The Boss's Mistletoe Manoeuvres. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

       “I’ll see you at eight,” Monroe said, breaking the standoff.

      The sensation of his warm breath on her face gave Kim a ridiculously flushed and tingly feeling. The look in his eyes doubled that. What kind of boss was he? The kind who wouldn’t mind breaking a few laws in order to get his way? The kind with a casting couch?

      She broke eye contact. Her lashes fluttered. She stood there, helpless to get out of this, speechless for once, before backing up and turning abruptly.

      She left Chaz Monroe, knowing that he stared after her, feeling his heated gaze. That scrutiny was so hot, she had an absurd longing to run back to him and press her mouth to his in a brief goodbye kiss, then laugh manically as she headed back to her cubicle to clear out her things.

      The strangest bit of intuition told her he wanted that, too. In those insane moments of confrontation and unacceptable closeness, her senses screamed that Chaz Monroe had wanted to kiss her.

      The Boss’s Mistletoe Manoeuvres

      Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      LINDA THOMAS-SUNDSTROM writes contemporary romance and paranormal romance novels for the Mills & Boon^® Nocturne^™ and Desire^™ lines. A teacher by day and a writer by night, Linda lives in the West, juggling teaching, writing, family and caring for a big stretch of land. She swears she has a resident Muse who sings so loudly, she often wears earplugs in order to get anything else done, but has big plans to eventually get to all those ideas.

      Visit Linda’s website: www.LindaThomas-Sundstrom.com.

      Connect on Facebook: www.facebook.com/LindaThomasSundstrom

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

One

Two

Three

       Four

       Five

       Six

       Seven

       Eight

       Nine

       Ten

       Eleven

       Twelve

       Thirteen

       Fourteen

       Fifteen

       Sixteen

       Seventeen

       Eighteen

       Extract

       Copyright

       One

      Chaz Monroe knew a great female backside when he saw one. And the blonde with the swinging ponytail walking down the hallway in front of him was damn near a ten.

      Lean, rounded, firm and feminine, her admirable backside swayed from side to side as she moved, above the short hemline of a tight black skirt that did little to hide a great pair of legs. Long, shapely legs, encased in paper-thin black tights and ending in a pair of perfectly sensible black leather pumps.

      The sensible pumps were a disappointment and a slight hiccup in his rating overall, given the sexiness of the rest of her. She was red stilettos all the way, Chaz decided. Satin shoes maybe, or suede. Still, though the woman was a visual sensory delight, now wasn’t the time or place for an indulgence of that kind. Not with an employee. Never with an employee.

      She wore a blue fuzzy sweater that molded to her slender torso and was on the tall side of small. Her stride was purposeful, businesslike and almost arrogant in the way she maneuvered through the narrow hallway, skillfully avoiding chairs, unused consoles and the watercooler. Her heels made soft clicking sounds that didn’t echo much.

      Chaz followed her until she turned right, heading for Cubicle City. At that junction, as he hooked a left toward his new office, he caught a whiff of scent that lingered in her wake. Not a typical floral fragrance, either. Something subtle, almost sweet, that would have decided her fate right then and there if he’d been another kind of guy, with a different sort of agenda.

      This guy had to think and behave like the new owner of an advertising agency in the heart of Manhattan.

      Taking over a new business required the kind of time that ruled out relationships, including dates and dalliances. In the past two months he’d become a freaking monk, since there wasn’t one extra hour in his schedule for distractions if he was to turn this company around in a decent amount of time. That was the priority. All of his money was riding on this company making it. He’d spent every cent he had to buy this advertising firm.

      Whistling, Chaz strolled past Alice Brody, his newly inherited pert, big-eyed, middle-aged, fluffy-haired executive secretary. He entered his office through a set of glass doors still bearing the name of the vice president he’d already had to let go for allowing the company to slowly slide from the top of the heap to the mediocre middle. Lackluster management was unacceptable in a company where nothing seemed to be wrong with the work of the rest of the staff.

      “There is one more person to see today,” Alice called after him.

      “Need a few minutes to go over some things first,” Chaz said over his shoulder. “Can you bring in the file I asked for?”

      “I’ll get on it right away.”

      Something in Alice’s tone made him wonder what she might be thinking. He could feel her eyes on him. When he