A Mistletoe Kiss with the Boss by Susan Meier Page A

area they looked cute, fun. And they probably did pose a much better picture. But as the world whizzed by and he grew more comfortable, with her and with his skates, he started to laugh. For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t thinking about his company or his troubles. He wasn’t thinking at all.
    Except to realize that he really did trust her.
    * * *
    Kristen noticed the change in him immediately. She stopped their circle and dropped one of his hands so she could pull him behind her. When they got enough speed, she led him into a figure eight.
    He called, “Now I think you’re showing off.”
    â€œNope. Showing off would be teaching you how to do a spin or maybe a lift.”
    She expected his face to freeze in horror. Instead, he said, “I could probably spin.”
    She pulled him out of their third figure eight and guided him to stand beside her. “You like being good at things.”
    â€œDon’t you?”
    She shrugged. “I like doing the best I can.”
    â€œSame thing.”
    She said, “I suppose,” but she understood what he meant. As a genius, his version of doing the best he could undoubtedly meant that he had to be perfect. It was why he didn’t want to fall on his face in front of reporters, why he stayed out of the public eye. People were always watching him. Maybe hoping he’d make a mistake.
    When their ninety minutes were up, they left Rockefeller Center, walked a bit more around that section of the city and had dinner at an out-of-the-way Mexican restaurant.
    She buttoned her jacket as they walked out onto the now snow-covered sidewalk. Christmas lights decorated shop-front windows and doorways. Snow sat on evergreen branches like icing on sugar cookies. Without hesitation, he took her hand and she couldn’t stop a smile.
    It was one of the best dates of her life.
    Still, she knew it didn’t mean as much to him as it did to her. He might be having fun. He might even be enjoying her, but having heard the story of Nina, she more than suspected he’d vowed never to let himself get close to a woman again. He’d probably even made a rule.
    When they reached her hotel lobby, she expected him to say goodbye at the elevator. Instead, he stepped inside with her.
    Wonderful hope filled her tummy with butterflies. “Walking me to my door?”
    â€œThere were three photographers in the lobby.”
    Disappointment rumbled through her. “Oh.”
    But when they got to her door and she turned to say good-night, he had the most baffling expression on his face. She recognized the longing. The end of this date should be a kiss. But the confusion in his eyes told her he wouldn’t even kiss her cheek.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    He drew a long breath and looked away. “Nothing.” But when he turned back to her again, his dark eyes had sharpened. The muscles of his broad shoulders tensed beneath his smooth leather jacket. He took a fraction of a step toward her.
    Her breath stalled. He was going to kiss her.
    She took a fraction of a step toward him, drawn by an unknown instinct inside her that seemed to know exactly what to do.
    His eyes stayed on her face. One of his hands came up, as if he were going to put it on her shoulder or maybe her waist to nudge her closer.
    Her heart did a rumba in her chest. She smiled hopefully.
    But his hand stopped. He took a step back and ran his fingers through his hair.
    â€œGood night.”
    Disappointed, she whispered, “Good night,” but he just stood there. She thought for a second that he might be hanging around because he didn’t want to leave and did want to kiss her. Then she realized he was just being a gentleman, waiting for her to go into her room.
    She quickly slid the key in the lock and let herself inside. She said, “Good night,” again, hoping she didn’t look like an idiot, then closed the door behind her.
    But no matter how hard she tried to