The CEO's Christmas Proposition / His Expectant Ex: The CEO's Christmas Proposition
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To Cal Logan’s credit, he appeared completely oblivious to Madam Hauptmann’s less-than-subtle signals. That should have won him some brownie points with Devon, but the bad taste stayed with her after the Hauptmanns dropped them off at their hotel. She returned short, noncommittal responses to her client’s comments during the walk through the lobby and said even less in the elevator.
The plush, patterned carpet lining the hall muted their footsteps as they approached Cal’s suite. He stopped beside the double doors but didn’t insert the key. Tapping the key card against his hand, he raked a glance over her face.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
In fact, she was anything but. Watching Lisel Hauptmann’s performance had stirred too many nasty memories. All Devon wanted was to crawl between the sheets and let sleep wipe them away. Her client’s long day gave her the perfect out.
“But you must be exhausted,” she said. “I’ll check the weather and call you in a few minutes with our revised itinerary for tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you bring me a printed copy? We can have a cognac while we go over the details.”
“I don’t care for cognac.”
He cocked a brow at the stiff response. “I’m sure we can fine something else to suit your tastes. See you in a few minutes.”
“Fine.”
Devon could feel those blue eyes drilling into her back as she marched the few yards to her room and knew she had to get a grip here.
So Cal Logan was too damned hot for his own—or anyone else’s—good? So he and this crazy time of year combined to throw her off balance? She’d darn well better get her head on straight before she trotted back to the man’s suite.
The e-mail from Caroline didn’t help in that regard. Her heart sinking, Devon skimmed the meager contents. European weather experts had already labeled this the ice storm of the century. Many airports had closed until further notice. Trains were running hours behind schedule, if at all. Road conditions were expected to worsen overnight. The experts predicted widespread power outages as trees groaning with the weight of ice cracked and toppled electrical lines.
Caroline’s advice was to hunker down right where they were and wait out the storm. With great reluctance, Devon called down to the desk to check on room availability should they have to extend.
“It should not be a problem, madam.”
Ha! She’d heard that before.
“If you and Herr Logan cannot depart because of this storm, our other guests most likely cannot arrive. In either case, we will work out suitable arrangements.”
Vowing to hold them to that promise, Devon printed the e-mail and headed back down the hall.
“It’s not looking good for travel to Berlin tomorrow,” she announced when Cal opened the door.
“I heard.”
Ushering her inside, he gestured to the plasma TV mounted on the wall. The screen showed a scene of almost eerie beauty. Like slender, long-limbed ballerinas, a row of ice-coated linden trees bowed almost to the ground.
“I caught the tail end of a CNN Europe broadcast. Evidently this front isn’t expected to move any time soon. We need to discuss options.”
He’d shed his suit coat and loosened his tie. He’d also popped the top buttons of his blue shirt and rolled up the cuffs. As he reached for the doors of the highboy that housed the suite’s well-stocked bar, Devon caught the gleam of a thin gold watch on his wrist, all the more noticeable against skin tanned to dark oak.
It was a deep, natural color that couldn’t have come from a bottle or the cocoon of a tanning bed. Devon should know. Her ex had spent megabucks on the latter. And those white squint lines at the corners of his eyes weren’t the result of peering at spreadsheets. Cal Logan might run a corporation that employed thousands, but he didn’t do it exclusively from the confines of a corner office.
“You said you’re not a cognac devotee. What would you like?”
The dazzling array of bottles beckoned. She’d been careful to take only a taste of schnapps during the welcome toasts at Herr Hauptmann’s office and a few sips of wine at dinner. With her client’s trip coming apart at the seams, though, she decided on a shot of something stronger than the diet Sprite she started to ask for.
“Baileys would be good. On the rocks.”
“One Baileys coming up.”
While he splashed the creamy liqueur into a brandy snifter, Devon took a quick glance around. Since the suite’s previous occupant had delayed his checkout, she hadn’t been able to inspect it before Cal moved in. She needn’t have worried. From what she could see, the King’s Suite more than lived up to the hotel’s proud claim that royalty had slept here, not to mention presidents, prime ministers and a good number of rock stars.
The luxurious apartment consisted of four rooms, each filled with what looked like priceless antiques. In the sitting room, gas-fed flames flickered in a marble fireplace with a mantel so ornate she guessed it had once graced a prince’s palace. The adjacent dining area boasted gilt-edged wainscoting and a chandelier dripping crystal teardrops. Separate bedrooms flanked the two central rooms.
Through the open double doors of one, Devon caught a glimpse of a stunning headboard carved with hunting scenes and topped by a life-size wooden stag’s head. Pale gold brocade covered the walls of the second bedroom. Bed curtains in the same shimmering silk were draped from the crown-shaped medallion centered above a magnificent four-poster.
“Wow,” Devon murmured. “I’ve toured castles that weren’t as richly appointed.”
“Me, too.” Cal came to stand beside her. Amusement laced his voice as he surveyed the decadent splendor. “Kind of makes you wonder what went on behind those bed curtains on cold, dark nights like this one.”
Devon’s back stiffened. She sent him a sharp glance, but there was nothing suggestive in the look he turned her way.
Or was there?
She was still trying to interpret his lazy half smile when he handed her the Baileys and retrieved his snifter of cognac from the marble-topped coffee table. With a ping of crystal on crystal, he tipped his glass to hers.
“Here’s to Mother Nature. For better or worse, she’s calling the shots.”
“For the foreseeable future, anyway.”
Devon lifted the snifter to her lips. Her first sip of the cool, creamy liqueur went down like a chocolate milkshake. The second hit with a little more punch.
“I called the front desk,” she told Cal as she moved toward the high-backed sofa angled to face the fire. “If necessary, we can hole up here until the storm breaks.”
His gaze went to the sitting-room windows. The drapes were drawn back to showcase Old City’s illuminated spires and turrets. The sleet blurring the world-famous view gave it an impressionistic, almost surreal, quality.
“Looks like holing up is becoming more necessary by the moment.”
Devon had to agree. “I’ll call the people you were supposed to meet with in Berlin and Hamburg first thing in the morning and try to reschedule. Do you have any flexibility in when you need to return to the States?”
“I would prefer not to spend Christmas Day in Germany. Or in the air,” he added with a wry smile. “As the only non-dad in the family, my sisters usually make me play Santa for my nieces and nephews.”
“Beard and all?”
“Beard and all.” He sank into the cushions at the other end of the sofa and stretched his feet toward the fire. “I’d hate to miss Christmas with my family and certainly wouldn’t want to deprive you of being with yours.”
“Not a problem for me.”
Evidently Devon’s shrug didn’t come across as careless as she’d intended. Cal eyes held a question as he regarded her from a few feet away.
“No close family?”
“No brothers or sisters, and my parents divorced when I was a kid,” she explained. “It wasn’t an amicable parting of the ways.”
To say the least. Devon hid a grimace behind a swallow of smooth, chocolaty liqueur.
“They fought over where I’d spend every holiday and vacation. I got so I dreaded school breaks.”
“The fighting hasn’t let up now that you’re an adult?”
“If anything, it’s worse. Now they lay the decision on me, along with the guilt. That’s one of the reasons I was more than happy to step in and take this trip when Sabrina got hit with the flu.”
“What about someone else?” Cal asked casually. “Someone special to catch under the mistletoe?”
Devon squirmed, remembering Blake’s proposal under that damned sprig of green. No way she intended to relate the fiasco that had followed. Or her ridiculous, starry-eyed belief she’d finally broken the Christmas curse.
“No one special.”
“Good.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been wondering about that since you picked me up at the airport this morning.”
Calmly, he set his brandy snifter on the coffee table, reached across the cushions and removed hers from her hand. Devon went from surprised to instantly wary as he laid his arm across the back of the sofa.
“I’ve also been wondering if that kiss hit you with the same wallop it did me.”
Oh, boy! Where had that come from? Hastily, Devon scrambled to get things back on a less personal basis.
“How it hit either of us is completely irrelevant, Mr. Logan.”
“Cal.”
“This is a business trip, Mr. Logan. For me as well as you.”
“We took care of business this afternoon. Even hard-charging professionals are entitled to some downtime.”
“You took care of business this afternoon. I’m still on duty.”
His mouth curving, he rendered a snappy salute that reminded her that this sophisticated multibil-lionaire had once been a lowly private or lieutenant or whatever.
“Now hear this,” he intoned. “This is your captain speaking. All hands are officially at liberty.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” she said stubbornly.
“Sure it does. So answer the question, McShay. Did you feel the same kick I did?”
Every shred of common sense Devon possessed shrieked at her to lie like hell. Despite his blithe assurances to the contrary, her gut told her she should not mix business and pleasure. Especially with someone like Cal Logan. He was too powerful, too charismatic. Too damned sexy.
On the other hand…
Stop right there! There was no other hand. She’d been burned once by a handsome, charismatic charmer. She’d be a fool to stick her hand in the fire again.
“I repeat, Mr. Logan, how it hit either of us is completely irrelevant. I don’t intend to—”
She broke off, blinking as the cityscape that had filled the windows behind Cal suddenly went black. Dresden’s beautiful spires and turrets disappeared before her eyes. In almost the next second, the luxurious King’s Suite plunged into darkness broken only by the flames leaping in the marble fireplace.
Four
“A major substation went down.”
Cal hung up the house phone and confirmed what he and Devon already suspected.
“Power is gone to half the city, with more outages being reported as we speak.”
The flickering flames from the fireplace painted his face in shades of bronze as he crossed the room. His shadow loomed large against the pale walls.
“The desk clerk says the hotel has a backup generator, but…”
Devon’s heart sank. She had a feeling the “but” was a lead-in to something she didn’t want to hear. Sure enough, Cal delivered the grim news.
“It provides only enough power for emergency-exit lighting.”
Leaving the rest of the hotel in the dark.
“How long do they think the power will be out?”
“They have no idea. They’re hoping it’ll just be a few hours.”
Terrific! What better way to end a day characterized by more screwups and miscues than she wanted to count? Suddenly weary beyond words, Devon ached to sink into her featherbed and sleep right through this latest disaster.
“I think we should pack it in,” she suggested. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight.”
Cal accompanied her to the door but leaned an elbow against the ornate molding. “Actually, there is. You could answer my question. Did you feel the same 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 socks Devon would have killed for at that moment.
Luckily, she didn’t have to resort to murder. Cal carried a shopping bag across the room and dumped it on her bed.
“Good thing the hotel caters to the winter sports crowd. I had the manager open the ski shop. I figured we’d both need some cold-weather gear if the power stays off for more than a day or two.”
“A day or two?” Gulping, Devon tugged the covers down a few inches. “Surely they’ll restore it before that.”
“Maybe, maybe not. The manager said at least two-thirds of the city and most of the surrounding countryside have been affected. And it’s still happening. Lines are coming down right and left.”
Her gaze went to the uncurtained windows. The suite was on the sixth floor, too high up to afford more than a glimpse of the ice-coated trees lining the Elbe. From what Devon could see of them, however, most had bent almost to the ground under the unrelenting weight of the ice.
“I had to guess at your size.” Cal’s blue eyes skimmed down the covers and back up again. “If anything doesn’t fit, I’ll take it down and exchange it.”
“Thanks. Er, I don’t suppose you were able to scrounge some hot coffee along with the ski clothes.”
“Sorry. The hotel kitchen is temporarily out of operation. The staff was scrambling to put together a cold breakfast for the guests, though.” He headed for the door. “We’ll go down as soon as you’re dressed.”
Devon dove into the shopping bag and extracted a thick pair of socks. Only after her toes were encased in thermal warmth did she grab the bag handles and make a run for the bathroom.
The toilet seat almost gave her freezer burn. The icy stream that gushed from the water taps made washing her hands and face a challenge of epic proportions. Thankfully the hotel’s amenities included spare toothbrushes and a complimentary tube of toothpaste. Shivering and hopping from foot to foot, she brushed away the overnight fuzz, then shimmied into black-silk long johns so thin and sheer she wondered how the heck they could retain any heat. Her bikini briefs showed clearly through the almost-transparent silk. So did her demi-bra.
A V-necked sweater in pale lavender went on over the thermal silk undershirt. The ski pants and jacket were a darker shade of amethyst trimmed with silver racing stripes. Cal, bless him, had thought to include gloves and a headband in the same rich purple.
Ears, fingers and toes all warm and toasty, she zipped on a pair of microfiber boots and left the bathroom with a last glance at the woman in the mirror. She could use some lip gloss and a hairbrush. Hopefully, the hotel’s computer whizzes would figure out some way to operate the door locks so she could get back into her own room soon. If not, she’d have to conduct another raid on the downstairs shops.
After she got some coffee in her. Preferably hot, although she’d take an injection of caffeine however she could get it right now. And food. Any kind of food. With her body’s basic need for warmth satisfied, her stomach was starting to send out distress signals.
Cal stood by the sitting-room windows, taking in the frozen cityscape across the Elbe. Devon’s breath caught as she went to stand beside him. Buildings, trees, the statues on the bridge, the river itself…everything as far as the eye could see lay under a blanket of glistening white. Not a single car or bus or snowplow moved through the frozen stillness, although a few brave pedestrians were making their careful way across the bridge into the Old City.
“The manager didn’t exaggerate,” Devon murmured, awestruck. “Looks like most of the city must be shut down.”
“Looks like.” He didn’t sound particularly concerned as he turned and skimmed a glance over her new uniform. “How does everything fit?”
“The boots are a little loose, but you did good otherwise. Very good, actually.”
The comment was more of a question than an endorsement. Logan responded with one of his quicksilver grins.
“That’s what comes of having four younger sisters. We’ll exchange the boots downstairs.”
“We don’t need to exchange them. I’ll fill the space with another pair of socks.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“You’d better bring your purse with you,” he advised. “With the electronic locks on the fritz, we can get out but the keys won’t get us back in. We’ll have to leave the door propped open.”
There went her lip gloss and hairbrush.