A Sinful Little Christmas. J. Margot Critch
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her hand and swallowed it with a mouthful of water. Alana was new to taking the medication. But her doctor had insisted on it when she couldn’t seem to lower her blood pressure or reduce her anxiety or panic attacks through the usual methods. The medication wasn’t at all necessary, and she knew it. It was only a precaution, really, and her doctor was overreacting. Neither her anxiety, nor her blood pressure, was the issue. Alana ate well and exercised regularly. It was just stress from work. That was all, she told herself.
Alana spun around in her chair and closed her eyes against the light coming from the large window, willing her heart rate to slow and her breathing to relax, meditating, as she waited for the room to stop spinning. Cameron buzzed in, interrupting her relaxation, and she sighed, not in the mood to see or talk to anyone. At least until the episode was over.
“Yes?” she asked, trying to remove all traces of fatigue from her voice.
“Alana, there’s a Michael Paul here to see you. He says he’s here to discuss his new position.”
He’s here? She didn’t want to deal with him today; she’d assumed that it would at least be next week before she had to talk to him. She put the pill bottle she was still holding into the drawer and slammed it shut. In a quick attempt to compose herself, she gulped back the rest of the water and pushed her hair back behind her shoulders. “Send him in,” she told her assistant.
A few seconds later the door opened, and Alana prepared her best thousand-yard stare. The one that shriveled the balls of many a man who dared cross her—in the boardroom, the bedroom, on the street and anywhere else. But her eyes widened when she cast them on the man who walked in the door.
Well, hello.
Alana wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but the man who entered her office certainly wasn’t it. He was tall, dark, sinfully sexy—exactly how she liked them. Black hair, closely shaved to his head, and a beard framed his strong jaw and the fullest, softest-looking male lips she’d ever seen. In a royal blue suit and a white shirt, open at the collar, which contrasted nicely against his dark skin, he was quite the picture. In response to his physical appearance, she flicked an eyebrow upward with interest, before she could remind herself that she was at work and that Michael Paul was her newest employee—whether she liked it or not.
“Ms. Carter?” he asked, approaching her desk. His British accent got her attention as he towered over her.
“Yes, that’s me.”
Still standing, he extended his hand to her. “I’m Michael Paul.”
She blinked, but quickly recovered to cover her physical attraction to him. She had discovered only a few minutes ago that the man even existed, and now he was standing in front of her, introducing himself. “Yes, I’ve been expecting you,” she lied, not willing to let him know that her partners had just ambushed her with the news of his hiring, and that he’d caught her off guard, at a weak moment.
Remaining sitting, so he was forced to lean over her desk, she put her hand in his, and the size of it completely dwarfed hers. His were strong hands, capable. Lightly calloused, not at all as smooth as she would have expected. Working man’s unmanicured hands. Their eyes connected, and a spark snapped between them as their palms flattened together.
Hands had always been a turn-on of hers, and she could tell a lot about a man by his hands, by how he used them, moved them, and by how he shook hands. His confidence and strength. What kind of work he did, how he held himself. And Michael’s handshake told her quite a bit. For a second time in just a few minutes, she about lost her breath and her equilibrium, and such an immediate reaction to a man shocked her. Alana was normally in complete control over her emotions, and to have that control slip, well, that sort of thing didn’t happen to her.
When Michael released her from his grasp, Alana was grateful that she was able to mentally compose herself. “Please, sit down,” she told him, waving at the sleek couch on the other side of her desk. But when he stepped back, he removed his jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch, and she almost sighed at his form. Michael’s shoulders were broad, and his arms, back and chest were strong, as evidenced by the bulges of muscle that showed through the fine material of his white shirt. Alana was barely hanging on, and when he unbuttoned his shirt at the cuffs, she almost fell out of her chair.
Attempting to seem oblivious, she watched with keen interest as he rolled the cuffs of his shirt up, exposing corded forearms, more dark skin, soft hair on his wrist, the expensive gold watch. At least Michael was getting comfortable, because all Alana could do was squirm in her chair to alleviate the pressure growing between her thighs.
He smiled, showing a row of brilliantly white teeth behind those full lips. “I was hoping that we could talk about my new job a bit before I get down to work,” he said, settling back onto the low, plush couch. It was a feature she’d thought of when she designed her office, after one too many meetings with men who looked down at her. Her desk sat above the couch, placing her slightly above anyone sitting opposite her. But Michael’s height, which she’d pegged at around six foot five, put him more or less at eye level with her.
She straightened, telling herself that she couldn’t lust over the new guy. No matter how fucking sexy he was. He was her employee, whether she wanted him here or not. “It’s not your job yet,” she told him.
“Right, then,” he said carefully as he leaned back. His long legs crossed in front of him, his right ankle over his left knee, and his arms stretched casually along the back of the couch—as if he owned the place. “That wasn’t how I understood my meeting with your partners, though. Especially since I was able to procure a work visa…for my job here.” He paused and then grinned. “But sure,” he said. “Let’s talk. Because now that I’m here, and have the job, I’m not going anywhere. The sooner we can get on the same page, the better.”
Alana watched him for a moment. She might be attracted to him, and she certainly appreciated confident men, but he was cocky in a way that she wasn’t sure she liked. Unlike most people who sat across from her desk, he didn’t seem at all intimidated by her. In an attempt to gain control of the meeting, she cooled, and tried her best to seem unaffected by him. Hopefully, she was successful, but his smirk told her that he saw right through her. She cleared her throat. “Mr. Paul. I’m not certain we can find the same page. I’d settle for us at least being in the same book.”
Michael narrowed his eyes at the woman sitting in front of him. Gabe and his mates had told him about Alana—warned him about her, was more like it—but he hadn’t properly prepared himself to meet her in person. Sure, she was beautiful, but that wasn’t all. Already he could tell she was strong, tough, smart, a formidable woman. And for some reason, she didn’t seem pleased to see him in her office. That was a surprise. The fellows had enthusiastically welcomed him aboard, and he had no idea why he met resistance now. “What would you like to know?” he asked.
“This is far different than any situation I’ve found myself in, and even though my partners brought you here, I have no idea who you are. As far as I’m concerned, it’s still a job interview. So, start by telling me about yourself.” Bristling at her command, his entire body tensed. He was accustomed to being the one in control, and she’d put him in a subservient position. He didn’t like it, but knowing he needed to impress her, he tamped his annoyance down and looked at her from where he sat. His height may have put him almost at her level, but whether it was the low couch or the high position of her chair, she and her desk still seemed to tower over him. Total power move on her part, and he had to admire the design. Neat trick. He pegged her as a woman who liked to be in control. But he also liked control, and he wouldn’t give it up that easily.
She threw her long blond hair over her shoulder, and barely looked at him. He clenched his fist, imagining himself pushing his fingers through it, pulling a little. He saw her eyes dip to look at his hands.
His new boss was sexy. And his immediate reaction to her surprised him, especially when he should