Jingle Spells by Vicki Lewis Thompson

it on the desk. He could hear Lark grumbling under her breath.
    â€œDespicable sentimental bullshit. ‘Believe the unbelievable,’” she mimicked scathingly, her sleek black brows winging up her forehead. “Sounds like a damned campaign slogan, not a valid argument.”
    Mavis laid a bejeweled hand upon his arm and leaned in to better display her cleavage. “Brilliant as always, Ethan,” she said. “I’d love to hear more about those new ornaments you’ve designed for this holiday season.” She arched a hopeful brow. “Got time for a drink?”
    From the corner of his eye he caught Lark’s smirk, right before she turned on her heel and headed off. Ebony curls tumbled over her slim shoulders and the ruffled hem of her hooker red skirt fluttered with each seemingly exaggerated swing of her lush hips.
    â€œUm, no, sorry,” he said, unreasonably annoyed by her hasty departure. They always had a second go at one another after these little on-camera feuds. “I’ve got to get back to Colorado.”
    Before Mavis could respond, he pivoted and made his way unhurriedly across the studio to the double doors that opened into the hall. From there he bolted, eager to catch up with Lark.
    â€œThought you were going for a drink,” she drawled as he came up behind her.
    â€œLook at that,” he said, hurrying forward to get the next door for her. God, she was gorgeous. Just stunning. “You’re so sensitive to my presence you knew it was me before you could even see me. I must ping the hell out of your sonar.”
    She snorted indelicately and shot him a look. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s your cologne, fool. It’s quite—” she wrinkled her nose distastefully “—distinctive.”
    â€œI’m not wearing any cologne,” he lied. It was new, dammit, and he’d bought it with her in mind. He’d overheard her tell a makeup artist last year that she loved the smell of sandalwood.
    That plump mouth curved into a provocative smile. “Right,” she said. “Just like you aren’t wearing pants.”
    He fell into step beside her. Why? Who the hell knew? “I am wearing pants,” he replied. “It’s underwear that I’m not wearing,” he added, just to needle her.
    She made a small choking sound and her gaze dropped to his crotch before darting back up again. “Why are you following me?”
    â€œWho said I was following you? I’m leaving, same as you are.”
    She stopped short and pointed to the ladies’ room door. “I’m not leaving. I’m going to the bathroom.” She directed a red-tipped nail toward the other end of the hall. “If you’d wanted to leave, you should have gone in the other direction.” She frowned, feigning concern. “Do you need me to draw you a map?”
    Bullshit. He didn’t need a map any more than she’d been going to the ladies’ room. He shook his head. “Not necessary,” he told her, then leaned casually against the wall. He pulled out his cell and began to idly scroll through his email. “I’ll just wait for you and follow you out.”
    â€œSurely you have better things to do.”
    He looked up and smiled benignly. “I don’t, actually.”
    â€œHas it occurred to you that I might?” she asked tightly.
    â€œOf course. But I hardly see how me following you outside is going to hold you up.” He’d work that bit out later. For now, it was just enough to be this close to her, to annoy the hell out of her, to make her feel half as irritated and out-of-control as he felt right now.
    Or any other time he was around her, for that matter.
    Clearly he’d lost his mind. And instinct, however misguided, told him she was the key to finding it.

Chapter 2
    L ark DeWynter braced her hands on either side of the sink, leaned forward and peered at her