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

heating her stomach and his touch searing her skin, the best Devon could manage was a gruff “Thanks.”

      Sweating a little under her heavy wool coat, she edged her way into the crowd that snaked through lanes of brightly decorated stalls. Thanks to her client’s efficient assistant, picking out gifts took little effort.

      Four-year-old Andrew got a hand-carved train on wooden tracks. Seven-year old Jason scored a two-foot-tall nutcracker in a smart red coat. For the twins, Julia and Bethany, Devon recommended denim skirts lavishly trimmed with filigree lace from Plauen. The more studious Janet received a glass globe of the world handblown and painted by a local artisan, while baby Nick got mittens and a stocking cap in a downy yarn that sparkled like spun gold.

      Dusk was falling and the strings of lights illuminating the market had popped on by the time Cal and Devon rounded out the purchases with a doll in a furtrimmed red dress, a wooden puppet and a chess set featuring incredibly detailed Prussian soldiers. Their arms full, they had started for the bridge and the waiting limo when a ripple of eager anticipation raced through the crowd. They turned just in time see the giant fir next to the wooden Christmas pyramid light up.

      A chorus of collective ooooohs filled the square. It was followed by the sound of young voices raised in a joyous rendition of “O Tannenbaum.”

      Second time today, Devon thought. Strangely, though, the song didn’t produce quite the same level of cynicism as when she’d heard it blasting through the loudspeakers at the airport.

      Maybe because these voices were so young and angelic, or because she still felt the glow from the spiked hot chocolate. Certainly not because her lip still tingled from Cal Logan’s touch.

      “There’s the car.”

      The driver had pulled into a cul-de-sac beside the bridge spanning the Elbe and was sitting with the engine idling. He jumped out to relieve them of their packages, but the magical view drew his passengers to the wall fronting the river’s bank. Completely enchanted, Devon leaned both hands on the wall.

      The ancient stone bridge spanned the Elbe in a series of graceful arches. Below the bridge, the river was a solid sheet of dark, glistening ice. Atop it, the statues of saints and kings along both sides had acquired a coating of frost that glittered in the glow of the street lamps, while the trees lining both banks were strung with white lights that turned the icy nightscape into a winter wonderland.

      “Now that,” Devon murmured, “is a sight.”

      Cal shifted his gaze to his companion’s profile. The instant attraction that had prompted him to make a fool of himself at the airport this morning returned with a swift and unexpected kick.

      “Yes,” he agreed, “it is.”

      Interesting what a difference a few hours could make, he mused as he leaned an elbow on the cold stone of the wall. He’d arrived in Germany intent on acquiring a subsidiary that would cost him billions but make Logan Aerospace one of the top U.S. players in the European market.

      He was still determined to acquire Hauptmann Metal Works. Betting on the outcome, he’d finalize the financial details when he met with his bankers in Berlin tomorrow. But the heat that stirred in his belly as his gaze lingered on Devon McShay was fast convincing him he should acquire her as well.

      Three

      “Logan kissed you?”

      The question shot from Devon’s two partners almost simultaneously. She nodded in response, wondering how the world had survived before digital videoconferencing.

      “He did.”

      Her partners’ images filled her laptop’s split screen. She’d caught Sabrina at home, still flushed and feverish but on the road to recovery. Caroline was at the office. Devon knew without being told she’d been up since dawn and hard at it.

      The two women couldn’t have been more different. Sabrina Russo came from a privileged background and had partied her way through college. Caroline Walters was quiet and withdrawn and had worked part-time jobs to earn spending money even during their shared year at the university. At this moment, however, their faces wore almost identical expressions of surprise.

      “Logan thought I was you, Sabrina.”

      “Huh?”

      “That was pretty much my reaction, too.”

      Swiftly, Devon explained about the long-delayed New Year’s Eve kiss.

      “That sounds like Don Howard.” The blonde shook her head in mingled amusement and exasperation. “So how did you handle it?”

      “I didn’t slug our client on the spot,” Devon drawled, “but I came close.”

      After she’d recovered from her near total meltdown, that is. She couldn’t explain the ridiculous reaction to herself, let alone her partners. Nor did she mention the way her nerves tingled every time Logan took her arm. Shelving her completely irrational sensitivity to the man’s touch, she ran through the string of disasters that had begun with his long-delayed flight and ended just minutes ago, when she finally moved him into his suite.

      “At least I got him to his meeting with Herr Hauptmann on time. Believe it or not,” she added with a grimace, “at Cal’s request we also squeezed in some post-meeting Christmas shopping.”

      “Uh-oh.”

      Instant sympathy filled Caroline’s forest green eyes. She knew how this time of year scratched at Devon’s old wounds. Sabrina had zoned in on another aspect of her comment, however.

      “Cal?” she echoed.

      “He insists we proceed on a first-name basis.”

      Devon glanced at her bedroom window. She hadn’t even had time to draw the drapes before she dashed into the bathroom to freshen her makeup and change. Ordinarily, she would have found the illuminated spires across the river magical. Their coat of glistening ice instilled a less enthusiastic response tonight.

      “On the negative side,” she told her partners, “there’s still no sign of his luggage, and the weather reports are grim. Everything’s shutting down. The airport, the trains, the autobahn. We may be stuck in Dresden indefinitely.”

      “Logan can’t hold you responsible for the weather,” Caroline protested.

      “Or EBS,” Sabrina added briskly. Despite the party-girl persona she projected to the rest of the world, she was the partner with the most business sense. Only Devon and Caroline knew the personal hell she’d gone through to gain that knowledge.

      “Has he made any noises about being dissatisfied with EBS’s services?” she wanted to know.

      “No complaints so far. That could change real fast, though. Between getting ready for this concert and dinner tonight and giving you guys an update, I didn’t have time to work backup transportation and hotel reservations.”

      Caroline jumped in, as Devon had hoped she would. “I’ll take care of that. We’ve got Logan’s schedule and current itinerary on the computer. I’ll work up a list of alternative options and have them waiting for you when you get back from the concert.”

      “Thanks, Caro. I didn’t plan on an evening out.”

      “Good thing I talked you into packing your long velvet skirt.”

      That came from Sabrina, who firmly believed appearance and flexibility were as important in their business as organizational skills. All three were getting a real test tonight.

      “What are you wearing with it?”

      “The gold lamé number you also made me pack.”

      Devon leaned away from the computer’s built-in camera to display the scoop-necked, cap-sleeved top in glittering gold. Lightweight and silky, it could jazz up a suit for an after-five cocktail meeting or provide an elegant stand-alone for an evening function like this.