Page 72 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

It felt like so long ago now that she’d even wanted to resist him. It was foolish to resist him—not because it was hard, but because it was foolish to resist the wonderful and precious gift of feeling close to someone, of inexplicably knowing it was safe to place trust in them, even without having known them long.

It was that very balance of hot and cold that made him worth both opening up to and investing time in. Though he led with cold, the heat within him ensured he would never be devoid of life.

And yet that was the part of himself he kept hidden in the woods.

Tearing her gaze away from him, she looked into the fire and tried to get a hold of herself. The longer they remained in their magical storm, the more theatrical her thoughts became, apparently.

“It’s a shame you don’t have any family to share the recipes with,” she said, trying to find some practical footing again. “They’re so delicious and we might be the last people to know it.”

At her side, she felt rather than saw him stiffen and turned to him in concern.

Some of the warm openness of his expression had seeped away, leaving something hopeless and grave in its wake.

“If you’d like, I could make you a copy,” he offered, not looking at her but staring into the dark storm outside.

She wanted him to smile again.

“Honestly, I’d love that, but family recipes are meant to be enjoyed by descendants, connected people passing flavor and technique and pride down through the ages and all of that. That’s what makes them family recipes and not just great ones.” She’d kept her voice and goading light, to let him know she teased, but if anything, his expression only hardened.

“These are just destined to be great ones, then, because there is no family to carry them on.”

“You count as family,” she said, wondering if perhaps being adopted had made him feel the imposter, but his next words, his tone sharper than she had yet to hear from him, suggested otherwise.

“Of course I count as family,” he snapped, harshness in how fast the words lashed out. “For a moment, I was their new hope for it even. My mom talked about it, how she looked forward to keeping the traditions alive with my kids, how it would keep both her and my dad’s families going, blood or no blood.” He let out an abrasive laugh. “But that didn’t happen. Instead, they died and with them everything else.”

“Well, not everything else,” she said softly. “Not you. And we kept some alive tonight. As long as you’re here, it’s up to you what lives and dies.”

Benjamin scoffed again, his expression dark. “Well, that’s a sad state of affairs for them, then, because I’m not going to pass them on.”

“Why not?” she asked, gentle, soft, like a deer padding quietly through his deep dark forest.

Turning back to her, anger and hurt in his gaze, lines of his face hard, he gestured around them. “What kind of family could I provide to anyone?” he asked, bitterly. “Resources are not the same thing as a safety net. Four loving parents could not keep me from ending up alone, and there is only one of me. What would happen to any family of mine, should I meet an untimely demise like my parents? It would be irresponsible.”

Feeling as if she were stepping through an unexpected minefield, Miri said, “Perhaps that’s a burden that wouldn’t just fall on your shoulders. Your partner, for example, could provide that safety net.”

“Partner?” He sneered at the word. “If the point is to pass on tradition, what is the likelihood that I’ll find the right partner in my available romantic pool? I’m a billionaire. I don’t move in regular circles and most people have something to gain from their association with me. So should I hand my grandmother’s recipe to a model that I met at a movie premiere? I can’t undo the effects of generations of oppression and trauma by having kids and it’s ridiculous to think I could. My mom could have, but not me. It’s a losing battle and the possible consequences aren’t worth the risk. Fortunately for the world, however, I know my strengths and I’ve figured out better ways to make an impact than keeping one family’s traditions alive.”

For a moment, Miri could not think of a thing to say. So much of what he’d spoken sounded more like the logic of pain than the logic of reason, and yet she could hear his conviction—could hear nights and years of coming to such conclusions with no one around to push back.

A part of her thought to argue, but the rest of her suspected that whatever points she made wouldn’t matter. Family, the idea of it, the loss of it, was too sore a wound for him.

And one she didn’t have the right to prod.

They might be playing at being lovers, but they both knew the game would last only as long as the storm did.

Who was she to suggest that the real reason he didn’t want a family was because he had never been able to get over losing the one he’d loved?

Who was she to suggest that he was afraid?

He was Benjamin Silver and she the events director for the JCF.

Finally, she said, “I’ve never thought of it that way. Not about traditions as part of making the world a better place nor about children as a tool to combat intergenerational trauma. I just love that it feels like you’re part of something bigger and more meaningful when you celebrate together and through time, and the idea of introducing new life to how great it can all be makes me happy. You’re right about changing the world, though. You’ve transformed the entire world, Benjamin. In a way you’re already going to live forever, but sometimes it seems like you’re afraid to be alive.”

He stared at her quietly, his eyes burning with intense blue fire, his face as hard as it’d been before she’d opened her mouth, and yet inside, she got the sense that he was on the edge of shattering.

After what felt like an eternity, he blinked, then closed his eyes, bringing a hand up to pinch the space between his eyebrows. Then he let out a long exhale.

Then he looked back at her, and his eyes were wide open again and because of that, she could see that deep inside him was an agonizing mixture of grief and pain.

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