Page 11 of Craving Her Christmas Boss

Sadly, the woman after the lovely old lady only had a book to wrap, and it took Imogen less than a minute.

He stepped up to the table. She stared at him.

‘I’d like you to wrap this, please.’ He met her not so cool gaze with eyes like limpid pools.

She couldn’t handle it. Looked down. The matching hat, gloves and scarf set was a deep green, and knitted from the finest merino wool.

‘I know someone who needs warming up,’ he whispered conspiratorially.

She fumbled with the paper.

‘Ihadbeen thinking about a hot water bottle,’ he went on, ignoring her rigid silence. ‘But I think she thinks it might be dangerous.’

Imogen picked up the scissors and resolutely decided to play along. ‘What about a wheat pack?’

‘Not big enough. I was thinking more along the lines of human hot water bottle. Big and warm—someone that she can snuggle into.’

His eyes weren’t quite so limpid now.

Imogen ran this is a blade along the ribbon. ‘She might get too hot.’ She might get burned. Imogen already had scars, she didn’t need more.

‘She wouldn’t have to wear pyjamas.’

Imogen spent the afternoonin recovery, doing payroll and avoiding Ryan and Shona and everyone. The office team was going for drinks that night—Ryan’s first week/Christmas shout. No way was Imogen going—she never went to social occasions, never mixed business with personal. Once bitten, fifty-five times shy. And Ryan’s presence was even more of a reason to say no—especially after that ‘just a kiss’ this morning; especially when he flirted with her like that at the gift wrap table.

So she made her usual excuse to Shona and head out the Christmas store while the others left. Then she went back up to the office to finish the last sheet of data entry before packing up for the day. She was about to shut the computer down when Ryan walked back in, frowning.

‘Aren’t you coming for a drink with everyone?’

‘I don’t drink.’

‘Ah.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Of course you don’t.’

‘Mr Taylor?’ She was not going to have him poke fun at her.

‘Ryan.’ He walked to her desk and around it.

‘Mr—’

‘Everyone else calls me Ryan. You can, too.’

He stood in front of her. Way too close for comfort.

‘Don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’ He tilted her chin up with his finger.

‘I can’t…’

‘Can’t what?’ His eyes caressed her, captivated her.

‘I can’tthinkwhen you do that.’

‘This?’ He stroked her hair. ‘All this?’ He ran his finger the length of the throat, letting it rest on the hollow at the base.

‘Um…’ Her skin burned as she tried to get her head to function.

He smiled. ‘Good. Don’t think. Just do.’

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