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

“Quite a career shift.”

“Yes, it was.”

She left it at that. No need to detail her restless-ness after her divorce. Or her ex’s very public, very mortifying attempt at reconciliation on the six o’clock news. Dallas hadn’t been big enough for both of them after that.

That was when she’d quit her job and joined forces with her two friends. Now Devon the history prof, Sabrina the one-time party girl and Caroline the shy, quiet librarian were hard-nosed businesswomen. With pretty much the future of their fledgling enterprise hanging on how well Devon handled Cal Logan’s trip.

After this rocky start, she thought grimly, things weren’t looking real good.

Cal matched his stride to the staccato pace of the woman at his side. She was pissed, and no wonder. He’d pulled some real boners in his time. This one ranked right up near the top of the list.

He’d never intended to follow through on his buddy’s joking suggestion that he deliver a long-delayed New Year’s Eve kiss. Then he’d exited Customs and spotted the woman he’d assumed was Sabrina Russo.

Tall and slender, with dark auburn hair caught up in a loose twist, she would have snagged any man’s attention. Her high, sculpted cheekbones and the thick lashes fringing her brown eyes had certainly snagged Cal’s.

Brown Eyes. Don’s nickname for the woman he’d dated briefly. Except she wasn’t that woman. And her eyes, Cal saw now, weren’t brown. More like caramel, rich and dark, with a hint of gold in their depths.

Then there was that scarf. The hot color should have clashed with her red hair. Instead, it seemed to shout at the world to sit up and take notice.

Cal had noticed, all right. Now he’d damned well better unnotice.

Fun was fun, but he didn’t need the kind of distraction Devon McShay could represent. Logan Aerospace had too much riding on the delicate negotiations that had forced him to cancel an entire week’s appointments and hustle over to Germany.

“I confirmed your meeting with Herr Hauptmann for two p.m.,” she informed him as suitcases began to rattle onto the baggage carousel. “I also requested early check-in at the hotel if you’d like to swing by there first.”

“Definitely.”

He scraped a palm across the bristles on his jaw. Given the time change, it was late morning here in Dresden but still the middle of the night U.S. time. Cal needed a shower, a shave and a full pot of coffee in him before his two o’clock meeting. As he waited for his leather carryall and suit bag to make an appearance, he gave Ms. McShay and EBS full marks for recognizing that fact.

Great start, Devon thought while her client filled out a search form for his missing luggage. Just terrific.

Logan had shrugged off the inconvenience with the comment that his American Express would cover the expense of delayed or lost luggage. Meanwhile Devon would have to scramble to supply him with everything from a clean shirt to pajamas.

Assuming he wore pj’s. Maybe he went to bed commando. An instant, vivid image leaped into her head and refused to leap out.

Oh, for Pete’s sake! She’d known the man for all of fifteen minutes and already she was imagining him naked. Disgusted, Devon tried to put the brakes on her runaway thoughts. The announcement that blared over the loudspeaker at that moment brought them to a screeching halt.

“Aufmerksamkeit, Damen und Herren.”

Her head cocked, she listened as an official announced in German, English and Japanese that all flights in and out of Dresden were canceled until further notice. A chorus of groans went up inside the terminal.

By the time she escorted her client to the exit, a mile-long line of travelers was huddled in their overcoats at the taxi stand. To make matters worse, pick-up and drop-off traffic had snarled every lane. The limo Devon called on her cell phone couldn’t get through the logjam.

Lord, she hated this time of year!

“The driver says he’s stuck two terminals over,” she related to Logan. “Traffic’s not moving an inch. We can wait inside until he gets here. Or we could walk,” she added with a dubious glance at the sleet still plummeting from a gunmetal-gray sky.

“I don’t mind stretching my legs, but are you sure you’re dressed warm enough to walk?”

“I’m fine.”

Except for her boots, she admitted silently as she wove a path through the lines of frustrated travelers. Served her right for choosing style over practicality. The stacked heels and slick leather soles made for treacherous going on the icy pavement. Logan caught her as her foot almost went out from under her.

“At the risk of making an ass of myself for the second time in less than a half hour,” he said solemnly, “may I suggest you hang on to me?”

Devon was only too glad to hook her elbow through his. She was also all too aware of the strength in the arm covered by layers of wool and cashmere.

He was her client. He was her client. He was her client.

She chanted the mantra over and over again as they dodged icy patches. When she finally spotted a stretch limo up ahead and confirmed it was theirs, her nose and ears tingled from the cold but Logan’s solid bulk had shielded the rest of her from the worst of the knifing wind and sleet.

Devon sank into the limo’s soft leather and welcome heat. Wiggling her frozen toes inside her boots, she offered Logan an apology. “I’m sorry about this hassle.”

“You can’t control the weather.”

Or the traffic. It crawled along with the speed of a snail on Prozac. Seemingly unperturbed, Logan extracted a charger from his briefcase and plugged his cell phone into one of the limo’s ports.

“Excuse me a moment while I check my calls.”

He had a slew of them. The rueful glance he sent her confirmed that several were from EBS. He was still on the phone when the limo finally reached the airport exit. The slick roads made Devon grateful for the fact that Sabrina had somehow managed to wrangle last-minute reservations at the Westin Hotel across the river from the oldest part of Dresden. With any luck, efficient road crews would have the roads sanded before she and Logan had to tackle the Old City’s maze of narrow, cobbled streets.

Devon had checked into the hotel yesterday afternoon and sunk like a stone into its heavenly feather bed. Hopefully, Cal Logan would decide on a power nap and do the same while she hit the shops for whatever he would need. She led the way through a lobby decorated with fragrant pine boughs and skirted a twenty-foot Christmas tree, only to have the desk clerk send her hopes crashing.

“I’m very sorry, Ms. McShay. The guest presently occupying Mr. Logan’s suite hasn’t yet departed.”

“But you indicated there would be no problem with early check-in.”

“I didn’t think there would be, madam. Unfortunately, the present occupant’s flight has been canceled, and he’s requested a late checkout pending other arrangements.”

“How late?”

“He’s one of our platinum customers,” the clerk said with a look that pleaded for understanding. “We have to give him until four o’clock.”

Smothering an extremely unprofessional curse, Devon turned to her client. Logan had shrugged off the irritating glitches so far, but the crease between his brows suggested his patience was stretching thin.

Hastily, she dug in her purse for the key card to her room. It wasn’t a VIP suite, but it did have a spacious sitting room, a separate bedroom and that incredible down comforter.

“Why don’t you go up to my room and relax?” she said with determined cheerfulness. “You can give me a list of what you’ll need until your luggage gets here, and I’ll hit the shops.”

If his luggage got here. Judging by his clipped response, Logan considered the possibility as remote as she did.

“All I need right now is a shirt that doesn’t look like it’s been slept in. White or blue. Neck, sixteen and a half, sleeves thirty-two.”

Whatever that translated to in German. Devon had enjoyed several mild flirtations and one serious fling during her year at the University of Salzburg but hadn’t gotten around to purchasing men’s clothing. Sternly, she banished visions of sending Logan into his meeting with Herr Hauptmann wearing a shirt with a collar that choked him or cuffs that dangled well below his suit coat sleeves.

“White or blue,” she repeated. “Sixteen and a half. Thirty-two. Got it.”

Summoning a breezy smile, she handed him the key.