Читать книгу The CEO's Christmas Proposition / His Expectant Ex - Catherine Mann - Страница 12

“A major substation went down.”

Cal hung up the house phone and confirmed what he and Devon already suspected.

“Power is gone to half the city, with more outages being reported as we speak.”

The flickering flames from the fireplace painted his face in shades of bronze as he crossed the room. His shadow loomed large against the pale walls.

“The desk clerk says the hotel has a backup generator, but…”

Devon’s heart sank. She had a feeling the “but” was a lead-in to something she didn’t want to hear. Sure enough, Cal delivered the grim news.

“It provides only enough power for emergency-exit lighting.”

Leaving the rest of the hotel in the dark.

“How long do they think the power will be out?”

“They have no idea. They’re hoping it’ll just be a few hours.”

Terrific! What better way to end a day characterized by more screwups and miscues than she wanted to count? Suddenly weary beyond words, Devon ached to sink into her featherbed and sleep right through this latest disaster.

“I think we should pack it in,” she suggested. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight.”

Cal accompanied her to the door but leaned an elbow against the ornate molding. “Actually, there is. You could answer my question. Did you feel the same punch I did?”

As if she was going to admit he’d rocked her back on her heels at the airport this morning!

“I don’t intend to answer it,” she said primly.

“Coward.”

The soft taunt held as much amusement as speculation. Devon responded to both with a lift of her chin.

“The kiss was a mistake. Or more correctly, a case of mistaken identity. Your friend asked you deliver it to someone he no doubt described as a good-time girl.”

Which Sabrina Russo most definitely had been. Only Devon and Caroline knew how hard their friend had to work now to maintain her laughing, effervescent facade.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Devon said coolly, “I’m not that woman.”

“Trust me, I’ve noticed.”

This far from the fire, the room was in deep shadow. She couldn’t read Cal’s expression, but the amusement was still there, lacing his deep voice.

“So here’s the deal,” he said. “I’m thinking we should try it again.”

“What?”

“No mistakes or mistaken identities. Just you and me this time. We’ll test the waters, see if we experience the same punch.”

Devon gave an exasperated huff. Despite her every effort to maintain a businesslike attitude, her client wasn’t going to let go of that ridiculous incident at the airport unless and until she killed it stone-cold dead.

Assuming she could. With him leaning over her, his features a contrast of light and dark, she had the mortifying suspicion she could lose herself in Cal Logan’s arms.

The mere thought tightened the muscles low in her belly. For a dangerous moment, she indulged the fantasy of popping the rest of his shirt buttons. Sliding her palms over the contours of his chest. Locking her arms around the strong column of his neck.

Summoning every ounce of willpower she possessed, Devon wrapped her hand around the gilttrimmed latch and yanked the door open.

“Good night, Mr. Logan.”

Cal let her go. He’d heard the rusty edge of exhaustion layered under the irritation in her voice. She had to feel almost as whipped as he did.

He knew damned well his tiredness would have evaporated on the spot if she’d taken him up on his challenge. But would hers? His rapidly evolving plans for Devon McShay didn’t include a sleepy, halfhearted seduction. He wanted her wide awake, her breath coming in short gasps, her body eager and straining against his.

Cal scraped a hand across his chin, trying to remember the last time a woman had roused this kind of hunger in him, this fast. From the first glimpse, Devon had stirred his interest. From the first taste, she’d dominated his thoughts. All during the meeting with Hauptmann, Cal had had to work to keep his attention on the acquisition details and off the woman sitting next to him.

He was damned if he understood why. Even with Alexis—beautiful, sensual, avaricious Alexis—a part of him had always remained detached. And more than a little cynical. He’d known from day one that the glamorous blonde had been more attracted to his millions than to him.

Yet prickly, stubborn Devon, who insisted on maintaining a professional distance, had Cal plotting all kinds of devious ways to get her in his bed. He had several in mind as he crossed the darkened room, intending to toss down the rest of his cognac before he hit the sheets. A sharp rap brought him back to the door.

When he opened it, his pulse spiked. Devon stood in the hall. For a wild moment, Cal was sure she’d come back to conduct the experiment he’d suggested.

“The key to my room doesn’t work.”

So much for his misguided hopes, he thought wryly.

“I used the house phone to call the front desk. They think the sudden power outage sent a jolt through the computer that electronically resets the hotel’s door locks.”

The only lighting came via the red emergency-exit signs. It was more than enough for Cal to note her thoroughly disgusted expression.

“Until they get the computer back online, not even security or housekeeping can let me in. So I thought…Since you have two bedrooms…Maybe we could…”

“Share?”

“Yes.”

“Sure. Come in.”

He stood aside, careful to keep his expression neutral as she swept by him. She was clearly upset by this latest turn of events. That didn’t stop him from feeling a whole lot like the big bad wolf when Red Riding Hood appeared with her basket of goodies.

She halted in the sitting room, her slender figure silhouetted against the glow from the fireplace. “Which bedroom are you using?”

He gestured to the one on the right. “I went for the stag’s head instead of the crown.”

“Okay.” She hesitated. “Well, uh, I guess I’ll turn in.”

He had to fight a grin. He shouldn’t be enjoying her predicament so much. “’Night, Devon. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.”

He waited to see if she’d tack on another Mr. Logan. She didn’t.

When the door closed behind her, a fierce satisfaction gripped Cal. He was halfway home. He had Devon here, in his lair. That was progress enough for tonight.

Or so he thought.

An hour later he was forced to admit he’d made a serious error in judgment. With the electric heat out, the room temperatures had gone down like the Titanic. The thick comforter provided sufficient protection against the cold, but all Cal could think of was how much warmer he’d be with Devon curled up beside him. The fact that she slept less than a dozen yards away kept him awake and aching long into the cold, dark night.

Devon woke to sunlight so bright and dazzling she had to put up an arm to shield her eyes. Squinting through her elbow, she saw she’d neglected to draw the pale gold brocade drapes. No surprise there. She’d whacked a shin on a chair leg and bumped into the dresser while stumbling around in the inky blackness last night.

Still squinting, she lowered her arm. That’s when she discovered that dazzling sunlight didn’t necessarily equate to warmth. The elegant bedroom was as cold as the inside of an Eskimo’s toolshed. Each breath brought icy air slicing into her lungs. It came out a second later on a cloud of steamy vapor.

Gasping, Devon dragged the covers up to her nose. Obviously, the hotel’s power was still out. She knew zero about substations and transformers and such, but suspected the city that had gone dark right before her eyes last night was probably still powerless.

So where did that leave her? More to the point, where did it leave her client? Until she had a fix on the situation, she wouldn’t know how to handle it.

She huddled under the covers, trying to work up the nerve to make a dash for the bathroom. The mere thought of planting her bare feet on the icy bathroom tiles kept her burrowed in.

“Devon?”

Her startled gaze flew to the door. “Yes?”

“You decent?”

“I…Uh…” She scrunched down until only her eyes showed above the fluffy comforter. “Yes.”

The door opened and a man she almost didn’t recognize entered the room. The cashmere overcoat and hand-tailored suit were gone. So was the boardroom executive.

This Cal Logan looked more like a cross-country Nordic skier. He wore a cream-colored turtleneck and bright blue ski jacket with the collar turned up. Matching ski pants emphasized his muscular thighs. The pants were tucked into microfiber boots cuffed by thick thermal socks Devon would have killed for at that moment.

Luckily, she didn’t have to resort to murder. Cal carried a shopping bag across the room and dumped it on her bed.

“Good thing the hotel caters to the winter sports crowd. I had the manager open the ski shop. I figured we’d both need some cold-weather gear if the power stays off for more than a day or two.”

“A day or two?” Gulping, Devon tugged the covers down a few inches. “Surely they’ll restore it before that.”

“Maybe, maybe not. The manager said at least two-thirds of the city and most of the surrounding countryside have been affected. And it’s still happening. Lines are coming down right and left.”

Her gaze went to the uncurtained windows. The suite was on the sixth floor, too high up to afford more than a glimpse of the ice-coated trees lining the Elbe. From what Devon could see of them, however, most had bent almost to the ground under the unrelenting weight of the ice.

“I had to guess at your size.” Cal’s blue eyes skimmed down the covers and back up again. “If anything doesn’t fit, I’ll take it down and exchange it.”

“Thanks. Er, I don’t suppose you were able to scrounge some hot coffee along with the ski clothes.”

“Sorry. The hotel kitchen is temporarily out of operation. The staff was scrambling to put together a cold breakfast for the guests, though.” He headed for the door. “We’ll go down as soon as you’re dressed.”

Devon dove into the shopping bag and extracted a thick pair of socks. Only after her toes were encased in thermal warmth did she grab the bag handles and make a run for the bathroom.

The toilet seat almost gave her freezer burn. The icy stream that gushed from the water taps made washing her hands and face a challenge of epic proportions. Thankfully the hotel’s amenities included spare toothbrushes and a complimentary tube of toothpaste. Shivering and hopping from foot to foot, she brushed away the overnight fuzz, then shimmied into black-silk long johns so thin and sheer she wondered how the heck they could retain any heat. Her bikini briefs showed clearly through the almost-transparent silk. So did her demi-bra.

A V-necked sweater in pale lavender went on over the thermal silk undershirt. The ski pants and jacket were a darker shade of amethyst trimmed with silver racing stripes. Cal, bless him, had thought to include gloves and a headband in the same rich purple.

Ears, fingers and toes all warm and toasty, she zipped on a pair of microfiber boots and left the bathroom with a last glance at the woman in the mirror. She could use some lip gloss and a hairbrush. Hopefully, the hotel’s computer whizzes would figure out some way to operate the door locks so she could get back into her own room soon. If not, she’d have to conduct another raid on the downstairs shops.

After she got some coffee in her. Preferably hot, although she’d take an injection of caffeine however she could get it right now. And food. Any kind of food. With her body’s basic need for warmth satisfied, her stomach was starting to send out distress signals.

Cal stood by the sitting-room windows, taking in the frozen cityscape across the Elbe. Devon’s breath caught as she went to stand beside him. Buildings, trees, the statues on the bridge, the river itself…everything as far as the eye could see lay under a blanket of glistening white. Not a single car or bus or snowplow moved through the frozen stillness, although a few brave pedestrians were making their careful way across the bridge into the Old City.

“The manager didn’t exaggerate,” Devon murmured, awestruck. “Looks like most of the city must be shut down.”

“Looks like.” He didn’t sound particularly concerned as he turned and skimmed a glance over her new uniform. “How does everything fit?”

“The boots are a little loose, but you did good otherwise. Very good, actually.”

The comment was more of a question than an endorsement. Logan responded with one of his quicksilver grins.

“That’s what comes of having four younger sisters. We’ll exchange the boots downstairs.”

“We don’t need to exchange them. I’ll fill the space with another pair of socks.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“You’d better bring your purse with you,” he advised. “With the electronic locks on the fritz, we can get out but the keys won’t get us back in. We’ll have to leave the door propped open.”

There went her lip gloss and hairbrush.

“What about your laptop and briefcase?” she asked. “Are you just going to leave them?”

“I took them downstairs earlier. They’re secured behind the desk.”

“We might need them to work your revised schedule if I can’t get to mine.”

“I think we’d better shelve any idea of work until we know the extent of the storm.”

“But—”

“No buts. I’m declaring today an official holiday. All set?”

Since she didn’t appear to have much choice in the matter, Devon stuffed the little evening bag she’d taken to dinner last night inside a jacket pocket and pressed the Velcro flap closed. This, she predicted silently as she and Cal descended six flights of cold, dank stairs, was going to be a looooong day.

Long, she amended some ten hours later, and in-explicably, incredibly magical.

Looking back, she saw that she and Cal had shed their respective roles with their business suits. No longer travel consultant and client, they became co-conspirators in a determined effort to beat the cold.

Their first act was to down a surprisingly lavish breakfast. With a fervent murmur of thanks, Devon accepted a mug of the hot cocoa the hotel staff had brewed over a can of Sterno. The rich, frothy chocolate paved the way for a cold buffet of cheeses, fruits, yogurt, smoked salmon and thick slabs of Black Forest ham. Smoked over pine and coated with beef blood to give it a distinctive black exterior, the moist ham tasted like heaven slapped between two slices of pumpernickel cut from a wheel-size loaf.

After breakfast Cal insisted they don knitted ski masks and get some exercise. Devon had her doubts when the ice crusting the snow broke under her weight and she sank to her ankles. To her relief, the water-resistant microfiber boots kept her feet dry. What’s more, the depressions provided just the traction she and Cal needed to join the other hardy souls who’d ventured out into the winter wonderland.

They’d gone only a few yards when what sounded like a rifle shot split the air. Instinctively, Devon hunched her shoulders and grabbed Cal’s arm. He stopped her before she could drag them both facedown in the snow.

“It’s just a tree cracking under the ice. Look, there it goes.”

She followed his pointing finger to one of the graceful lindens lining the Elbe’s banks. It was bent almost double, its branches sweeping the frozen earth. As Devon watched, the trunk groaned and split right down the middle. One half crashed to the ground. The other stood mutilated, a wounded sentinel silhouetted against the blue sky.

“Oh, how sad.”

“Even sadder when you think how many other trees have split like that and brought down power lines.” Cal shook his head. “Crews will have to clear tons of debris before they can repair the lines.”

Keeping her arm tucked in his, he steered clear of any trees that might crack and come down on them. They made it as far as the bridge and were thinking of turning back when a lone snowplow cleared a path across the ancient stone spans.

Cal and Devon followed in its wake, as did dozens of others. They were drawn by the unmistakable tang of burning charcoal and the yeasty, tantalizing scent of fresh-baked stollen.

They followed their twitching noses to Dresden’s oldest bakery. Only a block off the main square, Der Kavalier had already drawn a crowd of resilient natives and tourists determined to make the best of the situation.

Munching on the sweet, spicy bread baked in a wood-fired brick oven, they wandered down the Long Walk. The columned promenade had been erected in the sixteenth century to connect Dresden’s castle with the building that had once housed the royal stables. The history buff in Devon felt compelled to point out the incredibly detailed, hundred-yard-long frieze depicting a progression of Saxon kings and nobles.

“Those are Meissen tiles. All twenty-four thousand of them. The originals were fired in the porcelain factory just a few kilometers from Dresden. Most of them had to be replaced after World War Two.”

Cal dutifully admired the frieze and pumped her for more information on the city’s colorful history. He did it so skillfully that Devon ran out of narration before he ran out of patience.

By then it was well past noon. They stumbled on a tiny restaurant tucked away on a side street with a kitchen powered by a loud, thumping generator. It took a thirty-minute wait but they finally feasted on steaming bowls of potato soup and black bread. Stuffed, they strolled back across the bridge only to find a wide swath of frozen river fronting their hotel had been cleared to provide space for an impromptu winter carnival.

Vendors roasted chestnuts and sizzling shish kebabs over charcoal braziers. A one-legged man muffled to the ears in scarves and a lopsided top hat cranked a hand organ. Skaters glided arm in arm to his wheezy beat. Several enterprising youngsters had overturned a wooden box and offered to rent their family’s skates for the princely sum of two euros.

Over Devon’s laughing protests, Cal plunked down the requisite fee. He wedged his feet into a pair of hockey skates at least one size too small and selected a pair of scuffed figure skates for Devon. When he went down on one knee to tie the laces, she made a last attempt at sanity.

“I haven’t been skating since I was a kid.”

“Me, either.” Pushing to his feet, he dusted the snow off his knees. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she muttered.

He gave her a few moments to test her wobbly ankles. The next thing Devon knew, strong, steady hands gripped her waist and propelled her across the ice.

One of those hands was nestled at the small of her back when they finally returned to the hotel a little after five-thirty.

The kitchen staff had pooled its collective ingenuity to prepare another remarkable meal for the guests. Mostly cold meats and salads, with a few hot selections cooked over cans of Sterno. Spicy goulash filled the air with the tang of paprika, while bubbling cheese fondue hinted at the dry white wine and kirsch that had gone into it. For dessert, the guests were offered a choice of prefrozen Black Forest Cake and Bananas Foster flamed at the tableside.

Devon’s taste buds were still sighing in ecstasy over the combination of rum and cinnamon in the flambéed bananas when she and Cal went upstairs.

They’d already been advised the electronic keycard system was still inoperable. Maintenance offered to force the lock on Devon’s door, but Cal suggested she give the system another couple of hours to come online. Meanwhile, she could warm her toes in front of the fire in his suite.

When they entered the King’s Suite, the rooms were as dark and as cold as a witch’s tomb, yet Devon felt as though she’d come home. She couldn’t believe how much she’d enjoyed her day in the bracing fresh air. Almost as much as she hated for it to end.

She could have blamed that bone-deep reluctance for what happened next. Or the hot, spiced wine she’d guzzled after skating. Or the alcohol spiking the cheese fondue and Bananas Foster.

She didn’t resort to any of those excuses, however. All she had to do was look into Cal’s eyes to know the day they’d just spent was merely a prelude for the night to come.