Page 7 of Craving Her Christmas Boss

It shouldn’t have been so bad. In fact, he should have been able to say that things were going better that he’d anticipated—the Christmas tills were ringing, the figures were stacking up, and the staff were all accommodating if not bordering on welcoming. All but one. And he wanted her to accommodate him in a way that was thoroughly inappropriate. So much for conquering the lust.

Theoretically, he should be over it. Everyday this week she’d been dressed totally differently from that to-die-for green shirt and pants number at that first meeting. If anything she looked downright dowdy and the shapeless shirts and skirts she seemed so fond of. He couldn’t understand why she’d want to shroud herself in 1950s-schoolmarm-length skirts, and all he wanted to do was get her out of them. While the rest of the staff were looking festive, she looked funereal. Black, black, and black was it. Drab and depressing it should have been. Except that on her the tone emphasised her pale skin, and made her eyes greener than genetically modified grass.

And then there was the fact that it wasn’t just her looks he was attracted to. In the open plan space outside his office, she and Shona were nearest to his door. The door he couldn’t bring himself to close—not when he could hear her low voiced humour. She didn’t mix much with the others—just sat quietly next to Shona, passing the time with occasional wry and dry comments that had him hovering ever closer, increasingly interested. Wishing she’d laugh like that with him.

And she was damn good at her job—at a junior level, for sure, but with the potential to climb a lot higher. He could see exactly why Mr Mac had agreed to put her through her degree. In early, out late. Always focused, always prepared. Thus far she had been right—she was able to do everything he asked of her. Except he hadn’t asked for what hereallywanted. That was in the ‘not allowed’ category. And she knew it. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, wouldn’t speak with him unless on a business matter, wouldn’t even call him by his first name. So he was tiptoeing around her when in another time, another place, he’d have had her horizontal as fast as possible. And he knew—deep in his bones, heknew—that she wanted him, too.

The attraction made him ache. And the impossibility made it worse.

So he spent as much time as he could on the shop floor—away from the temptation of sitting in the admin office. Even so he felt it—the magnetic, compelling instinct to get nearer to her. Much nearer.

Generally Ryan relied on his instincts. He wished this one would go to hell.

Lost in thought, Imogen walked as early as ever to work. It was weird walking in the dark. When she walked home it was dark, too. The wintry Edinburgh sun didn’t come out to play for long. Despite this, there was one massive light on her horizon. He lit the world brighter than the biggest star in the sky—and it wasn’t justherworld. She’d seen the way the women working in the cosmetics department all stood so much straighter when he appeared—and it wasn’t an ‘uh-oh here comes the boss’ kind of leap to attention, it was definitely a ‘suck in your tummy, here comes the sexiest man alive’ pose. Nor was it just the cosmetic’s hotties, but the kitchenware, nursery, formal wear and lingerie queens too—both sexes. Wherever he went all heads turned, and on went their ‘notice me’ signals. It wasn’t just because of his looks. he had an easiness, and open, approachable demeanour, that made people want to draw closer. And then there was that irrepressible, irresistible glint that suggested he wasn’t quite thinking thoughts as bland as he ought.

Ryan Taylor was blinding everyone with his charm. Imogen was determined to resist. But, as inevitably as snow melted in the sun, and for the five millionth time, she replayed that scene in the hotel hallway, half kidding herself that it was a good way to combat the chilly wind on her way to work. She was crossing the bridge, and had just got to the point when she had watched his muscles tighten, felt her own belly tighten in response, when, as she walked faster to get a grip on herself, she felt her feet slide...

‘Careful!’ A strong hand gripped her upper arm, lifting her, just keeping her upright. ‘You don’t want to graze your knee again.’

‘Oh!’ She sucked in a shocked breath. ‘Thank you.’

She put a hand out and grasped the railing of the bridge. Took another shocked breath as she identified her rescuer. ‘Thanks.’ Her heart thudded faster, but the oxygen didn’t help and she gabbled, ‘I’m so useless on the snow.’

Ryan laughed. ‘This isn’t snow. This is just a bit of ice.’

‘Well, whatever it is, it’s too slippery for me.’ The whole world was too slippery. She gripped the rail tighter, vowing not to move until he had gone.

He stepped alongside her, so he was no longer in the way of the other people walking towards the work. He was breathing faster than normal, too. But that was because he was wearing navy track pants, had his polypropylene striped arms poking out from the sleeves of a white T-shirt, a film of sweat on his forehead.

‘You’re going into work early.’ He didn’t seem to notice she was impersonating a statue.

‘I have some things I want to do. You are…’ She looked up at him, lost her train of thought.

‘Out for a run—yes.’ He smiled.

For the first time in days she says properly and his eyes—even in the half-light of the late dawn they were vivid blue. She was vaguely aware of her mouth moving into a mirroring smile. Oh, he had it all. One of those great all round types, with his blue eyes and brown hair, his bronzed skin, broad shoulders and… Had she dwelt on his blue eyes already?

‘Do you wear contacts?’

‘No. Why?’ He seemed to be smiling with his whole body.

She couldn’t believe she asked that question out loud. ‘Your eyes are very blue.’ Oh, God, she was whispering.Oh, brain,where art thou?She jerked back. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why?’

Because that was inappropriate. But she couldn’t answer. Looked away to try to clear hit of his almost hypnotic power. ‘It’s freezing, isn’t it?’ Hell. Reduced to talking about the weather to distract herself from the fact she just made a colossal fool of herself. To try to ignore the way she burnt up in his presence.

‘I like the cold. I like the fun of warming up.’

She looked back at them then. Had he moved closer? He had, and now he was taking another step.

‘It’s easier to warm up and cool down.’

‘I don’t think so,’ she said, just to disagree. ‘It can be impossible to warm up.’ The brakes on her sensibility were slipping as she stood near him, with him smiling like that. He still had his hand on her arm, and he was edging closer and closer.

‘You canalwayswarm up.’

Awareness zinged between them.

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