Page 36 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

The tiny nonprofit that had coordinated his adoption, a group that did the legwork of connecting Jewish children that fell into the system with Jewish families, had been funded by the foundation.

When he’d reached a place in life in which he had money to give away, he had given it there.

And when he’d reached a place in life in which he had become coveted for boards of directors, he had offered his time to the foundation.

Surely his lifelong gratitude and appreciation for, as well as his now longtime participation with, the group were reason enough to keep his hands, and mouth, off Ms. Howard.

Miri.

His mind corrected the attempt at distancing her immediately; her first name had already become the auto default.

He liked the way it sounded, how it felt in his mouth.

She wasn’t Ms. Howard—the new hire he was assigned to work with to salvage the gala. She was Miri—a woman who loved rosé and tasted like vanilla sugar.

He liked her saying his name almost as much.

He felt it as it left her mouth, running along his skin like satin in the silk of her low register, lifting the hairs on his arms as it went.

Each time, it rang through his ears like a preview of what could be, what it might sound like were she gasping it, and paired with the kiss they had shared, left him in a state of mild pain with wanting.

He had intended to give her two hours of his time the day before, no more.

Now they faced days together.

He should be designing software.

Instead, he was mentally rearranging his day to play host.

He had told her he would show her a good time.

He would, and though it was crass, he knew he already had.

A woman didn’t respond like she had if she wasn’t having a good time.

Now all he had to do was actually deliver on the original intention of his statement when he had told her she would be well taken care of for the duration of her stay, which had not been seduction.

He’d intended to feed her well and keep her company while she was stranded in his home.

He was man enough to provide that, even in the face of their professional breach.

He trusted that they were both mature enough to navigate their morning after, so to speak.

They had to. Both of them would continue their work with the foundation, so they had to.

It would have been easier if he didn’t already know what she felt like in his arms.

So he simply would not think about that.

He could not wipe the slate of experience clean—wouldn’t want to, in all honesty—but he could certainly set it aside. He was Benjamin Silver.

And he had a guest to feed.

Ringing his assistant through his centralized intercom system, he confirmed that Ms. Howard did not appear to have woken yet and instructed his assistant to have breakfast prepared for them in the formal dining room.

The long table would remind him to show her the kind of good time that could be discussed over the water cooler.

They could eat and make small talk and Ms. Howard would have a pleasantly impersonal experience for the rest of her time here.

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