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

And if the electricity doesn’t come back on, you and El Stud can spend another night or two between the sheets before you go your separate ways, no harm, no foul.

“No harm,” she echoed, frowning at the face in the mirror, “no foul.” Somehow that didn’t sound as bracing as it had last night.

Oh, come on! Don’t get all hung up here. One night does not a commitment make. For you or for him.

Okay, okay! She wasn’t going all gooey over the guy. Well, maybe a little, but not enough to do anything too stupid. Like fall in love with him.

She almost had herself convinced when the bathroom lights blinked on. A half second or so later, the plasma TV in the other room came to life.

“Hallelujah!”

Whooping, Devon happy-danced through the bedroom and into the sitting room. She had no idea how long it would take for the heat to kick in, but relief had to come soon. And hot water! She could shower. She could wash and blow-dry her hair. She could—

The jangle of the house phone interrupted her joyous list making. Thinking it was Cal calling from the lobby, she snatched up the receiver.

“Hello?”

A surprised huff was her only response. Maybe it was a repairman, testing the lines without expecting an answer. Someone who didn’t speak English. Swiftly, Devon switched to German.

“Hallo? Ist jemand da?”

“I’m sorry. They must have put me through to the wrong suite.” The voice was female, the accent decidedly American. “I’m trying to reach Cal Logan.”

“This is Mr. Logan’s suite.”

That produced a sharp silence, followed by an even sharper query. “Who is this?”

Uh-oh. Obviously the caller hadn’t expected another woman to answer Cal’s phone. Then again, Devon hadn’t expected to be here at this early hour of the morning answering it. Scrambling to recover, she infused her reply with crisp professionalism.

“This is Devon McShay. I’m Mr. Logan’s travel consultant.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

The sneering comment had Devon gritting her teeth. “May I ask whom I’m speaking to?”

“Alexis St. Germaine.” The reply was as glacial as the ice coating the trees outside. “Mr. Logan’s fiancée.”

Six

Cal balanced a cardboard tray in one hand and inserted a new key card into his suite’s door lock. With the hotel’s electricity restored, the computer that controlled the locks was back in operation.

Cal had mixed emotions about the return to full power. He could certainly use a hot shower and a shave, but he wouldn’t have minded being left in the dark with Devon McShay for another night or two or three.

Just thinking about how he’d left her, wrapped in that blanket with her hair a tangled cloud of red and her brown eyes sleepy, got him rock hard. Which explained why he’d raided the sundries section of the lobby gift shop for condoms. With or without electricity, his plans for Devon included several more sessions under the blankets.

“The hunter returns,” he announced to the woman standing beside the sofa, her arms folded across the front of her ski jacket. “We have coffee. We have fresh, crusty rolls. We have butter and strawberry jam.”

She didn’t leap on the hot coffee. That was his first clue something was wrong.

“We also have electricity,” he said, commenting on the obvious.

“So I noticed,” she said stiffly. “I’ll go downstairs, retrieve a key for my room and get out of your hair.”

When she started for the door, Cal deposited the tray on a side table and stopped her. “Whoa! What’s going on here, Devon?”

“Nothing.”

The look she flashed him said exactly the opposite. Baffled, he couldn’t figure out what had caused her transformation from sleepy and sexy to ice maiden.

“Something was definitely going on last night.” He tried to coax a smile out of her. “I was kind of hoping for more improvising this morning.”

“I’m sure you were.”

The swift retort shot up his brows. She saw his reaction and offered a strained apology.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. What happened last night was as much my fault as yours.”

“Fault?”

Well, Christ! Talk about being slow on the uptake. He was dealing with a major case of morning-after regrets here.

“It was a crazy situation.” She refused to meet his eyes. “The cold…The dark…”

“Funny,” Cal said, attempting to smooth away the regrets, “I remember more heat than cold.”

Instead of the smile he’d hoped for, all he got was a lift of her chin and a barbed reply.

“We had some fun while the lights were out, Mr. Logan. Let’s leave it at that. Now it’s back to business for both of us.”

“The hell you say.” He was starting to get pissed. “When you know me better, Devon, you’ll discover I don’t turn it on and off that easily.”

“Don’t you?” Disdain and something very close to disgust darkened her eyes. “Oh, before I forget, your fiancée called a few minutes ago. She heard about the ice storm on the news. She’s been worried about you and wants you to call her back as soon as possible.”

“That’s interesting,” Cal said, his eyes narrowing, “since I don’t happen to have a fiancée.”

“You’d better inform her of that. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Logan, I’ll leave you to make your calls and go make mine.” Her chin came up another notch. “Assuming you still want EBS to work your travel arrangements, that is.”

The realization that she thought he was the kind of slime who would sleep with one woman while engaged to another pissed Cal even more.

“Yes, Ms. McShay, I do.”

“Fine. I’ll work the revised itinerary and get back with you.”

This wasn’t over between them, Cal vowed as she made for the door. Not by a long shot. He’d make that clear shortly. First, he had to deal with Alexis.

His temper simmering, he had the phone in hand almost before the door snapped shut behind Devon. He punched in the country code for the U.S., followed by the number of the Park Avenue apartment he’d leased for Alexis St. Germaine some months ago.

“It’s Cal,” he bit out when she answered.