Page 30 of Craving Her Christmas Boss

Somehow another hour passed. An hour in which he shared jokes and bad ice hockey stories and had her laughing so hard that it one point tears were running down her cheeks. The skies outside completely darkened, and in the warm window of the café the lights from the fake Christmas tree in the corner flickered on his face. She was so nearly spellbound.

He didn’t hold her hand as they walked the final stretch to her apartment in the tenement block. Imogen felt the tension rising between them. Neither of them was laughing now.

Part way up her path, he asked, ‘Come out with me tonight?’

‘Ryan, I can’t.’

‘You mean you wait? You won’t even give us a chance?’

‘We’re co-workers. There is nous. We had one night.’

‘Even then you didn’t stick around till morning. Technically you owe me a few hours.’

Ryan…’ Was he joking? Couldn’t he see how much of an edge she was on? A big, high, wide open window ledge—and she was scared.

She heard his sigh. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll claim them later.’

He turned, and she couldn’t see anything at all anymore as her vision blurred. Then she heard him mutter something else and he turned back.

‘Damn it, Iamgoing to take this.’

But he didn’t take. His lips were warm and gentle as they teased over hers—inviting, invoking such delight that, helpless to resist, she opened for him, let him deepen the contact. Only then his kiss gave and offered too much—promise. Such sweet promise.

Every muscle inside her softened, aching to take the rest of him and, wanting him to take more. Reeling, she felt ready to give in, was longing to believe in him.

But she knotted her hands together to stop herself reaching for him. Digging her nails into her palms to keep that last part of her rational. She couldn’t have him again—not now she knew his potency. She’d be addicted, she’d belostto him—and all too soon he’d be finished with her and she would lose everything. Promises made were too easily broken.

He lifted his head, looking more sombre than she had ever seen him. Gone was the usual smile in his eyes. Instead he studied her so seriously that she felt afraid.

‘Whoever he was, he must have been one hell of a jerk.’

She pulled back, face on fire, her brain kicking her body as she remembered. ‘He was.’

But Ryan stepped into her space, lifting her chin with his finger, forcing her to look him in the eye as he had the last word. ‘I’m not him.’

EIGHT

Ryan had spentmanylong hours putting himself through punishing physical workouts, but he’d never felt the kind of complete pain he felt now as he walked. It was as if a vital part of him was slowly being pulled from his body with every step he took away from her. But he had to go. Understood that she needed time to trust him as well as want him. He sensed her capitulation to the latter had been close, but he didn’t want her surrendering to his demands. He wanted her to come to him with her own demands. He wanted her to want him the way he wanted her, to be able to take as well as be taken—and not just sexually. Ultimately he wanted them to bebound.

Good grief. He was dreaming of being shackled—wantingit? Yes, wanting one woman, only the one, for evermore. And it was her. Shell-shocked, he found himself walking back through Princes Street Gardens and beyond, along the Royal mile and down to Arthur’s seat—setting a punishing pace up the steep path and round the hill. Even so he felt he had energy to burn. His grandfather had said it would happen like this—with fast, total certainty. He hadn’t believed him. But it had—just like that.

He loved her company today. Loved her teasing eyes, her dry comments, finding out just a touch about what had made her the way she was. There was so much more to discover, but he made himself breathe. There would be time. And for once he’d enjoyed talking about his life. She had been interested, but she hadn’t been dazzled. Hadn’t want to know about the rink at their winter holiday home, all the luxury of the Taylor family compound—the Olympic sized heated pool, the private cinema. She didn’t know the half of it. And it seemed she didn’t want to. As a result he’d shared more with her than he had with his closest teammates—which was saying something.

Eventually he trudged back to his hotel, had a long, long shower and then forced himself to dress in his tux. He had to go to this do—and it beat sitting in his hotel room being reminded of how she’d lain spread in his bed and screamed for him. Slow and steady was how he’d win her. He’d made ground today. He had to go and show his face tonight. It was too good a business opportunity to miss.

Monday morning he spent in his hotel room, having a video conference with his siblings. His brother was keen to push the European expansion plans forward, which meant there was a ton more work and a ton more pressure on Ryan. They’d talk details over Christmas, so before then there would be no time for distraction. But as he walked to the store he found himself looking forward to seeing Imogen, working on her, all the more determined to win her—wholeheartedly.

He went straight up to the accountancy suite, but she wasn’t at her desk. He glanced at the clock—lunchtime. He grinned and went back downstairs.

‘Jingle Bells’ was playing the seventeen thousandth time. He put a wooden duck head handled umbrella on the table in front of her. She looked up, and her smile died. It didn’t just die, it went nasty. Her green eyes burned better holes right through him.

‘Imogen —’

‘Who’s this for?’ Her voice was poisonous. ‘Your great aunt Agatha?’

Oh, my, she was feeling it today. So he gave her the truth. ‘Actually, it’s for me.’ He gave her a meaningful look. ‘Someone keeps raining on my parade.’

But she wasn’t reading his less-than subtle irony. ‘It didn’t look like you were too weather-beaten on Saturday night. The way that woman was all over you, no rain could get near your skin.’

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