Page 33 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

She had had no idea.

They breathed like high schoolers on the brink of going too far, staring, until he reached for her again, cupping her head gently in his hands to bring them forehead to forehead.

Closing their eyes, they moved in sync, drawing in a deep breath together and releasing it slowly. After another, they opened their eyes again.

“We can’t do this, Miri,” he said, his smooth voice rough and deep.

In time, she would be humiliated—would reimagine herself sitting astride him wantonly as she was, breathing hard, and be mortified.

She knew that.

But that time wasn’t now.

Now she breathed heavy and fought the urge to argue.

Of course they could do this.

They were consenting adults.

No one had the right to tell them they couldn’t.

But she could get fired.

Creeping hints of the coming humiliation sprouted in the soil of her subconscious.

Leaning back, she brought her palms up to press her face into them.

She was going to get fired in scandal less than two weeks into her job.

Her stomach knotted.

“Miri, I...” Whatever he was going to say was lost as he trailed off.

Rubbing her hands down her face, she started the slow work of disentangling her leg from his lap in the plush sofa, careful to avoid as much contact as possible between her heated, sensitive skin and his body as she went.

I just lost my job.

The thought looped in her mind.

She was straightening her skirt when he reached out to grab her wrist.

The skirt stopped where it was, still hiked up one thigh.

She couldn’t avoid his gaze, was once again entrapped in its blue depth.

“Miri. That was absolutely my fault and will absolutely not affect your employment with the foundation.”

For the first time in her experience of him, he looked frazzled. His eyes at once imploring—clearly intent on assuaging the most obvious of the concerns that had just sprung up between them—and hot, sparking like blue embers each time they tripped back to her lips or lower.

He didn’t want to stop any more than she did, but he clearly had more sense and self-control in the matter than her.

Her stomach quaked and rolled.

All of the times she had forgotten herself in conversation with him—when she’d let snappiness creep in and when she’d spoken too casually—and now this?

He could only conclude that she was completely out of control—totally unprofessional.

Never mind the fact that derisive judgment was not what burned in his eyes as he watched her.

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