Cole For Christmas. Darlene Gardner

herself, she was afraid she’d get drunk on his kiss and sink bonelessly to the sidewalk.

      His tongue slipped inside her mouth, feeling like heated velvet. She moaned, and a heady sensation shot straight to her head.

      She was getting drunk on his kiss.

      She angled her mouth to give him greater access, wanting to get closer to him. She almost cried out in dazed protest when he lifted his head, but then the cool feel of the snow falling on her face penetrated her haze.

      The snow reminded her of where she was. She blinked once so that his face came into stark focus. She needed to remind herself of who she was with: Cole Mansfield, the man angling for her job. Lines of strain rimmed his mouth and his glasses were fogged.

      “If we don’t stop now,” he said in a low growl, “I’m afraid your neighbors across the street will get more of a show than they bargained for.”

      Although an unwise part of her wanted to cling to him, she resolutely loosened her arms from around his neck. She stepped back from the protection of his overcoat and the chill of the night immediately enveloped her.

      “So I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said, trying to resurrect the businesslike tone she used at the office and failing miserably.

      One of his large hands came out to brush the hair back from her face, an intimacy she shouldn’t have allowed him. But then hair touching paled in comparison with lip locking. He gave her a sexy, lopsided smile.

      “You never did tell me that condition,” he said.

      She drew a blank until it occurred to her that she had been about to place a provision on him spending Christmas day with her family.

      “Of course, the condition,” she repeated, stalling while she searched her muddled brain for it. Finally, it came to her. “Tomorrow, you need to make it clear to my family that we’re not involved.”

      His dark eyebrows arched. “In that case, I’ll need one to last me.”

      Before she could guess his intention, he cradled her head between his large hands and brought his mouth down on hers. Their initial kiss had exceeded every expectation she’d ever had about first kisses, but this kiss surpassed it.

      This time, there was nothing tentative about the way they came together. Their mouths opened, their tongues tangled in an erotic dance and her insides quaked so hard the rumbling might have registered on the Richter scale.

      He held her head steady but it wasn’t necessary, not when she couldn’t gather the will to move away. Knowing that she shouldn’t be kissing him didn’t seem to matter, not when the heat was back, making a mockery of the winter night.

      She met his passion, ravishing his mouth the same as he did hers. Her mind seemed to switch off so only sensation remained. Again he was the one who drew back, but she couldn’t have said for certain how much time had passed: seconds, minutes, hours.

      His glasses had fogged again, making it impossible to see his eyes. She had the sensation that he was gazing deeply into hers, looking for some acknowledgment of what they’d just shared that she knew instinctively she shouldn’t let him see.

      “Good night, sugarplum,” he said.

      Then he grinned, kissed her on the nose and disappeared down the sidewalk as she stood gazing after him. He whistled a holiday tune that was so off key she couldn’t recognize it. She had no trouble identifying the one running through her head, though.