Page 31 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

Did she make contact first, or did he?

Would she ever know?

Did it matter?

Their lips connected, touched, hers soft and pliant, his wide, strong and full.

One of his hands came to her face, his fingertips tracing the line of her jaw, while he reached around her with the other arm, lifting her chest as he pulled her toward him to clutch her against him, her breasts flaring to life as they pressed into his chest.

With her hand, she gripped his forearm, holding him in their kiss. Her other hand she fisted into the thick silky brown locks that fell to his shoulders.

He growled into their kiss as her fingers tightened in his hair, the sound of his approval egging her on.

Like he had in the office that afternoon, he demanded more from her now—more passion, more access.

As she had earlier, she dug deeper, opened further, and delivered.

His tongue plundered, exploring her, dominant as his mouth made the kind of promises that only full bodies could keep.

Her nipples pebbled against the warm solidity of his chest while she spiraled not out, but into him.

Their breath entangled, leaving them both gasping as they angled for deeper connection.

He tasted sweet and heady, like doughnuts and wine, as implacable as the storm outside.

As with work, he wanted her best from this kiss.

Nothing else would he tolerate.

The challenge, spoken in the movement of lips and press of bodies, woke an answering intensity in her.

She would give him above and beyond.

Pouring herself into it, she unleashed all the repressed and unspent sensuality of her past.

It had been over eight years since she’d learned about her ex-fiancé’s betrayal and in the interim, while she had been on dates multiple times, she had found it too hard to trust to do anything more physical than offer sweet good-night kisses.

There was nothing sweet about the kiss she gave Benjamin Silver.

Theirs was the kind of kiss that led to more, to hands slipping beneath shirts and needing to slow down, lest inhibitions be forgotten in the heat of the moment.

It was the kind of kiss she hadn’t had since the days of being a high-school sweetheart skirting the line of chastity with good intentions and fast-beating hearts.

It rushed, flooded her with heat and recklessness that was less concerned with the circumstances and more concerned with what it would feel like if her skin was touching his.

What would his hands feel like on her breasts?

Lower?

She should have been scandalized, a relative innocent clinging to the rational in order to avoid exactly the kind of mess that she had been hired to clean up.

She wasn’t.

She was hungry and hot and light-headed on a combination of wine and the sensuality of the man she embraced.

His voice had been seducing her since she’d first answered the phone, his face from the moment she had disembarked the plane, and the hard planes of his body since she’d realized how much rigid strength they held.

He handled her with skill and ease, maneuvering her now as he wanted, running his hands along the curve of her back and down, along her hip, to grip and lift her until he held more of her weight, her very balance in his hands.

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