The CEO's Christmas Proposition / His Expectant Ex. Catherine Mann
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punch I did?”
As if she was going to admit he’d rocked her back on her heels at the airport this morning!
“I don’t intend to answer it,” she said primly.
“Coward.”
The soft taunt held as much amusement as speculation. Devon responded to both with a lift of her chin.
“The kiss was a mistake. Or more correctly, a case of mistaken identity. Your friend asked you deliver it to someone he no doubt described as a good-time girl.”
Which Sabrina Russo most definitely had been. Only Devon and Caroline knew how hard their friend had to work now to maintain her laughing, effervescent facade.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Devon said coolly, “I’m not that woman.”
“Trust me, I’ve noticed.”
This far from the fire, the room was in deep shadow. She couldn’t read Cal’s expression, but the amusement was still there, lacing his deep voice.
“So here’s the deal,” he said. “I’m thinking we should try it again.”
“What?”
“No mistakes or mistaken identities. Just you and me this time. We’ll test the waters, see if we experience the same punch.”
Devon gave an exasperated huff. Despite her every effort to maintain a businesslike attitude, her client wasn’t going to let go of that ridiculous incident at the airport unless and until she killed it stone-cold dead.
Assuming she could. With him leaning over her, his features a contrast of light and dark, she had the mortifying suspicion she could lose herself in Cal Logan’s arms.
The mere thought tightened the muscles low in her belly. For a dangerous moment, she indulged the fantasy of popping the rest of his shirt buttons. Sliding her palms over the contours of his chest. Locking her arms around the strong column of his neck.
Summoning every ounce of willpower she possessed, Devon wrapped her hand around the gilttrimmed latch and yanked the door open.
“Good night, Mr. Logan.”
Cal let her go. He’d heard the rusty edge of exhaustion layered under the irritation in her voice. She had to feel almost as whipped as he did.
He knew damned well his tiredness would have evaporated on the spot if she’d taken him up on his challenge. But would hers? His rapidly evolving plans for Devon McShay didn’t include a sleepy, halfhearted seduction. He wanted her wide awake, her breath coming in short gasps, her body eager and straining against his.
Cal scraped a hand across his chin, trying to remember the last time a woman had roused this kind of hunger in him, this fast. From the first glimpse, Devon had stirred his interest. From the first taste, she’d dominated his thoughts. All during the meeting with Hauptmann, Cal had had to work to keep his attention on the acquisition details and off the woman sitting next to him.
He was damned if he understood why. Even with Alexis—beautiful, sensual, avaricious Alexis—a part of him had always remained detached. And more than a little cynical. He’d known from day one that the glamorous blonde had been more attracted to his millions than to him.
Yet prickly, stubborn Devon, who insisted on maintaining a professional distance, had Cal plotting all kinds of devious ways to get her in his bed. He had several in mind as he crossed the darkened room, intending to toss down the rest of his cognac before he hit the sheets. A sharp rap brought him back to the door.
When he opened it, his pulse spiked. Devon stood in the hall. For a wild moment, Cal was sure she’d come back to conduct the experiment he’d suggested.
“The key to my room doesn’t work.”
So much for his misguided hopes, he thought wryly.
“I used the house phone to call the front desk. They think the sudden power outage sent a jolt through the computer that electronically resets the hotel’s door locks.”
The only lighting came via the red emergency-exit signs. It was more than enough for Cal to note her thoroughly disgusted expression.
“Until they get the computer back online, not even security or housekeeping can let me in. So I thought…Since you have two bedrooms…Maybe we could…”
“Share?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. Come in.”
He stood aside, careful to keep his expression neutral as she swept by him. She was clearly upset by this latest turn of events. That didn’t stop him from feeling a whole lot like the big bad wolf when Red Riding Hood appeared with her basket of goodies.
She halted in the sitting room, her slender figure silhouetted against the glow from the fireplace. “Which bedroom are you using?”
He gestured to the one on the right. “I went for the stag’s head instead of the crown.”
“Okay.” She hesitated. “Well, uh, I guess I’ll turn in.”
He had to fight a grin. He shouldn’t be enjoying her predicament so much. “’Night, Devon. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night.”
He waited to see if she’d tack on another Mr. Logan. She didn’t.
When the door closed behind her, a fierce satisfaction gripped Cal. He was halfway home. He had Devon here, in his lair. That was progress enough for tonight.
Or so he thought.
An hour later he was forced to admit he’d made a serious error in judgment. With the electric heat out, the room temperatures had gone down like the Titanic. The thick comforter provided sufficient protection against the cold, but all Cal could think of was how much warmer he’d be with Devon curled up beside him. The fact that she slept less than a dozen yards away kept him awake and aching long into the cold, dark night.
Devon woke to sunlight so bright and dazzling she had to put up an arm to shield her eyes. Squinting through her elbow, she saw she’d neglected to draw the pale gold brocade drapes. No surprise there. She’d whacked a shin on a chair leg and bumped into the dresser while stumbling around in the inky blackness last night.
Still squinting, she lowered her arm. That’s when she discovered that dazzling sunlight didn’t necessarily equate to warmth. The elegant bedroom was as cold as the inside of an Eskimo’s toolshed. Each breath brought icy air slicing into her lungs. It came out a second later on a cloud of steamy vapor.
Gasping, Devon dragged the covers up to her nose. Obviously, the hotel’s power was still out. She knew zero about substations and transformers and such, but suspected the city that had gone dark right before her eyes last night was probably still powerless.
So where did that leave her? More to the point, where did it leave her client? Until she had a fix on the situation, she wouldn’t know how to handle it.
She huddled under the covers, trying to work up the nerve to make a dash for the bathroom. The mere thought of planting her bare feet on the icy bathroom tiles kept her burrowed in.
“Devon?”
Her startled gaze flew to the door. “Yes?”
“You decent?”
“I…Uh…” She scrunched down until only her eyes showed above the fluffy comforter. “Yes.”
The door opened and a man she almost didn’t recognize entered the room. The cashmere overcoat and hand-tailored suit were gone. So was the boardroom executive.
This Cal Logan looked more like a cross-country Nordic skier. He wore a cream-colored turtleneck and bright blue ski jacket with the collar turned up. Matching ski pants emphasized his muscular thighs. The pants were tucked into microfiber boots cuffed by thick thermal