'Tis the Season by Jennifer Gracen Page A

and someone popped in at the last minute, it might throw me off a little.”
    She waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing throws you off. You run a billion-dollar international company. Unflappable, solid as a rock, that’s you. Everyone knows that.”
    His lips pursed, his jaw tightened, and his gaze intensified. It almost made her squirm. She’d intended it as an offhand compliment, but he looked almost . . . agitated. What had she said wrong? She turned to go to the pantry, then stopped, realizing he intended to stay. “Um . . . what kind of tea would you like?”
    To her relief, his features softened. “What are you having?”
    â€œOrange spice. Decaffeinated.”
    â€œSounds good. I’ll have the same.”
    As she ducked into the large pantry, she placed a hand to her still pounding heart, closed her eyes, and tried to take a deep breath. God, he’d startled her. And God, he looked gorgeous. She loved how he looked in his expensive custom-tailored suits; that was a given. Few men were as downright dashing in a suit as Charles Harrison III, and the man practically lived in his suits. When he got home from the office, he usually discarded the jacket and pulled off the tie, but stayed in his clothes until he went to his bedroom for the night. Even living in his house, the too-rare glimpses of a casual Charles were delightful.
    So, seeing him like he was now—in a tight navy pullover sweater and jeans, hair a little rumpled, and his glasses on, not his contacts—he was deliciously adorable, appealing, and just . . . normal. Well, if movie-star kind of handsome men were normal, other than the whole mega rich, smart, and powerful thing.
    She found the box of tea bags and left the pantry. Charles now sat at the small table in the nook, where she usually did homework with Ava or talked with Tina. He flashed her a smile and gestured to the center island. “Got out some mugs.”
    She dropped a tea bag in each cup, feeling as though she were being watched. She snuck a glance at Charles from beneath her lashes. He was watching her, and when caught, his eyes held, and the grin stayed on his face.
    Jesus, was he actually smoldering at her? Or was she just wishing he were? Either way, the warm, wobbly feeling she lately got whenever she looked at him took merciless hold of her insides.
    This new dynamic between them had thrown her way off course. She’d never been intimidated by Charles, and she knew some people were, simply because of the immense power he had. Yes, he had a commanding presence and was incredibly smart, but he was not arrogant or condescending. He was reserved in nature, but always extremely courteous, genial, and respectful, to her and to everyone around him. He didn’t micromanage her, obviously trusting her abilities enough to hang back and let her do her job. And yes, she’d harbored some feelings for him, but nothing that kept her from doing her job, being around him, or talking to him. It’d just been a crush, really.
    But since the night of . . . well, that night , it was a whole new ball game. For almost two years, they’d shared an easy coexistence, but that mellow calm in his presence had vanished. Now, the thought of him, the sight of him, even the smell of him got her all worked up and flustered. She’d always thought he was gorgeous, sure; but now she also thought of him as sexy, and amazing in bed—well, on the couch—and tempting, and quietly charismatic, and . . . and she was in big trouble, that’s what she was.
    The shrill whistle of the teakettle snapped her out of her thoughts. He rose from his seat and went to the stove. “Allow me.”
    Biting down on her lip as he took the kettle and poured the boiling water into the cups, she fought to appear calm and collected, as she’d always been before. Now, it was taking everything she had to appear that way. Her skin felt warm, her stomach felt swirly,