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

until the call from Cal Logan’s executive assistant.

      Turns out Logan had played football in college with one of Sabrina’s old boyfriends. Said boyfriend had tipped his pal to EBS when Logan mentioned his people were scrambling to lay on a short-notice trip to Germany. Sabrina had worked twenty hours straight on the prep work and had been all set to hop a plane yesterday afternoon when the bug hit.

      So here Devon was, her chin buried in a hot pink pashmina shawl, her toes frozen inside her stacked heel boots and her ears assaulted by a booming rendition of “O Tannenbaum,” on her way to meet their first major client.

      Again.

      He’d been scheduled to arrive earlier this morning, but his assistant had called to say his corporate jet had been grounded due to icing. After considerable effort, she’d gotten him on the last commercial flight out before JFK shut down completely.

      Ah, the joys of traveling this time of year! Conditions here in Dresden weren’t much better. Sleet had been coming down all day. Praying her client’s plane made it in before this airport closed, too, Devon hurried into the terminal.

      Her breath whistled out in a sigh of relief when Logan exited Customs. She recognized him right away from the newspaper and magazine articles Sabrina had found on the Internet during her frantic prep work.

      Caleb John Logan, Jr. Thirty-one. Six-two. With jet-black hair, laser blue eyes and a linebacker’s shoulders under his charcoal-gray cashmere overcoat. His jaw-dropping good looks didn’t score him any points with Devon, however. She’d learned the hard way not to trust handsome heartbreakers like Cal Logan.

      But he was a client. An important one. And she was willing to give someone who’d served a hitch in the Marines before earning a B.S. from the University of Oregon, an MBA from Stanford and his first million at the ripe old age of twenty-six the benefit of the doubt.

      Right up until he spotted the hot pink pashmina, that is.

      Sabrina had indicated she’d be wearing it, and the flash of color was certainly more visible than the sign Devon held up with his name on it. So she wasn’t surprised when Logan picked her out of the crowd and cut in her direction. She’d just plastered on her best EBS smile when he whipped an arm around her waist. The next moment, she was sprawled against his cashmere-covered chest.

      “Hello, Brown Eyes.”

      Swooping down, he covered her mouth with his.

      Sheer astonishment kept Devon rooted to the spot for a few seconds while her mind whirled chaotically. Her first thought was that her client had downed a few too many drinks during the long flight. Her second, that he’d seriously mistaken the kind of escort and consulting services EBS provided. Her third shoved everything else out of her head.

      Whoa, mama! The man could kiss!

      His mouth moved over hers with a skill that ignited sparks at a half-dozen flash points throughout her body. Devon hadn’t experienced that kind of spontaneous combustion in a while. A long while.

      The sparks were still popping when she pushed off his chest, only now they fueled a flush of anger.

      “Do you always greet women you don’t know with a lip-lock, Mr. Logan?”

      A smile crinkled the skin at the corners of his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I don’t. That was from Don.”

      “Huh?”

      “He said he owed you one from New Year’s Eve two years ago and made me promise to deliver it.”

      She stared up at him in total incomprehension. Logan hooked a brow and attempted to prompt a nonexistent memory.

      “He abandoned you at the Waldorf. Five minutes before midnight. To deliver twins.”

      “I don’t have a clue who or what you’re—”

      Understanding burst like a water balloon.

      “Wait a sec. Are you talking about Sabrina’s old boyfriend? Your buddy, who’s now an ob-gyn doc?”

      It was Logan’s turn to look startled. He recovered faster than Devon had, though. His smile widened into a rueful grin.

      “I take it you’re not Sabrina Russo.”

      “No, Mr. Logan, I am not. And if you’d listened to any of the voice mails we left on your cell phone in the past twenty-four hours,” Devon added acidly, “you’d know Sabrina came down with the flu and couldn’t make the trip.”

      “Sorry. I’ve been in the air for twenty-three of those twenty-four hours. I had to make a quick trip to the West Coast before turning right around and heading for Germany.”

      She knew that. Still, that was no excuse for his behavior. Or…what was worse…her reaction to it.

      “My cell-phone battery crashed somewhere over Pennsylvania,” he said, his smile holding an apology now. “I crashed somewhere over the Atlantic. Any chance we can erase what just happened and start again?”

      Oh, sure. As soon as her lips stopped tingling and her nerves snapping. Reminding herself that he was a client, Devon forced a stiff nod.

      “Good.” He shifted his briefcase to his left hand and held out his right. “I’m Cal Logan. And you are?”

      “Devon McShay. One of Sabrina’s partners.”

      “The history professor.”

      So he’d done some checking on the small firm he’d hired to work the details of his five-day, three-city swing through Germany.

      “Former history professor,” she corrected as she led the way toward the baggage-claim area. “I quit teaching to join forces with Sabrina and Caroline at EBS.”

      “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