong in doing my thing this one time too. I lifted my chin and let a slow, bold smile curve my lips. His gaze deepened approvingly. For a second, he looked almost amused. When he set his drink down and began walking toward me, the crowd seemed to part for him instinctively.

He stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.

“You dance like you’re trying to forget something,” he said, his voice smooth and low.

I shrugged, teasing. “Maybe I am.”

“Then let me help.”

I didn’t know if that was a challenge, or a dare. But I was here for all of it anyway.

He extended his hand. “Dance with me?”

I didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

The moment his hand slid to my waist, heat seared through me. The music wrapped around us, but it was his energy, commanding yet restrained, that set my pulse racing. He guided me effortlessly, his movements confident and precise, as if he was used to being in control in every room he entered.

When his body brushed mine, something inside me sparked. I let my hands rest lightly on his shoulders, then curled into him. He pulled me closer, our hips aligning, our rhythm synced.

The air stilled for a moment. His breath grazed my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. I leaned in without thinking, drawn to him like flame to oxygen.

His lips brushed mine slightly, but it was enough to make me burn. He paused, searching my face for permission and without without waiting an extra second, I closed the distance.

He kissed me, slowly at first. His lips were warm, tasting faintly of whiskey. The kiss deepened, and I felt something in me melt, unwind and flare alive in ways I hadn’t felt in so long I had forgotten what it was like. I kissed him harder, my fingers slipping into his hair, pulling him closer with a hunger I didn’t bother hiding. I wanted the distraction. The heat. The escape.

He broke the kiss suddenly, breathing unevenly, his forehead resting lightly against mine.

“Slow down,” he murmured.

Embarrassment crashed into me. “Sorry—I—”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. “No. Don’t apologize. I just want to savor this.”

Then he kissed me again, softer this time, but deeper. His hands traced the curve of my waist, grounding and teasing all at once. He tasted like whiskey and peppermint, and the way his lips moved with mine was almost intentional, like he was reading every reaction I gave.

“Mm,” he murmured against my mouth, voice dark and warm, “you taste like trouble.”

I laughed breathlessly. “You’re not exactly safe either.”

He smirked. “Good. I like dangerous.”

A spark of confidence slid through me. “Do you now?”

“Oh, absolutely.” His lips brushed my ear. “Especially when she looks at me like she wants to misbehave.”

Heat pooled low in my stomach. Two could play this game, and I definitely was a master of games like this.

“Maybe I do,” I murmured.

“And maybe,” he countered, his fingers brushing the back of my neck, “I want to help you.”

Our words tangled like sparks. The music throbbed through my bones, but it was nothing compared to the electricity winding between us.

He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes darkening with intent.

“You want to get out of here?” he asked, his voice low enough to vibrate through me.

The club felt too loud now, too crowded and too heavy with possibilities I suddenly wanted to follow.

I swallowed, my heartbeat quickening.

“Yes,” I said.

In that moment, everything else: the estate, the decorations, the thoughts I had been carrying all night, faded into the background. All I could see was him and the promise of escape.

I let him take my hand and together, we slipped out into the night.