Darlene Gardner - Cole For Christmas

“I admit it. You’re hot.” Anna sighed

“But you’re not just any hot guy,” she continued. “You’re the hot guy I work with. I can’t sleep with you.”

Cole was silent for no more than a second. Then he shrugged. “Okay. I accept that.” Without warning, he pulled his thick sweater over his head and tossed it on the bed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Anna asked, her voice cracking.

“Undressing.”

“But I thought you were sleeping on the sofa?” Anna meant her voice to sound harsh, but it came out soft.

“No reason we can’t sleep in the same room now.” Cole cocked an eyebrow at the twin beds.

Anna sat on one and started bouncing.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Cole repeated her earlier question.

“Testing out which bed is firmer. I love a hard…”

But she had made the mistake of looking at him, and what she’d been about to say died on her lips. He no longer had on his jeans—just a pair of red silk boxer shorts and the biggest…er, smile she’d ever seen.

Dear Reader,

Anybody who’s ever made it to adulthood single has probably run into a family member way too interested in their love life. You know the type. Full of questions about why you’re not dating, how seriously you are dating or who you should be dating.

In Cole for Christmas, Anna Wesley has a houseful of relatives exactly like that. They’re so thrilled when she finally brings a man home to dinner that they refuse to believe she and the sexy Cole Mansfield aren’t romantically involved.

I hope I’ve infused this story with the magic of the Christmas season, where love is in the air and anything is possible. Even a sizzling romance between a man who must lie to keep his word and a woman afraid to trust. And, of course, relatives who just might be right about who is Mr. Right.

Happy holidays!

Darlene Gardner

P.S. Online readers can visit me at www.darlenegardner.com.

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

926—ONE HOT CHANCE

HARLEQUIN DUETS

39—FORGET ME? NOT

51—THE CUPID CAPER

68—THE HUSBAND HOTEL

77—ANYTHING YOU CAN DO…!

101—ONCE SMITTEN TWICE SHY

Cole for Christmas

Darlene Gardner

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my large, loving Polish-American family

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

IF IT WEREN’T FOR Bobblehead Santa, Anna Wesley wouldn’t be in this predicament.

She stood next to her desk in the not-quite-deserted marketing offices of Skillington Ski Shops, clutching the eight-inch plastic doll in her right hand, for once not amused by the way its white-haired head danced.

With her left hand, she absently worried the tassel on the Santa Claus hat the family expected her to wear to Christmas Eve dinner that night.

Nobody expected her to bring Bobblehead Santa.

Nobody would know the difference if she’d shown up with a bottle of wine instead of the toy she knew would make her grandfather erupt into one of those belly laughs worthy of St. Nick himself.

But, no, she couldn’t do things the easy way. Instead of driving straight to her parents’ house, she had to return to the office to pick up the silly doll. An office that should have been empty aside from the once-gay Christmas tree that sat on her secretary’s desk, its lights no longer twinkling.

It was nearly seven o’clock. Everybody should have cleared out hours earlier to enjoy what was in Anna’s mind the most magical night of the year. Christmas Eve, a night full of anticipation and wonder, meant to be spent in the bosom of family and friends.

That’s where she’d be now if she hadn’t come back to the office and noticed the light shining under Cole Mansfield’s office door.

But maybe she was overreacting. Maybe the cleaning staff had inadvertently left on a light, never mind that it had never happened before.

The shining light didn’t necessarily mean her marketing assistant, who’d moved to western Pennsylvania from San Diego to take the job less than a month before, was working late.

She’d no sooner taken a step in the direction of the exit than she heard the whir of a computer printer. Darn. She looked down at Bobblehead Santa, who gazed back up at her with his merry eyes.

“You don’t suppose that’s the ghost of Christmas Past in there, do you?” she asked him.

He didn’t answer but his joy-filled expression remained unchanged. It’s Christmas, he seemed to say.

“Not everyone celebrates Christmas,” she reasoned with him. “He could be Jewish. Or Buddhist. Or Pagan.”

Except she remembered the darling red tie he’d been wearing that morning. Festooned with depictions of miniature decorated trees, it played a tinny version of “O, Christmas Tree” whenever he squeezed it.

“That doesn’t mean anything. The decorated tree was originally a pagan tradition,” she told Bobblehead Santa, but he wasn’t buying her excuse.

“All right already, I’ll go check on him,” she said grudgingly and headed across the large, airy space to his office.

She paused on the threshold, squaring her shoulders and putting on her title of marketing director of Skillington Ski Shops like a cloak. Then she drew in a deep breath, rapped sharply three times on the door and opened it a crack.

Cole was at his desk, his musical tie loosened, the sleeves of his dress shirt shoved nearly to the elbows of toned arms lightly sprinkled with dark hair. He gave a visible start, then got rid of whatever he’d been staring at on his computer screen.

By the time he turned back to her, he was the picture of innocence, making her think she’d imagined he didn’t want her to know what he was working on.

“Hey, boss.” He gave her a tired smile. “I didn’t think anyone else was still here.”

His wavy hair, as black as the image his name conjured, looked as tousled as it did at the end of every day. A faint shadow darkened his chiseled lower jaw. Wire-rimmed glasses dimmed but didn’t quite hide the beauty of his deep-blue eyes.

He was sitting down but she already knew he was well over six feet tall and probably topped two hundred pounds. He looked, in short, like a cross between Professor Higgins and the Rock.

Not that she was susceptible to the brainy, testosterone-rich type. Cole had pretty much cured her of that affliction during his job interview when she’d asked his goal and he’d announced that one day he wanted her job.

She hid Bobblehead Santa behind her back and squared her shoulders, summoning the professionalism that was an integral part of her office persona.

“Technically, I’m not still here. I left at noon with everybody else, like I told you to do,” she said.

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a rebel.”

She gave a curt nod and tried not to be threatened by the fact that he was working late.

A less-conscientious supervisor might not have hired Cole, especially because he seemed overqualified for the role of an assistant.