The Boss's Mistletoe Manoeuvres. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

as if just waiting to be kissed.

      Chaz touched his forehead absently. Hell, if he didn’t have a bone to pick with her over the Christmas stuff, and if he actually relied on first impressions of a physical nature, he’d have been tempted to throw in the towel and give her the office right then and there—anything to get closer to her.

       Anything to taste those lips.

      Man. His mind had taken an inconvenient slip, a sudden, unexpected detour, and he wanted to laugh at the situation and at himself. However, there was more to be considered here. If he was going to be around Kim McKinley on a regular basis, he’d have to be able to keep his mind on business; a real feat, given the outline of the world-class breasts he’d seen through the thin layer of cloud-blue cashmere.

      Damn it, why hadn’t anyone told him about that?

      Returning to the desk, pulling the pencil from behind his ear, Chaz scratched Personnel files should contain all pertinent information in the future on a yellow notepad.

      Tapping the pencil on McKinley’s file, he vowed not to debate with himself about what a pouty mouth like hers might do, other than kissing, while realizing that X-rated thoughts had no place in contract negotiations or the boardroom.

      He shook his head. In spite of the untimely, if temporary, dilemma, Chaz didn’t lose the smile when he looked again to the doorway where Kim had just stood, cute as a bug from the neck up and devilishly delicious from the neck down, while she made a decent attempt at blowing him off.

       Can we talk later?

       I have a schedule to keep to.

      Kim McKinley, it seemed, wasn’t going to take losing this office well. She was angry and trying to deal. It was possible that as long as she remained on his payroll, thinking he had the job she coveted, she might do everything in her power to either avoid him or bust his chops.

      True, he had pushed her a little, and hadn’t explained what he was doing here, undercover—which would have defeated the purpose of being undercover.

      Could she really be so good at her job? She might be decent at what she did for this agency and damn nice to look at, but no one was so indispensable that they could afford to anger the new man in charge within the first sixty seconds of meeting him.

      Yet that’s just what she had done. Sort of.

      Reopening her file, Chaz pondered the question of whether she had actually just offered up a challenge. Had McKinley meant to wave a flag in front of the bull, a flag bearing the legend Leave me alone, or lose me?

      The back of Chaz’s neck prickled the way it usually did when the anticipation of a good challenge set in. This particular tickle was similar to the feelings he’d had when he had handed over ten million dollars for a company he had every intention of making more successful than it was before he stepped in. The tickle was also similar to the one brought about by thoughts of the self-imposed challenge of tackling his brother’s track record of successful takeovers, and proving his own business acumen.

      Testy employees had no place in either of those particular goals, except for doing the jobs assigned to them. He really could not afford to be distracted right now.

      Chaz stared at the door, where Kim McKinley had drawn an invisible battle line on several levels. His mind buzzed with possibilities. Maybe she used her looks to get what she wanted, and that was part of her success. It could be that she believed herself to be so valuable that he wouldn’t mess with her if she resisted his logical suggestions.

      Or if she resisted his advances.

      What? Damn. He hadn’t just thought that. Advances were totally out of the question.

      Sitting down in his chair, Chaz placed both hands on the desk, disgusted that he’d been waylaid by this surprise. Kim McKinley just wasn’t what he had expected, that’s all. And the firm could always find someone to replace her if her attitude got out of hand.

      Was that a fair assessment of the situation?

      As he tapped his pencil on her file, he mulled over the fact that she had avoided their first sit-down appointment. Did she consider that a point for her side? Would she believe she had racked up another point for failing to give him any of the information he had been seeking, or meeting his demands on that Christmas clause head-on?

      Was she the type to keep score?

      Chaz rubbed the back of his neck where the darn prickle of interest just wouldn’t ease up. Buttoning the collar of his shirt, he firmed up his resolve to get to the bottom of the McKinley mystery. Wonder Woman would be wrong if she thought him a fool. He was a master at compartmentalizing when he had to. He hadn’t gotten to where he was in business by tossing employees on the carpet according to whim, or dumping their sorry backsides in the street without real cause. He was bigger than that, and he always played fair.

      He would meet Kim McKinley tonight and set things straight. He’d give her the benefit of the doubt about adhering to his company plan, and get her onboard, whatever it took to do so.

      “Your contract. No question marks. Not up for negotiation.”

      He practiced those words aloud, repeated them less forcefully and set his mental agenda.

      The bar, in three hours.

      They’d have a friendly chat and get to the specifics of the deal. McKinley might turn out to be a good ally.

       As for the bedroom dreams...

      He let out a bark of self-deprecating laughter over the time he was spending on this one issue, a sure sign that truly, and admittedly, he hadn’t been prepared for the likes of this woman.

      He really would have to be more cautious in the future, because, man-oh-man, what he needed right that minute, in Kim McKinley’s saucy Southern wake, and in preparation for meeting her again was...

      ...a very long, very cold shower.

      * * *

      Kim tumbled into her chair and laid her head down on her desk. She turned just far enough to eye the golden plaque perched next to her pencil sharpener that had been a gift from her friend Brenda.

       Kim McKinley, VP of Advertising.

      “Some joke.” She backhanded the plaque, sending it sailing. Who had she been kidding, anyway? Vice president? A twenty-four-year-old woman?

      There would be no big office with floor-to-ceiling windows in her immediate future. No maple shelving for potted plants, and no opportunity to implement her plans and ideas for the company. So didn’t she feel exactly like that jettisoned plaque—shot into space, only to land with a dismal thud right back in her own six-by-six cubicle?

      Could the moisture welling up in her eyes be tears? As in about to cry tears?

       Unacceptable.

      Twenty-four-year-old professionals didn’t blubber away when they were royally disappointed, or when they were overlooked and underappreciated at the office.

       No tears. No way. No how.

      She was mad, that’s all, with no way to express how sad she was going to be if she had to leave this building and everything she had built here in the past five years.

      “Why does everyone want to push me about the damn contract?” she grumbled, figuring that Brenda, in the next cubicle, would be listening. “Haven’t I worked extremely hard on every other blasted campaign all year long? I’ve all but slept in this cubicle. I keep clothes in my desk drawers. Would it be fair to dock me over one single previously negotiated item?”

      Inhaling damp desk blotter and the odor of evergreen that now pervaded the building, Kim reviewed the proverbial question on the table.

       Was there another person on earth who could say that Christmas had been their