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I give him a nod as I walk past his desk, my eye catching on the large to-go cup of coffee in his hand. I don’t usually notice details like that, but a few months ago, Ben made an entire PowerPoint presentation on why I should invest in locally-sourced coffee from his favorite roastery.
So much for listening to my employees and their “great” ideas.
Ben avoids my gaze, pretending to be glued to his computer screen, working ever so diligently. As soon as I open my office door, I know why.
“Good morning, Mr. Bowman,” Clementine greets me. She lounges in my chair, her feet propped up on my desk next to two large coffees in the same to-go cup Ben had. The traitor.
My eyes linger on her emerald tights dotted with Santa hats, the thin material stretching over her shapely calves and thighs. She’s wearing a different skirt today, this one black and velvety, and her sweater is a deep red that matches the Santa hats on her tights. The soft wool hugs her generous breasts, making my dick twitch.
Fuck, get it together!
“Ms. Clarkson,” I clip out as I set my briefcase down and shoulder off my winter jacket. I take my time hanging up my coat and digging through my briefcase, hoping she takes the hint that I’m busy and don’t want to talk to her. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning,” I say over my shoulder.
“Life is full of little surprises, which makes every day exciting, don’t you think?”
My eyes roll so far back into my head I give myself a headache. Seriously? Who is this beacon of holiday cheer and sunshine? She must have gotten lost on her way to an audition as a Disney Princess.
“Not really, no,” I answer matter-of-factly.
Clementine laughs, the sound as light and airy as the sparkling snow. It does something funny to my chest, but I ignore it. No need to dwell on ridiculous thoughts like replaying that sound over and over in my head every night as I drift off to sleep.
I still can’t face the bright and bubbly event planner, so I pretend to look for something in my coat pocket while I come up with an excuse to leave. I don’t know what it is about this woman. She just… pulls some kind of feeling out of me. It’s raw and unfiltered and honestly scares the shit out of me.
I nearly ripped my assistant’s head off—my happily married, flamboyantly-gay-and-proud-of-it assistant—for making her laugh and shaking her hand. It wasn’t jealousy. That couldn’t be it. And yet…
“I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday,” Clementine says, her voice cutting through my confusing thoughts. She sounds closer now, like she left my desk and is walking toward me.
“We didn’t. That’s just how I am,” I grunt, trying to suppress the strange urge to run my fingers through her golden hair and fuse my lips to hers.
When she doesn’t respond for a few beats, I turn. Was I finally rude enough to send her running? Oddly, I don’t think I want her to go.
I’m surprised to see the Christmas angel herself standing right behind me, coffee in hand. She stumbles back as I reach toward her, my hand finding her hip and holding her steady.
God, she feels good. Soft and sweet and perfect against the palm of my hand.
“Uh, s-sorry,” she stutters.
Her green eyes latch onto mine, and I can’t look away. Clementine nibbles on her bottom lip, drawing my attention there. Jesus, those lips… They’d look perfect wrapped around my cock.
“What?” I grit more harshly than I intended.What the fuck was that?She’d slap me if she knew the filthy thoughts I’m having about her.
“Coffee!” she says, stepping away from me. “Caffeine fixes everything. I wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee, so I have a plain black one and one with three sugars and three creams.”
I blink at the curvy little Christmas treat, hating the apprehension in her eyes. I did that to her. I made her uncomfortable. Dammit, I’ve never cared about shit like that, but now… How do I be…nice?
“I have a feeling you’re more into sugar and cream than I am,” I finally say, keeping my tone as flat as possible. Truthfully, the green-eyed goddess intrigues me. And that’s a problem.
“Guilty as charged,” she agrees, her lips stretching into an easy smile.
Clementine holds out one of the coffee cups, presumably the one without all the add-ins. I wrap my hand around the cup, and my fingers brush hers in the lightest of touches.
“Oh,” she gasps, her entire body jolting when I make contact with herhand.
I felt it, too. That spark.
She pulls her hand away, and I find that I want her touch. It takes considerable effort not to growl at the loss of contact, but I try to reel it in. This woman has me all mixed up, and she’s not even trying.
“I know you’re a busy man,” Clementine starts, backing away a few steps to give me a clear path to my desk. “But your first appointment today isn’t until ten. That gives us three whole hours to discuss the party.”
