Page 1 of Craving Her Christmas Boss

ONE

‘Please, please work.’Imogen slowly pushed the card in before, just as slowly, pulling it out. Nothing happened. The little green bubble just refused to light up.

She tried again. Pushed it in slowly, then whipped it out fast. Nothing

Fast in. Fast out. Nada.

‘Damn.’ Getting desperate, she tried fast in, slow out. ‘Give me the green light, give me the green light. I donothave time for this.’

She didn’t have time for anything. A quick glance at her watch showed precisely ten minutes remained until the meeting began. Ten minutes to wash off the mix of mud, blood and sleet and change into the new shirt and skirt she had bought from the overpriced shop three doors along precisely eight minutes ago.

‘Please, please,please.’ Why did this have to happen now? She wanted to wail. Why... when she got all her reports together well ahead of schedule, when she’d found something to wear after her cringeworthy disaster on the street, when the receptionist had been so sympathetic... Why did she have to fall at the final hurdle?

She pulled her wet shirt away from her skin. It was cold and muddy and she felt hideous and sore. She’d gone for such a spin on the icy path dash landing lane awkwardly and sliding flat on her front, ending up in a puddle of nasty water. She cursed the hidden ice that never seemed to melt on these Edinburgh footpaths. She couldn’t master walking on them at all. No matter what shoes she wore, she still slipped. And the one time she needed to get somewhere fast, and in one piece, she’d gone for the biggest spill of all.

And still the hotel room door wouldn’t open. The smiling receptionist had practically leapt to attention when Imogen had explained why she was there and who she was meeting and what had happened on the way. She’d handed over her wool coat and been assured it would be delivered to the dry cleaners, and had then been given a key card to a room.

‘Please use the room to shower and change. No charge.’

The ‘no charge’ bit was a huge relief, because the emergency outfit she’d had to buy had not been cheap. Nor was it the kind of business clothing she usually wore. Her wardrobe consisted of a neat uniform of black below-the-knee skirts and discreet jackets—nothing attention seeking at all. Imogen didn’t want attention; she just wanted to get on with the job—and do it well. But the nearest clothing boutique had stocked far more stylish and figure-revealing items than her usual mass-produced, form-concealing choices. She’d frantically pulled aside the hangers in a quest for something conservative and simple. And she’d been in too much of a hurry to even try her selection on. Surely the black trousers and green shirt that she now held in the large carrier bag would fit? She was a standard size. Surely—hopefully, please, Lord—it would be fine?

Well, it wouldn’t be if she couldn’t get into the wretched room to wash and change! She flipped the hank of hair that had fallen free of its tie back over her shoulder, breathed in deeply, and tried to control her rising temper with a slow count out.

‘One... Two... Three…fourfivesixseveneightnineten.’ She inserted the key card one last time. ‘Argh!’ she exclaimed in total frustration.

Nine minutes and counting. She was never going to make it. She was going to have to meet the new manager of Mackenzie Forrest wearing a sodden shirt and with dirt on her hands. She banged those hands hard on the door and front of her and swore. ‘Open, damn you!’

And then it did. So quickly she stumbled. Regaining her balance with a wince of pain from her knee, she looked up. Then lost all her remaining poise as he spoke—dry and unconcerned.

‘Can I help you with something?’

Stunned, she stared, stared and stared some more. He was wearing nothing—nothing—but he held a white towel to his... his... lower middle. There was acres of chest... lightly bronzed, so broad, so bare... and he was dripping wet. Imogen couldn’t help following the light dusting of hair... down. Couldn’t resist following the angles of his muscles... down. Couldn’t stop following the drops of water... down, down,down.

Down to where that broad hand was holding the fluffy towel which was catching those slow drips of water. She’d never seen a body so perfect—not even on billboard ads for underwear or aftershave. She’d certainly never seen a torso with such muscle definition. Not bodybuilder, too many steroids, bulging-veins kind of muscles, but strong and smooth and sharp. There was not an ounce of fat for those muscles to hide behind—they were all on show. And she’d never before seen a belly button that her tongue basically begged to taste. In fact, it seemed her whole body had gone brazen—and so had her brain.

She was blatantly watching as his fingers tightened on the towel and his other hand came to support it. Blatantly fascinated as each of his abdominal muscles moved, revealing even greater definition.

‘Ma’am?’

Hearing his broad American drawl, she dragged her gaze back up. Looking into his face, she simply stared some more as the brightest of blue eyes captured hers. Peripherally she saw the straight nose, the even brows, the angular jaw, but it was the eyes that held hers, with their unbelievable colour and their focus and their summer sudden flicker of something that looked a lot likeyou wanna dare?

At that whisper of wickedness she closed her eyes for a second, holding back the wave of sensual feeling that wanted to spread all over her, forcing herself to pause the explicit show her imagination wanted to screen and instead get on top of what she was supposed to be doing.

‘This isn’t your room.’ She didn’t mean to snap. But she was embarrassed and confused.

‘Actually, I think it is.’

Oh, did he have to have a voice to match the body? All amused and confident and capable of turning her pause button off again?

‘Actually, it isn’t.’ Pause button back on. She was in control and fighting for her rights. ‘The receptionist said I could use it to tidy up and change.’

‘Well, that was nice of her. But it’s my room.’

‘It was a him.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded, and that dare in his eyes became a very naughty looking challenge. ‘I’d have said yes to you, too. Beauty in distress.’

She wasn’t distressed, she was flustered, getting hot and rapidly approaching full-on panic mode. ‘I can’t get the key card to work.’

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