Her Mistletoe Husband by Renee Roszel

deciding she needed a nap, too. Unfortunately, since she didn’t have time for such luxuries, the next most important thing she needed to do was leave the room. She had no desire to be left alone with Alex. She stood. “Well, if everybody else is going to desert me, I guess I’ll go work on my accounts.”
    As she passed Alex’s chair, he caught her wrist. With a frown of confusion she stared at him, but couldn’t speak.
    â€œIt was nice, today,” he said. “Thank you.”
    Jarred by his compliments, she continued to stare at him, her emotions at war. After a few seconds, she pulled from his grasp. “Now you can smoke a turkey. Big deal.”
    He winced slightly at her curtness. “Look, I’m not your enemy.”
    She swallowed hard. “If it makes you feel better to think that, Mr. D’Amour...” She couldn’t go on. But there was no need. The flash in his eyes told her the message had been received.
    He rose from the chair and she took that as her cue to leave—to escape to her office and get out from under the heat of his gaze. When she reached the parlor door, she remembered she’d left the shawl Lucy had knitted for her for Christmas and hurried back to snatch it up.
    This time when she got to the parlor entrance, Alex was standing there. She breezed past, but he caught her hand. “I’m standing under the mistletoe, Miss Crosby.”
    â€œMy middle name is Gardenia,” she retorted. “Now that we’ve exchanged holiday trivia, let me—”
    Go! That had been the word she’d almost said. Unhappily, as her lips opened to say it, his mouth closed over hers, shocking her into stillness. A strange, almost imperceptible tremor went through her as his lips took hers captive. His kiss was wildly masculine, stealing her breath. As his mouth moved over hers, she struggled to tame an urge to wrap her arms around his neck and draw him against her.
    She tried to protest, wanted to, but her voice wouldn’t come. And even though he was still holding one of her hands, the other was free—free to shove against his chest, to make it clear she didn’t want this. Yet, that hand didn’t resist. Instead she found herself drifting toward him, her fingers whispering along his cheek in a caress, then slipping back to stroke the hair at his nape. So soft. And his scent—so stirring.
    Though her mind was numbed by his provocative kiss, Elissa still managed to seize on an irony. She’d had several marriage proposals in her life, rejecting them in favor of her precious independence. But with this offensive man’s kiss she felt strangely uncertain, her need for self-rule undermined in some insidious way.
    His hand moved to cup her waist, warm, big and welcome , tugging her into him. She heard a ragged whimper of need escape her throat—a sound she’d never heard before. It frightened her, brought her back to reality as surely as if a snowball had been thrown in her face.
    Though some crazy part of her experienced a reluctance to be separated from him, she yanked at his hold and shoved against his chest, stumbling a step away when he released her. “You—you...” she exclaimed in a husky exhale. “Never do that again!”
    He grinned. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Gardenia. And thanks for the tie.”
    â€œI didn’t give you any tie,” she cried, her lips throbbing. “Helen and Lucy must have done it and put my name on it.” Taking a protective step away, she poked a finger toward his chest. “And if you ever call me Gardenia again, I’ll—I’ll...”
    â€œKnee me?” His grin was outrageously sexy, those dimples taunting, making her heart jump foolishly. “Funny you didn’t think of doing it when I kissed you.” With that telling remark, he walked away, leaving Elissa fairly sure she was coming down with some terrible flu. She was