Cole For Christmas. Darlene Gardner
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“I admit it. You’re hot.” Anna sighed
“But you’re not just any hot guy,” she continued. “You’re the hot guy I work with. I can’t sleep with you.”
Cole was silent for no more than a second. Then he shrugged. “Okay. I accept that.” Without warning, he pulled his thick sweater over his head and tossed it on the bed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Anna asked, her voice cracking.
“Undressing.”
“But I thought you were sleeping on the sofa?” Anna meant her voice to sound harsh, but it came out soft.
“No reason we can’t sleep in the same room now.” Cole cocked an eyebrow at the twin beds.
Anna sat on one and started bouncing.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Cole repeated her earlier question.
“Testing out which bed is firmer. I love a hard…”
But she had made the mistake of looking at him, and what she’d been about to say died on her lips. He no longer had on his jeans—just a pair of red silk boxer shorts and the biggest…er, smile she’d ever seen.
Dear Reader,
Anybody who’s ever made it to adulthood single has probably run into a family member way too interested in their love life. You know the type. Full of questions about why you’re not dating, how seriously you are dating or who you should be dating.
In Cole for Christmas, Anna Wesley has a houseful of relatives exactly like that. They’re so thrilled when she finally brings a man home to dinner that they refuse to believe she and the sexy Cole Mansfield aren’t romantically involved.
I hope I’ve infused this story with the magic of the Christmas season, where love is in the air and anything is possible. Even a sizzling romance between a man who must lie to keep his word and a woman afraid to trust. And, of course, relatives who just might be right about who is Mr. Right.
Happy holidays!
Darlene Gardner
P.S. Online readers can visit me at www.darlenegardner.com.
Books by Darlene Gardner
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
926—ONE HOT CHANCE
HARLEQUIN DUETS
39—FORGET ME? NOT
51—THE CUPID CAPER
68—THE HUSBAND HOTEL
77—ANYTHING YOU CAN DO…!
101—ONCE SMITTEN TWICE SHY
Cole for Christmas
Darlene Gardner
MILLS & BOON
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To my large, loving Polish-American family
Contents
1
IF IT WEREN’T FOR Bobblehead Santa, Anna Wesley wouldn’t be in this predicament.
She stood next to her desk in the not-quite-deserted marketing offices of Skillington Ski Shops, clutching the eight-inch plastic doll in her right hand, for once not amused by the way its white-haired head danced.
With her left hand, she absently worried the tassel on the Santa Claus hat the family expected her to wear to Christmas Eve dinner that night.
Nobody expected her to bring Bobblehead Santa.
Nobody would know the difference if she’d shown up with a bottle of wine instead of the toy she knew would make her grandfather erupt into one of those belly laughs worthy of St. Nick himself.
But, no, she couldn’t do things the easy way. Instead of driving straight to her parents’ house, she had to return to the office to pick up the silly doll. An office that should have been empty aside from the once-gay Christmas tree that sat on her secretary’s desk, its lights no longer twinkling.
It was nearly seven o’clock. Everybody should have cleared out hours earlier to enjoy what was in Anna’s mind the most magical night of the year. Christmas Eve, a night full of anticipation and wonder, meant to be spent in the bosom of family and friends.
That’s where she’d be now if she hadn’t come back to the office and noticed the light shining under Cole Mansfield’s office door.
But maybe she was overreacting. Maybe the cleaning staff had inadvertently left on a light, never mind that it had never happened before.
The shining light didn’t necessarily mean her marketing assistant, who’d moved to western Pennsylvania from San Diego to take the job less than a month before, was working late.
She’d no sooner taken a step in the direction of the exit than she heard the whir of a computer printer. Darn. She looked down at Bobblehead Santa, who gazed back up at her with his merry eyes.
“You don’t suppose that’s the ghost of Christmas Past in there, do you?” she asked him.
He didn’t answer but his joy-filled expression remained unchanged. It’s Christmas, he seemed to say.
“Not everyone celebrates Christmas,” she reasoned with him. “He could be Jewish. Or