The Daddy Wish

She’d been married once—for all of two minutes. Actually, it had been two and a half years, but that two-and-a-half-year marriage had ended six years earlier. Since the divorce, she’d become accustomed to attending social events on her own, and she usually preferred it that way.

But on this night, only twelve days before Christmas, as she watched various couples snuggle up to each other in the corners or move together on the dance floor, she was suddenly and painfully aware of her solitary status. Aware that she would be going home to a dark and empty apartment because Dylan was spending the weekend with his dad’s new family. Her eight-year-old son was the light of her life, the reason for everything she did, and she missed him unbearably when he was gone.

A surreptitious glance at her watch confirmed that it was almost eleven o’clock—still early for the die-hard partyers but an acceptable time for her to head out. She wished her boss and his wife a merry Christmas, then made her way to the cloakroom to get her coat.

She paused in the wide arched entranceway when she heard voices emanating from within. It took only a few seconds for her to realize there was only one voice—and that it was a familiar one. Nathan Garrett, the CFO’s nephew and heir apparent, who would be her boss one day, was talking to someone on the cell phone that was pressed up against his ear. Glancing up, he flashed her the quick, easy smile that never failed to make all of her womanly parts tingle.

All of the Garretts—men, women and children—were beautiful people, and Nathan was no exception. He stood about six-two, with a lean but powerful build that was showcased nicely in formal business attire. His hair was dark, his eyes were an amazing gray that—depending on his mood—looked like smoke or steel, and dimples flashed when he smiled. It was those dimples that got to her, every time.

Not that she’d ever let him know it. Because the man was a major player, and Allison had learned her lesson about players a long time ago.

He disconnected his call and dropped the phone into his jacket pocket.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said.

“A beautiful woman is never an intrusion,” he assured her.

She stepped into the room and began looking for her coat, silently berating herself for the warm flush that colored her cheeks. She didn’t respond, because what could she say in response to flirtatious words that came as naturally to him as breathing? And how pathetic was it that she could recognize the fact and still not be able to control the tingle?

“You’re not planning to leave already?”

She’d assumed he’d gone and was startled to hear the question, and his voice, so close to her ear.

“It’s a great party,” she said. “But—”

“So stay and enjoy it,” he interrupted.

“I can’t. I’ve got a busy weekend.” She told herself that wasn’t really a lie, because she did have to get Dylan’s Christmas presents wrapped, and that was a task easier done when her son wasn’t around.

Finally spotting her coat, she tugged it off its hanger.

“Well, you can’t go just yet,” he insisted.

“Why not?”

He stepped closer, so close that their bodies were almost touching. She wanted to step back, to give herself space to breathe, but the rack of coats at her back prevented her from doing so.

Nate lifted a hand and gestured to the arched entranceway. “Because you stepped under the mistletoe.”

She frowned at the sprig of green leaves and white berries and tried to ignore the wild pounding of her heart inside her chest. “Why would someone put mistletoe in a cloakroom?”

“I have no idea.” He crooked a finger beneath her chin to tip her head up. “But tradition demands that a woman passing under mistletoe must be kissed—and I’m a traditional kind of guy.”

She couldn’t think, she didn’t know how to respond to that, and before her brain could scramble to find any words at all, his lips were on hers.

And...oh...wow.

The man definitely knew how to kiss.

Of course, she would have been disappointed to learn otherwise. After all, he had a reputation for seducing women with a word, bringing them to orgasm with a smile and breaking their hearts with a wave goodbye. She’d always assumed those rumors were at least slightly exaggerated, but as his mouth moved over hers, promising all kinds of wicked, sensual pleasures, she was forced to acknowledge that she might have been wrong.

A slow, lazy sweep of his tongue over her lower lip nearly made her whimper. The sensual caress did make her lips part, not just granting him entry but welcoming him inside.

His free hand slid around her back, gently urging her closer. She didn’t—couldn’t—resist. The coat slipped from her fingers and dropped to her feet, forgotten. There was so much heat coursing through her system, she might never need a coat again. Her hands slid up his chest to his shoulders and she held on, as if he were her anchor in the storm of sensations that battered at her system, pounding self-preservation and common sense into submission.

His tongue danced with hers, a slow and seductive rhythm that teased and enticed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she should be disappointed to realize that she was no different from any other woman who had succumbed to his charms. But in the moment, in his arms, she really didn’t care.

While her body might urge her to let one kiss lead to a mutually satisfying conclusion, she still had enough working brain cells to acknowledge that tangling the sheets with a man who would one day be her boss could be a very big mistake. She eased away from him.

“That’s some powerful mistletoe,” she said, trying to make light of the intensity of her response.

“I don’t think we can blame that on the mistletoe.” He bent down to retrieve her coat, then helped her into it. “I’m leaving in the morning to go skiing with some friends, but I’ll see you when I get back.”

He smiled again, but she ignored the tingles, reminding herself that her job was too important for her to jeopardize for the pleasure of a few hours in his bed. So she only responded with, “My ride should be here by now.”

He walked out with her, and she stopped beside the cab that was idling at the curb. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Garrett.”

He reached past her for the door handle, but didn’t immediately open it. “Don’t you think, after that kiss, you could drop the formality and call me Nate?”

No, she couldn’t. Because calling him by his given name implied a familiarity she wasn’t ready for. “Have a safe trip, Mr. Garrett.”

He shook his head, but he was smiling as he opened the door. “I’ll talk to you soon, Allison.”

She slid into the backseat and gave the driver her address.

He stood on the curb, watching as the cab drove away, but she didn’t let herself look back.

Chapter One (#ulink_9039bef1-8c80-5af7-9cf9-3b0168a1c192)

Allison wasn’t usually the type to spend too much time fussing over her appearance. She never left her apartment looking less than professional—that was a matter of pride—but she didn’t usually bother with more than a cursory brush with the mascara wand to darken her fair lashes and a quick swipe of gloss to moisturize her lips.

On the first morning after the holidays, when she found herself digging into her makeup bag for rarely used eye shadow and lipstick, she told herself that she simply wanted a new image for the new year. That the extra care she was taking with her appearance was in no way linked to the possibility that she might cross paths with Nathan Garrett at the office today.

Finally satisfied with the results of her efforts, she poked her head into her son’s bedroom. “Come on, Dylan. You don’t want to be late on your first day back.”

“Yeah, I do,” he told her. “School sucks.”

She held back a sigh. It worried her that he had such a negative attitude toward school when he was only in third grade, but she’d long ago given up trying to change his opinion and focused her efforts on getting him to class on time. “Okay, but I don’t want to be late on my first day back.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “How come you’re all dressed up?”

“What do you mean? I wear this suit to work all the time.”

“But you don’t wear all that gunk on your face.”

She had no ready response to that. If the “slight” improvement she’d been aiming for was obvious enough that her eight-year-old son noticed, she’d definitely gone overboard.

“And your hair’s different,” he said.