His Taste Of Christmas (Forbidden Tastes #1)

9. Angel

Chapter nine

Angel

A s I assess my reflection in the mirror, I can't help but cringe at the hideous costume Mace chose—it’s so not suitable for a family Christmas Day lunch.

Nevertheless, she tossed a pair of ugly green tights at me and claimed they would make the outfit more family-friendly. I feel more like a tree than an elf, but I'll do anything to silence Mace's complaints, even if it's just for a day.

I woke up to the sound of Mace screeching out songs outside my bedroom door at 6 am. I anticipated that she would wake me up with terrible Christmas songs, so I blocked my bedroom door with my desk before she could think about coming into my room and giving me an unwanted front-row seat to her performance. Once I heard her high-pitched wailing, I promptly inserted my noise-cancelling headphones, set my phone to airplane mode so she couldn’t blow it up with calls and texts, and peacefully dozed off until my alarm blared through my headphones at 8 am, signalling the arrival of the most dreadful day of the year.

Mace was furious that I’d slept so late and was downstairs already, dancing wildly in the empty pub to Michael Bublé at full volume. For a whole fifteen minutes, she completely ignored my existence before throwing my outfit at me.

Me and Mace have been rushing around all morning making sure everything was ready and prepared for our customers. Even though I’ve been completely rushed off my feet, I've been trying everything I can do to mentally block out Mr Hayes; pretending he's not here, but I can sense him without even looking. Once I come face-to-face with him, it's game over. I’ll be a spluttering mess and will barely be able to carry a plate. He sends my mind and body into disarray with just one look. Fortunately, we have assigned serving staff to their own quarter of the restaurant and since I knew Mr Hayes' whereabouts, I deliberately chose the furthest spot in the restaurant.

The day is going well despite the festive atmosphere, constant holiday greetings, and the repeated question of what I got for Christmas. If this wasn't my family's pub, I'd probably reveal exactly what Mace brought me: a clit suction stimulator that will make me see stars in every galaxy. I don’t tell them that though, instead I keep it professional and smile while trying to awkwardly change the conversation.

“Ang, would you mind watching the bar for a bit, please? It's getting pretty hectic,” Mace shouts in my direction. “I'll take care of your side,” she adds. Although the dinner is sit-down, we're maintaining the pub vibe by allowing people to mingle at the bar after they’ve eaten. Without even answering her, I take the empty plates I was collecting from a table, place them in the open hatch to the kitchen, and then make my way over to the bar. Mace is right; it’s heaving, and poor Michael is on his own. I step behind the bar and begin serving customers by taking their orders. After a while, things start to calm down and the bar becomes quieter.

As Michael walks towards me, he throws his arm casually over my shoulder. “Carry me. I’m dying on my feet,” he jokes as he lets half his weight hang on me. As I stumble to the side, my knees give way, and I tumble to the floor. Michael and I burst into laughter as he helps me up and pulls me close again.

As “All I Want for Christmas” plays, we dance behind the bar, my arms encircling his waist. Even though I don't enjoy Christmas, I have to maintain a smile throughout a long day and an even longer night. It’s easy with Michael. When he joined the company four years ago, we instantly had a strong bond.

Someone clears their throat, and then there’s a voice that, with all the chaos of today, I forgot about, interrupts my thoughts.

“Can I get some service?”

I pivot on my heels and come face to face with the one person I desperately wanted to avoid today. My stomach churns, my body flooding with a rush of warmth. My insides flutter with butterflies as I take a moment to take him in. He looks absolutely stunning in a stylish black buttoned-up shirt, with his dark brown hair expertly styled and swept back, except for a loose strand that falls over his eyes. I feel paralyzed from his gaze as he holds me in place.

“Can I help?” Michael asks, oblivious to the moment Mr Hayes and I are having.

“A JD and coke.” Even as he speaks, Mr Hayes’ gaze remains fixed on me. Michael hesitates before turning around and rolls his eyes at me, likely due to Mr Hayes' rude tone.

“That order wasn't intended for you,” Mr Hayes barks, still not taking his eyes off me. Although my eyes widen, I resist the urge to retaliate against the snap in his voice. In a trance-like state, I turn my back on him, finally breaking our connection, and pry the glass from Michael's tightly clenched hand.

“I don’t appreciate you speaking to my colleague like that,” Michael grits out.

“Michael, it’s fine. I know him.” I offer my friend a smile, my lips sealed tightly as I walk past the rows of spirits clinging to the wall.

“Double, Angel,” Mr Hayes adds with a dull tone.

Michael crowds me from behind. “You don’t need to take this shit from this joker. If you want, I can remove the old man,” he says a bit too loudly.

I shake my head in reply. “Honestly, it’s fine. I’m used to this sort of thing.” I try to laugh it off. “I got this. Do you want to go and help Mace on the floor?” I place my hand on Michael’s arm and offer him a small smile, trying to communicate that everything is okay. With a slow nod, he glances at Mr Hayes and then back at me before making his way out from behind the bar.

With the spirit poured, I turn back to face the man I’m trying to avoid. “Tell me when to stop.” Placing the Coke tap in the glass, I begin to fill.

A second later, Mr Hayes commands me to stop, with just a tiny amount of Coke in the glass. He might as well have been without any. I set the glass down in front of him and give him a stern look, questioning his sudden rudeness towards me.

“￡9, please.” I put my hand out, and Mr Hayes pulls out a ￡20. He holds it a little away from my hand.

“Join me.” He tilts his head to the side, his gaze running down the length of me slowly, his stare setting my whole body alight.

“I like your cute outfit, Angel.” His eyes land back on mine, but this time, his golden irises have darkened to a captivating brown. “Much more revealing than your old school uniform.” I gasp at the thought of him remembering me in my school attire. I have no experience with guys, but I’m pretty sure that his current look definitely shows desire.

“I don’t drink while working.” I lean forward, snatching the ￡20 out of his hand, and walk towards the till.

I attempt to calm my racing heart by taking subtle, deep breaths. Why does this happen whenever he's around me?

I set the change on the bar in front of him and call out to Mace. “Just stepping away for a quick break.” She gives me a thumbs-up and goes back to what she was doing. Without sparing Mr Hayes a second look, I walk out the back and let the doors slam behind me. Once I'm no longer visible, I clutch the edges of the table in the back room and breathe deeply. He has the power to make me melt with a single glance, leaving me desperate for his touch. I'm in dire need of that suction toy at the moment.

“Fuck,” I mutter, looking up at the ceiling, hoping for some sort of miracle.

“I really want you to have that drink with me, Angel.” I look to the mirror in front of me to find Mr Hayes’s reflection, looking at me as if I were his next meal.

I exhale and utter, “Mr Hayes…what…” I can’t even form a sentence to ask him why he’s back here.

He approaches me slowly, like a wild beast stalking his prey. I should be telling him he’s not meant to be back here; I should be asking him nicely to get back to the bar; I should be worried that, at any minute, Mace could walk back here and demand to know what’s going on, but I can’t. I'm powerless to break free from the mesmerising effect he has whenever his eyes are on me.

Standing behind me, Mr Hayes is so close that I can feel my arse brushing against his thighs as he looms over me.

“Tilt your head backwards,” he commands, never averting his eyes from mine. I frown, but with a single raised eyebrow, he communicates a clear message: don't question me. Maybe it's because he was my teacher for years, but I trust him, so I tilt my head back until I'm staring at the ceiling.

His lips ghost the shell of my ear. “Open your mouth.” I do as I’m told, but my pounding heart betrays me as my breathing becomes a lot more rapid. There is no doubt that he knows the effect he has on me. I remain silent, mouth open, chest heaving, waiting for this next move.

“I just wanted you to have a drink with me, Angel,” he softly murmurs in my ear. He moves and suddenly the glass of JD and minimal coke I prepared for him hovers above my face. He tilts it and the ice-cold liquid hits my tongue.

“Swallow.” Drinking without choking is a challenge because of the angle of my head, but I manage it. However, some of the liquid escapes my mouth and runs down my neck. The glass disappears, and then I feel him. He trails his lips and tongue along my neck. I can't help my gasp as the sensation sends a signal straight to my core. Thoughts of his mouth in other places consume me, intensifying the ache between my thighs. He brings his lips back to my ear.

“You make it taste so much better.”