of forced Christmas cheer when her friend and business partner came down with the flu yesterday, mere hours before she was supposed to leave for Germany.
Devon, Sabrina Russo and Caroline Walters had been friends before they became business partners. They’d met while spending their junior year at the University of Salzburg. Filled with the dreams and enthusiasm of youth, the three coeds had formed a fast friendship.
They’d maintained that friendship long-distance in the years that followed. Until last May, when they’d met for a minireunion. After acknowledging that their lives so far hadn’t lived up to their dreams, they’d decided to pool resources, educational backgrounds and interests. Two months later, they’d quit their respective jobs, relocated to Virginia and launched European Business Services, Incorporated. EBS for short. Specializing in arranging transportation, hotels, conference facilities and translation services for busy executives.
The venture was still at the risky stage. The three friends had sunk most of their savings into start-up costs. EBS now had an office, a small staff and a slew of international advertising. They’d landed a few jobs, but nothing big until the call from Cal Logan’s executive assistant.
Turns out Logan had played football in college with one of Sabrina’s old boyfriends. Said boyfriend had tipped his pal to EBS when Logan mentioned his people were scrambling to lay on a short-notice trip to Germany. Sabrina had worked twenty hours straight on the prep work and had been all set to hop a plane yesterday afternoon when the bug hit.
So here Devon was, her chin buried in a hot pink pashmina shawl, her toes frozen inside her stacked heel boots and her ears assaulted by a booming rendition of “O Tannenbaum,” on her way to meet their first major client.
Again.
He’d been scheduled to arrive earlier this morning, but his assistant had called to say his corporate jet had been grounded due to icing. After considerable effort, she’d gotten him on the last commercial flight out before JFK shut down completely.
Ah, the joys of traveling this time of year! Conditions here in Dresden weren’t much better. Sleet had been coming down all day. Praying her client’s plane made it in before this airport closed, too, Devon hurried into the terminal.
Her breath whistled out in a sigh of relief when Logan exited Customs. She recognized him right away from the newspaper and magazine articles Sabrina had found on the Internet during her frantic prep work.
Caleb John Logan, Jr. Thirty-one. Six-two. With jet-black hair, laser blue eyes and a linebacker’s shoulders under his charcoal-gray cashmere overcoat. His jaw-dropping good looks didn’t score him any points with Devon, however. She’d learned the hard way not to trust handsome heartbreakers like Cal Logan.
But he was a client. An important one. And she was willing to give someone who’d served a hitch in the Marines before earning a B.S. from the University of Oregon, an MBA from Stanford and his first million at the ripe old age of twenty-six the benefit of the doubt.
Right up until he spotted the hot pink pashmina, that is.
Sabrina had indicated she’d be wearing it, and the flash of color was certainly more visible than the sign Devon held up with his name on it. So she wasn’t surprised when Logan picked her out of the crowd and cut in her direction. She’d just plastered on her best EBS smile when he whipped an arm around her waist. The next moment, she was sprawled against his cashmere-covered chest.
“Hello, Brown Eyes.”
Swooping down, he covered her mouth with his.
Sheer astonishment kept Devon rooted to the spot for a few seconds while her mind whirled chaotically. Her first thought was that her client had downed a few too many drinks during the long flight. Her second, that he’d seriously mistaken the kind of escort and consulting services EBS provided. Her third shoved everything else out of her head.
Whoa, mama! The man could kiss!
His mouth moved over hers with a skill that ignited sparks at a half-dozen flash points throughout her body. Devon hadn’t experienced that kind of spontaneous combustion in a while. A long while.
The sparks were still popping when she pushed off his chest, only now they fueled a flush of anger.
“Do you always greet women you don’t know with a lip-lock, Mr. Logan?”
A smile crinkled the skin at the corners of his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I don’t. That was from Don.”
“Huh?”
“He said he owed you one from New Year’s Eve two years ago and made me promise to deliver it.”
She stared up at him in total incomprehension. Logan hooked a brow and attempted to prompt a nonexistent memory.
“He abandoned you at the Waldorf. Five minutes before midnight. To deliver twins.”
“I don’t have a clue who or what you’re—”
Understanding burst like a water balloon.
“Wait a sec. Are you talking about Sabrina’s old boyfriend? Your buddy, who’s now an ob-gyn doc?”
It was Logan’s turn to look startled. He recovered faster than Devon had, though. His smile widened into a rueful grin.
“I take it you’re not Sabrina Russo.”
“No, Mr. Logan, I am not. And if you’d listened to any of the voice mails we left on your cell phone in the past twenty-four hours,” Devon added acidly, “you’d know Sabrina came down with the flu and couldn’t make the trip.”
“Sorry. I’ve been in the air for twenty-three of those twenty-four hours. I had to make a quick trip to the West Coast before turning right around and heading for Germany.”
She knew that. Still, that was no excuse for his behavior. Or…what was worse…her reaction to it.
“My cell-phone battery crashed somewhere over Pennsylvania,” he said, his smile holding an apology now. “I crashed somewhere over the Atlantic. Any chance we can erase what just happened and start again?”
Oh, sure. As soon as her lips stopped tingling and her nerves snapping. Reminding herself that he was a client, Devon forced a stiff nod.
“Good.” He shifted his briefcase to his left hand and held out his right. “I’m Cal Logan. And you are?”
“Devon McShay. One of Sabrina’s partners.”
“The history professor.”
So he’d done some checking on the small firm he’d hired to work the details of his five-day, three-city swing through Germany.
“Former history professor,” she corrected as she led the way toward the baggage-claim area. “I quit teaching to join forces with Sabrina and Caroline at EBS.”
“Quite a career shift.”
“Yes, it was.”
She left it at that. No need to detail her restless-ness after her divorce. Or her ex’s very public, very mortifying attempt at reconciliation on the six o’clock
