The CEO's Christmas Proposition / His Expectant Ex: The CEO's Christmas Proposition. Merline Lovelace

brushed the tangled hair from Devon’s cheek. Prickly whiskers rasped against her cheek as Cal scrunched around to nibble on her earlobe.

      “Or was it that Snow White chick who slept for a thousand years?” he muttered between bites.

      Laughing, she hunched a shoulder against the invasion of his hot, damp breath in her ear. “Someone with nine nieces and nephews should know that was Princess Aurora, aka Sleeping Beauty. And it was a hundred years, not a thousand.”

      “Yeah, well, Disney lost me after I had to watch a talking teapot and candlestick do their thing a half-dozen times one long, agonizing weekend.”

      With a final nibble, he disengaged and departed the sofa. A blast of cold air hit Devon’s fanny before he tucked the blanket around her again. Only then did it register that the hotel’s electricity must still be out.

      “I waited for you to wake up before mounting a scouting expedition,” Cal said. “Stay here and keep warm. I’ll go downstairs and see if I can scrounge up some hot coffee or chocolate.”

      She rolled over and watched while he gathered his ski jacket, pants and boots. His cream-colored silk long Johns fit him like a second skin, which made the watching a delight. As Devon’s gaze roamed his broad, tapered back and trim backside, her delight ripened to a feeling of intense, almost physical, pleasure.

      The front view was even more arousing. The cool, in-command executive looked more like a rough-and-tumble hockey player. His short black hair stood up in spikes. The whiskers that had rasped Devon’s skin showed dark against his cheeks and chin. The spandex ski pants molded his muscular thighs, while the half-zipped jacket showed the strong column of his throat.

      “Don’t move,” he ordered, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I’ll be right back.”

      She fully intended to follow his instructions and remain huddled under the blanket until he returned. Unfortunately, the bathroom beckoned with increasing urgency. Dreading the prospect of another session on the icy toilet seat, Devon held off as long as she could. Nature finally conquered the cold. Shivering, she shoved her feet into her boots and dragged on her ski jacket, then sprinted for the bathroom.

      When she went to wash her hands and face, the woman looking back at her from mirror gave a small shriek. Her hair was a bird’s nest of dark, tangled red. Her face was devoid of all color. Except, she noted ruefully, for the whisker burn on the side of her chin. She leaned forward and fingered the tiny abrasion, then dismissed it with a shrug.

      What the heck. It was small enough price to pay for the mind-bending pleasure Cal had given her last night.

      See, her alter ego smirked. What did I tell you? Is the man hung, or what?

      “No arguments there,” Devon muttered.

       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