Bride Under the Mistletoe: The Magic of a Family Christmas

Emma leaned closer to Wendy. “I’m guessing he hadn’t come over for cocoa.”

Patty leaned in, too. “And you confused him.” She shook her head in dismay. “Who offers a man like Cullen Barrington cocoa? It’s like saying you’re homespun—which means you want a home—which he probably interprets as meaning you want marriage.”

Wendy gasped. “I didn’t mean that!”

“Of course you didn’t.” Emma sighed. “You hardly know the man. You shouldn’t want to marry him.”

Patty shook her head. “You are really rusty.”

“Rusty?”

“On dating. Which is why we’re here. Monday morning you’re not going to look like Suzy Snowflake.”

“Or Sandy Secretary,” Emma agreed. “He’s interested, but you keep confusing him.”

“So we’re going to help you pick your outfits for next week, so you stop sending mixed signals.”

Wendy bit her bottom lip. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

Both friends put their folded arms on the table. “Why?”

“Because he…he’s…”

“Different,” Emma supplied. “We get it.”

“He’s not going to settle down with you.” Patty snagged a doughnut. “But you need to get back into the real world.”

Emma also took a doughnut. “Consider him practice.”

“And if you’re lucky, you’ll get lots and lots of practice.”

Wendy hid a shudder of pleasure. She told herself nothing could come of this, but just as quickly reminded herself that Emma was right. Even if nothing happened between her and Cullen, she needed to practice even simple things like how to make small talk, what drinks to serve and even how to dress. She wouldn’t make a big deal out of this. She knew the truth. Cullen wasn’t the kind to settle down.

But a little voice in her heart reminded her that plenty of flings had turned into the real thing. Practice or not, she liked him. There were so many things to like about him. And maybe…just maybe…

She shoved those thoughts away, telling herself she shouldn’t wish for things that couldn’t be. But try as she might to think of spending time with Cullen as only a trial run, she liked him. And she could very well end up hurt.

But playing it safe had gotten her hurt, too.

There was no easy answer.

She pulled in a breath. “All right, I’m in. Just don’t make me look like somebody I’m not.”

Cullen spent the weekend on his boat, soaking in the tropical sun, reminding himself that this was where he belonged.

When he returned to Barrington Candies late Monday afternoon, he kept his head down. He plowed through Wendy’s office and only grunted hello as he strode by. He even closed the door.

He didn’t get involved with women like Wendy. Normally, he didn’t even want to. Not because they were somehow wrong, but because he was fair. They were looking for something he couldn’t give, so he unselfishly let them alone.

So why the devil couldn’t he just do that with Wendy?

He had absolutely no idea, but he did know that his innate sense of fairness would keep him in line. A bit of sexual desire would not be his undoing. He could control the crazy urges he had to touch her and taste her and kiss her. And by God, he would!

After hanging his leather jacket in the closet, he strode to his desk. In keeping with Wendy’s suggestion that he behave a little more comfortably with the workers as a subtle reassurance that their jobs were safe, he’d chosen to wear corduroy trousers and a green sweater over a white shirt, and was amazingly comfortable himself. He reminded himself that was because he typically worked in casual trousers and lightweight shirts, in beachfront restaurants or on boats, persuading investors to trust him with their money. He wasn’t the kind of guy who liked being stuck in an office—though he couldn’t say he’d been unhappy here at Barrington Candies. In fact, he’d been amazingly happy.

He growled at himself. Told himself to stop. One woman couldn’t change how he felt about everything in his life!

Tuesday morning, he arrived in the office when Wendy was away from her desk. The minute his butt hit the chair, he put his head down and set his mind on the production figures from the day before. He didn’t surface until eleven o’clock, when he needed to see the five-year plan again. Hitting a button on his phone, he buzzed Wendy.

No answer.

He tried again.

No answer.

With an annoyed sigh, he rose and walked into her office only to find she wasn’t there. Thinking she might be in the clerical area, and sorely in need of a short walk to stretch his muscles, he walked out.

Remembering Wendy’s suggestion about helping the employees grow accustomed to him, he smiled. “Has anyone seen Wendy?”

A pretty brunette glanced up at him in surprise. “She’s on the factory floor, doing a quick safety audit.”

“Thanks.”

She nodded eagerly, obviously happy to have been called upon.

Cullen headed for the factory floor. He knew that in their small company employees did a lot of double duty. It wasn’t a surprise that the employee who probably kept the records for the safety equipment was the one who walked through the plant to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be.

But he really couldn’t wait until she was done to get the reports he needed. He opened the door to the plant and the scents of chocolate and peanut butter that had floated on the air all morning hit him in earnest, making his mouth water. But he forgot all about the sweet temptation when he saw Wendy at the other end of the floor.

Wearing a black skirt and crisp white blouse, she looked coolly efficient. That thought registered and then floated away when his eyes ran the length of exposed leg. He’d never seen her legs before. Realizing he was staring, he gave himself a mental shake and began walking toward her.

For Pete’s sake, he partied with women in thong bikinis! How could he be so startled, so affected, by the sight of a woman’s calves? It was ridiculous. And if he didn’t stifle his reactions, stop giving her these signals, she’d be the one to do something about their attraction, he wouldn’t be able to resist…and he’d end up hurting her.

“Hey, Mr. Barrington?”

He stopped and turned toward the sound of his name.

Standing by the Ferris-wheel-like apparatus that distributed assorted candies for packing, and wearing a white coat and a hairnet, a woman in her fifties smiled at him.

“Are you going to the company Christmas party Friday night?”

He took the few steps over to the candy wheel. “Actually, I didn’t know there was a Christmas party.”

“It’s sort of employee-sponsored. We save the proceeds from the vending machines all year and in December we have enough to have a Christmas party.”

She gave him the name of his own hotel as the venue for the party, but he hardly paid any attention. Paul McCoy couldn’t even spare a few thousand dollars of the company’s money to host a Christmas party for the people who worked for him all year? He was an abysmal general manager. Cullen intended to call his hotel that afternoon and pay for the party, and he also intended to have a few choice words with Paul.

“Sure. I’m going.”