Page 26 of Craving Her Christmas Boss

‘What?’ She had had a rotten night’s sleep and she was crabby now.

‘It’s Ryan. Come on out.’

‘I’m not coming out.’

‘If you don’t come out, then I’m coming up. And if I come up you know what might happen. I think it’s safer if you come out.’

She rested her head against the door. Damn, he was determined. He’d do it too—break his way in and if necessary—so he was right. It was much safer for her to go out there than let him come in here.

‘Give me five minutes.’

Glancing at the clock, she saw it was after one o’clock—how had that happened? She pulled a woolly jump on over her tee shirt and jeans, zipped up her boots. Swinging her hair back into a ponytail, she had a quick glance in the mirror and winced away from her reflection. Who needed make up when Ryan was around? Thanks to the sensations just the thought of him inspired, she had colour in her cheeks, sparkles in her eyes, and lips redder than if she had coated them with bright red stage make up.

He was standing in the middle of the path, wearing a red roll-neck sweater over dark blue denim jeans. The sweater was fine wool and clung to his frame. Those muscles, that athletic body—wrapped in her favourite colour. It was a present she ached to unwrap. Instead she looked at the path ahead.

‘How can I help?’

‘Come for a walk with me.’

She hesitated.

‘A walk, Imogen. Nothing dangerous.’

‘Walking on these paths is always dangerous for me.’

‘Good point.’ He chuckled. ‘I’d better hold your hand, then—help you balance.’

As he’d already taken her hand in his as he spoke, and started walking, she had little option but to go with him.

Trying not to enjoy it.

Trying not to want more.

They walked straight up to Princes Street and into the gardens. Lots of people were out walking—making the most of the rain-free afternoon. The Winter Wonderland and the outdoor ice rink was set up. They stood and watched the skaters for a while. He looked at her, his face all lit up with humour and a definite dare.

She shook her head, knowing what he was thinking.

‘Come on—what have you got to lose?’

‘An ankle? Leg?’Dignity. She hadn’t skated in years, and she didn’t want to fall flat on her face again. Not in front of him.

‘It’ll be fun.’

He made everything seem so simple. As they got nearer the rink, the sound of the blades as they scraped over the ice sent chills across her skin. Her fingers were numb as she pulled the rented skates on, and yet her cheeks felt hot.

He already had his skates on, able to stand on the thin blades of the boots no problem, slipping his footed place as if he done it a thousand times. She made him walk to the gate first, not wanting him to see the way she wobbled in the boots—and they weren’t even on the ice yet.

She clutched the rail and gave him a baleful glare as he glided out a few metres—smooth and graceful as a swan. ‘When did you last go skating?’

He grinned, winked, slid back towards her. ‘Come on—I’ll help you.’

She stared some more. He was a pro. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said sarcastically, as he took her hands and pulled her onto the ice. ‘You did figure skating as a kid. All those tight leotard things and did triple axles or whatever.’ She had watched a few Winter Olympics. She knew good when she saw it.

He laughed. ‘Ice hockey.’

Oh, great. Aggression on ice. ‘Isn’t that really violent?’

‘It’s challenging.’ He was laughing. ‘And great fun. ‘

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