A Mistletoe Kiss with the Boss

Still, she knew it didn’t mean as much to him as it did to her. He might be having fun. He might even be enjoying her, but having heard the story of Nina, she more than suspected he’d vowed never to let himself get close to a woman again. He’d probably even made a rule.

When they reached her hotel lobby, she expected him to say goodbye at the elevator. Instead, he stepped inside with her.

Wonderful hope filled her tummy with butterflies. “Walking me to my door?”

“There were three photographers in the lobby.”

Disappointment rumbled through her. “Oh.”

But when they got to her door and she turned to say good-night, he had the most baffling expression on his face. She recognized the longing. The end of this date should be a kiss. But the confusion in his eyes told her he wouldn’t even kiss her cheek.

“What’s wrong?”

He drew a long breath and looked away. “Nothing.” But when he turned back to her again, his dark eyes had sharpened. The muscles of his broad shoulders tensed beneath his smooth leather jacket. He took a fraction of a step toward her.

Her breath stalled. He was going to kiss her.

She took a fraction of a step toward him, drawn by an unknown instinct inside her that seemed to know exactly what to do.

His eyes stayed on her face. One of his hands came up, as if he were going to put it on her shoulder or maybe her waist to nudge her closer.

Her heart did a rumba in her chest. She smiled hopefully.

But his hand stopped. He took a step back and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Good night.”

Disappointed, she whispered, “Good night,” but he just stood there. She thought for a second that he might be hanging around because he didn’t want to leave and did want to kiss her. Then she realized he was just being a gentleman, waiting for her to go into her room.

She quickly slid the key in the lock and let herself inside. She said, “Good night,” again, hoping she didn’t look like an idiot, then closed the door behind her.

But no matter how hard she tried to talk herself out of it, she couldn’t let herself believe it was okay that he didn’t kiss her.

She had wanted him to kiss her.

Very much.

She told herself that was trouble, reminded herself of his story of Nina and how her now favorite genius had probably made a rule to protect himself, and even suggested to herself that no matter how they manipulated this agreement of theirs, they were using each other.

But she still wanted him to kiss her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“DEAN TOLD ME you need a cocktail dress and that I’m to take you to lunch.”

Eyes squinting, Kristen eyed the time on her cell phone and saw it was already ten o’clock.

She sat up. “Yes. I’m sorry, Stella. I got up late or I’d be dressed by now.”

“No sweat. I’m in the lobby when you’re ready.”

“Thanks.”

Kristen got out of bed, showered and put on the red sweater and jeans again. Then she called the front desk and made arrangements to have her black pants, white shirt and underwear cleaned that day. Housekeeping promised her clothes would be back in her room by that evening and she thanked them. Now there’d be no arguments about how she “needed” more jeans and a new sweater. She would fly home in the clothes she’d been wearing in Paris.

She met Stella in the lobby. They took Dean’s limo to the boutique and found Jennifer waiting, ready with three red cocktail dresses. She tried on all three and chose a simple red lace sheathe.

Stella said, “Now we just need new jeans and sweater.”

Proud of herself, Kristen smirked and said, “For what?”

“Dean said something about you needing clothes to go home in.”

“The clothes I wore over from Paris are being cleaned by the hotel.” She smiled. “I’m fine.”

Stella gaped at her. “Are you nuts? The man is willing to buy you an eight-hundred-dollar sweater. Take it.”

“I don’t need it.”

Stella sighed and looked at the ceiling as if seeking guidance from above.

Kristen firmly said, “I don’t need it and I don’t want it. End of discussion.”

Shaking her head, Stella said, “Whatever.”