COLE FOR CHRISTMAS Harlequin Temptation December 2003 EXCERPT If it weren’t for Bobblehead Santa, Anna Wesley wouldn’t be in this predicament. She stood next to her desk in the not-quite-deserted marketing offices of Skillington Ski Shops, clutching the eight-inch plastic doll in her right hand, for once not amused by the way its white-haired head danced. With her left hand, she absently worried the tassel on the Santa Claus hat the family expected her to wear to Christmas Eve dinner that night. Nobody expected her to bring Bobblehead Santa. Nobody would have known the difference if she’d shown up with a bottle of wine instead of the toy she knew would make her grandfather erupt into one of those belly laughs worthy of St. Nick himself.

But, no, she couldn’t do things the easy way. Instead of driving straight to her parents’ house, she had to return to the office to pick up the silly doll. An office that should have been empty aside from the once-gay Christmas tree that sat on her secretary’s desk, its lights no longer twinkling.

It was nearly seven o’clock. Everybody should have cleared out hours earlier to enjoy what was in Anna’s mind the most magical night of the year. Christmas Eve, a night full of anticipation and wonder, meant to be spent in the bosom of family and friends.

That’s where she’d be now if she hadn’t come back to the office and noticed the light shining under Cole Mansfield’s office door.

But maybe she was overreacting. Maybe the cleaning staff had inadvertently left on a light, never mind that it had never happened before.

The shining light didn’t necessarily mean her marketing assistant, who’d moved to western Pennsylvania from San Diego to take the job less than a month before, was working late.

She’d no sooner taken a step in the direction of the exit than she heard the whir of a computer printer. Darn. She looked down at Bobblehead Santa, who gazed back up at her with his merry eyes.

“You don’t suppose that’s the ghost of Christmas past in there, do you?” she asked him.

He didn’t answer but his joy-filled expression remained unchanged. It’s Christmas, he seemed to say.

“Not everyone celebrates Christmas,” she reasoned with him. “He could be Jewish. Or Buddhist. Or Pagan.”

Except she remembered the darling red tie he’d been wearing that morning. Festooned with depictions of miniature decorated trees, it played a tinny version of O, Christmas Tree whenever he squeezed it.

“That doesn’t mean anything. The decorated tree was originally a pagan tradition,” she told Bobblehead Santa, but he wasn’t buying her excuse.

“All right already, I’ll go check on him,” she said grudgingly and headed across the large, airy space to his office.

She paused on the threshold, squaring her shoulders and putting on her title of marketing director of Skillington Ski Shops like a cloak. Then she drew in a deep breath, rapped sharply three times on the door and opened it a crack.

Cole was at his desk, his musical tie loosened, the sleeves of his dress shirt shoved nearly to the elbows of toned arms lightly sprinkled with dark hair. He gave a visible start, then got rid of whatever he’d been staring at on his computer screen.

By the time he turned back to her, he was the picture of innocence, making her think she’d imagined he didn’t want her to know what he was working on.

“Hey, boss.” He gave her a tired smile. “I didn’t think anyone else was still here.”

His wavy hair, as black as the image his name conjured, looked as tousled as it did at the end of every day. A faint shadow darkened his chiseled lower jaw. Wire-rimmed glasses dimmed but didn’t quite hide the beauty of his deep-blue eyes.

He was sitting down but she already knew he was well over six feet tall and probably topped two hundred pounds. He looked, in short, like a cross between Professor Higgins and the Rock.

Not that she was susceptible to the brainy, testosterone-rich type. Cole had pretty much cured her of that affliction during his job interview when she’d asked his goal and he’d announced that one day he wanted her job.

She hid Bobblehead Santa behind her back and squared her shoulders, summoning the professionalism that was an integral part of her office persona.

“Technically, I’m not still here. I left at noon with everybody else, like I told you to do,” she said.

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a rebel.”

She gave a curt nod and tried not to be threatened by the fact that he was working late.

A less-conscientious supervisor might not have hired Cole, especially because he seemed over-qualified for the role of an assistant.

But business at Skillington Ski was stagnant, and Anna couldn’t afford to pass over the job candidate most likely to help her market the small chain of ski shops more effectively to western Pennsylvania winter sports enthusiasts.

Besides, she had to admit to a grudging admiration for the way he’d spoken his mind. She’d run into so many liars in her life that she admired people who were forthright about who they were and what they wanted.

Anna wanted to keep her job. Not only was she good at it, she loved it almost as much as the Christmas season.

She didn’t intend to let Cole Mansfield have it.

“You’re not working late, too, are you?” he asked before she could question him further.

“Not on Christmas Eve,” she said, hoping he realized this was the exception rather than the rule. She’d work around the clock to keep her job safe. Then she dredged up the excuse she’d invented in the hall. “I forgot some reports I wanted to look over during the holiday.”

Cole leaned back in his chair, a slow smile softening his sculpted features. “Did you remember to hitch your reindeer to a post before you came inside?”

She felt her brow knit, then immediately smoothed it. “Excuse me?” she said in a clipped, no-nonsense voice.

His grin grew wider before he lifted his index finger and pointed to her head, which was covered in...

Oh, no.

With a deft motion, she whipped off the Santa Claus hat and shoved it into the hand holding the bobblehead doll, inadvertently depressing the button at the back of its fur-lined red jacket.

“You sleigh me,” the doll said in a squeaky voice.

“Did you say something?” Cole asked, his posture straightening, his dark eyebrows lifting.

“Of course not,” she said. Heaven forbid he thought she was flirting with him. Or that he figured out she’d come back to the office for something as ridiculous as Bobblehead Santa. “I didn’t hear anything,” she fibbed.

“I heard something,” he said, then craned his head to the side in an attempt to look around her. “I think it came from behind your back.”

“Nonsense.” She repositioned herself and squeezed the doll harder to make sure she didn’t lose her grip on it.

“Ho, ho, ho,” the doll squeaked in its high, cheerful voice.

Cole grinned. “I know I heard that.”

Resigning herself to defeat, she thrust Bobblehead Santa out in front of her. “I thought my grandfather would get a kick out of him, okay?” she said, annoyed at herself for offering an explanation. She was the boss. She didn’t need to explain herself.

“Cute,” he said, but he was looking at her rather than the doll.

What is going on?, she wondered as her face heated, her stomach lurched and her nerve endings tingled. She seemed to have stepped into an alternate reality where Cole was flirting with her and she was reacting to him. Like a woman reacts to a sexy man.

But that couldn’t be. They’d never before been anything other than utterly correct with each other. He lusted after the job she adored. She wasn’t attracted to him. She wouldn’t let herself be.

“What exactly are you working on?” she asked, bringing the conversation back to a professional level. Where it belonged. “We worked so hard leading up to Christmas that I thought you realized you didn’t need to be back in the office until Jan. 2.”

“I have some ideas for a new brochure rattling around in my head. I figured I should get them down before I lost them.”

As if to prove he’d been working, he reached over and pulled a sheet of paper from the printer. When he did so, his back muscles visibly rippled through his dress shirt. Not that she was looking.

No. She was trying to figure out why he’d turned the printout so she couldn’t see what was on it. If it had been any other day, Anna would have asked to inspect his work. But she couldn’t afford to get absorbed in what he was doing. Not on Christmas Eve.

“This can wait until after the holidays.” She made a mental note to jot down a few ideas of her own in the interim. “I can’t give the go-ahead on anything until then.”

“I know that, but it’s easier to concentrate when the office is empty. Until you came in,” he said, giving her a direct look, “there weren’t any distractions.”

There it was again. The flirting. Again she told herself she had to be mistaken. She’d only imagined the huskiness in his voice. The implied intimacy of the setting, with only the two of them in the office on Christmas Eve, must be affecting her brain. And her palms, which had started to sweat.

Leave, she told herself. Make like Rudolph and his leggy friends and skedaddle.

But she couldn’t move. Not before she found out what she’d come into his office to learn. She knew she shouldn’t ask. She even bit her bottom lip to prevent it, but the question still came tumbling out of her mouth. “Don’t you have any plans?”

“Nah,” he said.

What did he mean by nah? Everyone who celebrated Christmas and even some of her friends who didn’t had holiday plans. Gathering with friends and family was integral to the spirit of the season.

But Cole Mansfield was from California. He’d taken the job at Skillington barely a month ago, a month in which the marketing staff had worked late nearly every night on a sales campaign geared toward Christmas. Cole wouldn’t have had time to make friends.

“But surely you must have a family,” she said, peering at him intently.

I’m single,” he said, his beautifully shaped dark eyebrows dancing.

“I was referring to your nuclear family,” she explained quickly. “You know, brothers and sisters...”

“Don’t have any,” he interrupted.

“And parents,” she continued. “You must have parents.”

He laughed, a deep pleasant sound. “I have parents. Two sets of them, in fact.”

He didn’t offer anything more, which meant, God help her, that she would have to ask. “Didn’t either set invite you over for Christmas?”

“Nope.”

She tried to keep the shock from her face but was afraid she couldn’t quite manage it. He’d proved his arrogance by blithely stating he was gunning for her job, but certainly his parents had managed to overlook that character flaw.

“But surely with four parents...” She paused, trying to think of a tactful way to get her point across. She finally decided there wasn’t one. “At least one of them must have wanted you around on Christmas,” she finished.

“They would have,” he said, “but they’re away on vacation.”

“Together?” Again she heard the incredulity in her voice.

“Separately.” He chuckled. “We’re not quite that modern.”

Don’t do it, her brain screamed. She shouldn’t jump to conclusions just because his two sets of parents were off gallivanting somewhere and he was working late on Christmas Eve.

“You weren’t planning, by any chance, to spend tonight...” Her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat. Don’t say it, she thought. “Alone?” she asked.

“Not alone. I’m going to hang with Jimmy Stewart.”

Every cell in her body sagged with relief and she sent a silent thank you to his friend Jimmy.

“I’d be surprised if It’s a Wonderful Life isn’t on TV tonight,” he said. “Although I’d rather see Jimmy in Rear Window or Vertigo.”

She nearly groaned aloud. He was referring to Jimmy Stewart, the actor. She must have made a pained expression, because he tilted his head quizzically.

“What’s the matter. Don’t you like Hitchcock?”

“I love him, but even I wouldn’t spend Christmas Eve watching his movies,” Anna admitted miserably.

“Then what are you doing tonight?”

Walk away, she ordered herself. Walk away while you still can

“I’m having dinner at my parents’ house,” she answered, then swallowed the huge lump in her throat before she asked the question that had been inevitable since she’d seen the light shining under the door. “Want to come?”