The Millionaire's Mistletoe Mistress. Natalie Anderson

wanted. That was in the ‘Not Allowed’ category. And she knew it. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, wouldn’t speak with him unless on a business matter, wouldn’t even call him by his first name. So he was tiptoeing around her when in another time, another place, he’d have had her horizontal as fast as possible. And he knew—deep in his bones, he knew—that she wanted him, too.

      The attraction made him ache. And the impossibility made it worse.

      So he spent as much time as he could on the shop floor—away from the temptation of sitting in the admin office. Even so he felt it—the magnetic, compelling instinct to get nearer to her. Much nearer.