Page 42 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

She laughed out loud at that, the sound as warm and crackly as the fire, and his smile grew.

Thiswas taking care of her—feeding her and making her laugh.

Not laying her down on the table and eating her like she was the meal.

Thiswas what he would provide today.

Casual conversation, rather than confessions—of the private history variety and of the subjects of late-night tossing and turning.

They could make small talk and eat, and perhaps even pass some of the storm time quietly working together again.

She had what she needed from him for the gala, he knew, but his office was equipped so that almost anyone with a white-collar to-do list could work on-site.

And after all of that, hopefully the storm would be abated and he could send her back home knowing that while they may have pushed a few boundaries, there had been nothing more damaging done than a rather tame transgression.

His mind protested the word tame in respect to what had transpired between them the night before, but he fought it.

Her body in his hands might have proven to be even more decadent than it had promised to be, but in truth it had simply been a kiss.

One that he would will away if he had to.

Iron will—the kind he relied on to come back to a coding or engineering problem time and again until he had a solution—was the only thing that had stopped him from taking things further with her last night, as the taste of her had made him feel as if he had reverted to being a teenager.

She was responsive and active, full of brilliant heat and warmth, and a part of him would always feel like he had been a fool to let the opportunity to experience her pass him by.

Even if it was an opportunity that should never have arisen in the first place.

Thinking back on it, he could see that the beginning of everything had been bringing her out to Aspen.

He should never have done that.

It was too relaxed here, too at home and comfortable and isolated and natural for anything but actual intimacy.

Intimacy he’d had with Miri.

As soon as she arrived, it had been inevitable.

For his work to be truly creative, he needed an environment in which he could be himself, where he could free his mind and let his ideas roam without limitation.

Only in that space could he come up with the kinds of ideas that could change the world.

His home in Colorado was that place.

Miri’s visit—with its losing track of time and honest conversation and passionate embraces—had made it clear, though, that he was too comfortable here.

He was too soothed by his fires and sense of home to recall just how big a risk it was inviting anyone into that space.

By necessity, his guard was down here, and without a guard, it was hard to resist Miri.

Which he would do even if she wasn’t his subordinate at the foundation.

He wasn’t looking for the kinds of relationships that the comfort and ease of feeling at home created—which was what Miri’s very essence seemed to foster.

He appreciated women—fast-paced women who were not looking to settle down any more than he was—and casual friendships of the mutually beneficial variety that left everyone involved richer for the experience.

Usually, literally.

Unlike Miri, he was not interested in replacing the family he still missed.

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