The CEO's Christmas Proposition / His Expectant Ex: The CEO's Christmas Proposition

“I had to guess at your size.” Cal’s blue eyes skimmed down the covers and back up again. “If anything doesn’t fit, I’ll take it down and exchange it.”

“Thanks. Er, I don’t suppose you were able to scrounge some hot coffee along with the ski clothes.”

“Sorry. The hotel kitchen is temporarily out of operation. The staff was scrambling to put together a cold breakfast for the guests, though.” He headed for the door. “We’ll go down as soon as you’re dressed.”

Devon dove into the shopping bag and extracted a thick pair of socks. Only after her toes were encased in thermal warmth did she grab the bag handles and make a run for the bathroom.

The toilet seat almost gave her freezer burn. The icy stream that gushed from the water taps made washing her hands and face a challenge of epic proportions. Thankfully the hotel’s amenities included spare toothbrushes and a complimentary tube of toothpaste. Shivering and hopping from foot to foot, she brushed away the overnight fuzz, then shimmied into black-silk long johns so thin and sheer she wondered how the heck they could retain any heat. Her bikini briefs showed clearly through the almost-transparent silk. So did her demi-bra.

A V-necked sweater in pale lavender went on over the thermal silk undershirt. The ski pants and jacket were a darker shade of amethyst trimmed with silver racing stripes. Cal, bless him, had thought to include gloves and a headband in the same rich purple.

Ears, fingers and toes all warm and toasty, she zipped on a pair of microfiber boots and left the bathroom with a last glance at the woman in the mirror. She could use some lip gloss and a hairbrush. Hopefully, the hotel’s computer whizzes would figure out some way to operate the door locks so she could get back into her own room soon. If not, she’d have to conduct another raid on the downstairs shops.

After she got some coffee in her. Preferably hot, although she’d take an injection of caffeine however she could get it right now. And food. Any kind of food. With her body’s basic need for warmth satisfied, her stomach was starting to send out distress signals.

Cal stood by the sitting-room windows, taking in the frozen cityscape across the Elbe. Devon’s breath caught as she went to stand beside him. Buildings, trees, the statues on the bridge, the river itself…everything as far as the eye could see lay under a blanket of glistening white. Not a single car or bus or snowplow moved through the frozen stillness, although a few brave pedestrians were making their careful way across the bridge into the Old City.

“The manager didn’t exaggerate,” Devon murmured, awestruck. “Looks like most of the city must be shut down.”

“Looks like.” He didn’t sound particularly concerned as he turned and skimmed a glance over her new uniform. “How does everything fit?”

“The boots are a little loose, but you did good otherwise. Very good, actually.”

The comment was more of a question than an endorsement. Logan responded with one of his quicksilver grins.

“That’s what comes of having four younger sisters. We’ll exchange the boots downstairs.”

“We don’t need to exchange them. I’ll fill the space with another pair of socks.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“You’d better bring your purse with you,” he advised. “With the electronic locks on the fritz, we can get out but the keys won’t get us back in. We’ll have to leave the door propped open.”

There went her lip gloss and hairbrush.

“What about your laptop and briefcase?” she asked. “Are you just going to leave them?”

“I took them downstairs earlier. They’re secured behind the desk.”

“We might need them to work your revised schedule if I can’t get to mine.”

“I think we’d better shelve any idea of work until we know the extent of the storm.”

“But—”

“No buts. I’m declaring today an official holiday. All set?”

Since she didn’t appear to have much choice in the matter, Devon stuffed the little evening bag she’d taken to dinner last night inside a jacket pocket and pressed the Velcro flap closed. This, she predicted silently as she and Cal descended six flights of cold, dank stairs, was going to be a looooong day.

Long, she amended some ten hours later, and in-explicably, incredibly magical.

Looking back, she saw that she and Cal had shed their respective roles with their business suits. No longer travel consultant and client, they became co-conspirators in a determined effort to beat the cold.

Their first act was to down a surprisingly lavish breakfast. With a fervent murmur of thanks, Devon accepted a mug of the hot cocoa the hotel staff had brewed over a can of Sterno. The rich, frothy chocolate paved the way for a cold buffet of cheeses, fruits, yogurt, smoked salmon and thick slabs of Black Forest ham. Smoked over pine and coated with beef blood to give it a distinctive black exterior, the moist ham tasted like heaven slapped between two slices of pumpernickel cut from a wheel-size loaf.

After breakfast Cal insisted they don knitted ski masks and get some exercise. Devon had her doubts when the ice crusting the snow broke under her weight and she sank to her ankles. To her relief, the water-resistant microfiber boots kept her feet dry. What’s more, the depressions provided just the traction she and Cal needed to join the other hardy souls who’d ventured out into the winter wonderland.

They’d gone only a few yards when what sounded like a rifle shot split the air. Instinctively, Devon hunched her shoulders and grabbed Cal’s arm. He stopped her before she could drag them both facedown in the snow.

“It’s just a tree cracking under the ice. Look, there it goes.”

She followed his pointing finger to one of the graceful lindens lining the Elbe’s banks. It was bent almost double, its branches sweeping the frozen earth. As Devon watched, the trunk groaned and split right down the middle. One half crashed to the ground. The other stood mutilated, a wounded sentinel silhouetted against the blue sky.

“Oh, how sad.”

“Even sadder when you think how many other trees have split like that and brought down power lines.” Cal shook his head. “Crews will have to clear tons of debris before they can repair the lines.”

Keeping her arm tucked in his, he steered clear of any trees that might crack and come down on them. They made it as far as the bridge and were thinking of turning back when a lone snowplow cleared a path across the ancient stone spans.

Cal and Devon followed in its wake, as did dozens of others. They were drawn by the unmistakable tang of burning charcoal and the yeasty, tantalizing scent of fresh-baked stollen.

They followed their twitching noses to Dresden’s oldest bakery. Only a block off the main square, Der Kavalier had already drawn a crowd of resilient natives and tourists determined to make the best of the situation.

Munching on the sweet, spicy bread baked in a wood-fired brick oven, they wandered down the Long Walk. The columned promenade had been erected in the sixteenth century to connect Dresden’s castle with the building that had once housed the royal stables. The history buff in Devon felt compelled to point out the incredibly detailed, hundred-yard-long frieze depicting a progression of Saxon kings and nobles.

“Those are Meissen tiles. All twenty-four thousand of them. The originals were fired in the porcelain factory just a few kilometers from Dresden. Most of them had to be replaced after World War Two.”

Cal dutifully admired the frieze and pumped her for more information on the city’s colorful history. He did it so skillfully that Devon ran out of narration before he ran out of patience.

By then it was well past noon. They stumbled on a tiny restaurant tucked away on a side street with a kitchen powered by a loud, thumping generator. It took a thirty-minute wait but they finally feasted on steaming bowls of potato soup and black bread. Stuffed, they strolled back across the bridge only to find a wide swath of frozen river fronting their hotel had been cleared to provide space for an impromptu winter carnival.

Vendors roasted chestnuts and sizzling shish kebabs over charcoal braziers. A one-legged man muffled to the ears in scarves and a lopsided top hat cranked a hand organ. Skaters glided arm in arm to his wheezy beat. Several enterprising youngsters had overturned a wooden box and offered to rent their family’s skates for the princely sum of two euros.

Over Devon’s laughing protests, Cal plunked down the requisite fee. He wedged his feet into a pair of hockey skates at least one size too small and selected a pair of scuffed figure skates for Devon. When he went down on one knee to tie the laces, she made a last attempt at sanity.

“I haven’t been skating since I was a kid.”

“Me, either.” Pushing to his feet, he dusted the snow off his knees. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she muttered.

He gave her a few moments to test her wobbly ankles. The next thing Devon knew, strong, steady hands gripped her waist and propelled her across the ice.

One of those hands was nestled at the small of her back when they finally returned to the hotel a little after five-thirty.

The kitchen staff had pooled its collective ingenuity to prepare another remarkable meal for the guests. Mostly cold meats and salads, with a few hot selections cooked over cans of Sterno. Spicy goulash filled the air with the tang of paprika, while bubbling cheese fondue hinted at the dry white wine and kirsch that had gone into it. For dessert, the guests were offered a choice of prefrozen Black Forest Cake and Bananas Foster flamed at the tableside.