The Boss's Mistletoe Maneuvers by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom Page B

simple withheld truth.
    Damn it.
    “I’m attracted to you.” Chaz retreated a step. “I’ll confess that here and mean it. I wanted to get to know you, and still do. But what you’re thinking wasn’t what brought me here. I wasn’t going to use you for some sordid purpose.”
    Her eyes met his. “Here’s the thing, Monroe. Some women probably do sleep their way to the top, and I’m telling you now that I’m not one of them. In fact, it looks as though I’ve just kissed my way to the bottom.”
    His hands remained suspended in the air. Chaz had prided himself on being decent at handling people, yet had botched the hell out of this situation. He supposed that’s what came of mixing lust with work.
    He had known better and ignored the signs, but he wasn’t an idiot or completely ruled by what was in his pants. He did comprehend her take on this predicament, and it was a damn shame, because in her mind the damage had been done, and he wasn’t going to allow himself to beg her to change her mind.
    A man could only go so far.
    “Okay,” he conceded, reaching for the doorknob. “Though you might not believe this, I am sorry the news has upset you. My purpose was never to hurt or demean you. And from everything I’ve heard about your job performance, you’ve proven your talent and superior work ethic to justify being in line for the promotion.”
    He really did not want to leave, especially like this. He gave her one last lingering look before opening the door, hoping she might soften. “No one needs to know about this. I’m not a kiss-and-tell kind of guy, and you can trust me on that. I’ve apologized. I’ve confessed to liking you. I guess what you do with that is up to you.”
    With a frown of disappointment etched on his brow, Chaz closed the door on what might have turned out to be the hottest night in history.
    In the hallway, he slapped the wall and uttered a choice four-letter oath. This night had not gone well. In fact, it couldn’t have been worse.
    McKinley wanted him. Of that there was no doubt. She had been willing to take him in and take him on. Perhaps, now that she knew the score, she would come around. They could pretend this never happened and start over.
    Or maybe not.
    Seeing her at work might bring on his feelings of lust for her all over again. He wouldn’t be able to touch her, talk to her privately or smell her rich fragrance up close, if she returned to the job.
    Things were truly messed up, yet he couldn’t go back and demand to be let back in. It was too late for that.
    Sighing in frustration, he walked to the waiting elevator and stepped inside. Kim didn’t open her door and call after him this time. It was like a slap in the face—the second in two hours. He didn’t have to take that lying down. He shouldn’t have to. He would move on and forget her.
    Staring blankly at her door, Chaz rolled his shoulders. Something was definitely wrong with him. Despite arguments to the contrary, he’d already started imagining a strategy for getting Kim back, if not at the office, where she ultimately belonged, then into that baggy T-shirt he’d envisioned—and the naughty red shoes.
    At the very least, he had to know what this was about, what her dislike of the holiday work meant. Research would be the key to unlocking Kim McKinley’s secrets, and he had plenty of know-how at his fingertips.
    “Nobody hates Christmas,” he muttered as the elevator descended. “Not even you, Kim. I’ll just have to prove that to you.”
    * * *
    Kim slid down the wall, staring at the door the devil had just used to make his exit. Chaz Monroe was a monster, and she had been foolish to believe anything else.
    He had almost succeeded in making her forget the hovering darkness of the season, and about men being liars when given the chance. She had been willing to share tonight with him under the waving flag of truce and the lure of the laws of man-woman attraction. And look where that had landed