Page 38 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

A woman could hope.

A woman could also get out of bed, open the curtains, and find out one way or the other.

But if the storm had not passed, getting out of bed would be taking a big step toward facing Benjamin, which was something she honestly wasn’t certain that she could ever do again.

If the storm continued, there would be no escaping the awkwardness of the morning after.

Miri groaned again.

What had she been thinking?

The simple answer was that she had not been thinking.

She hadn’t been thinking about the precariousness of her position, or the importance of the gala, or the scandal that had been the catalyst for all of it.

She hadn’t been thinking about her boundaries and rules, or being guarded, or holding back at all—not with the doughnuts, not with the wine and certainly not with the man.

They had talked about things she didn’t talk about with anyone and done things she had only ever done with one other person.

Yesterday afternoon they had met for the first time and by nightfall they were making out on his couch.

Outside of coeds, who did that kind of thing?

She hadn’t even done that kind of thing when she was a coed.

And she had been a coed for almost a decade!

But lying in bed prolonging the inevitable was not helping her either.

She had to face both what lay outside the window and the man who dwelled inside the winter castle, if she wanted to get home.

And she desperately wanted to get home.

At home she could give herself the dressing-down she deserved for her insane and reckless behavior with Benjamin Silver.

At home, she could settle into the uneasy belief that he wouldn’t tell and that she wouldn’t tell and that the memory of their little secret would fade into the background until neither remembered it all.

Forgotten, exactly as it should be.

It would be easier to believe in her tiny apartment with a fresh change of clothes on—clothes that didn’t still bear traces of his scent from the night before.

Once she got home, she could put it behind her entirely—just as soon as she had a moment to go over every detail of it again, in the privacy of her own space, far away from the man at the center of it all.

She needed both—the examining and the forgetting.

And she needed to do it on her own turf, where the ground stayed exactly where it always had—beneath her feet.

And that meant she had to get out of this sumptuous bed and open the curtains.

Bolstering herself, she swung her legs free from the smoothest sheets she had ever slept in, enjoying the feeling of her toes curling in a plush rug.

Benjamin’s home really was comfortable—all the way down to the little details.

When she had first laid eyes on its monstrous size, she had thought there was no way it could be comfortable.

A structure so large would have had to be strange and cavernous, she’d thought, more like an industrial warehouse than a home, but it wasn’t so.

He had just made sure that all of the regular elements that made a building a home—windows, rugs, linens, pillows—were oversize and over-the-top to match.

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