Page 43 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

As a child, he had lost not one, but two families.

The family of his birth he had lost to a car accident when he’d been just four years old.

Of them, he had only a few vague memories, warm and fuzzy images really, of a man and a woman, and scents that brought them back to mind.

That loss was scarred over and almost unfelt by now.

No, it had been the second time that his family had been stolen from him—fourteen years later when he’d lost his beloved adopted family—that had cauterized any urge in him to try again.

He refused to allow the opportunity for that kind of loss into his life again.

He did not want confidants.

He wanted meaningful work.

He did not need intimacy.

He had his fires.

He wanted to fulfill the promises he had made his parents and enjoy the fruits of his labor in peace.

And to that end, there would be no more inviting colleagues to Aspen.

His compound would return to being solely his private retreat. Anything else risked the kind of feelings he refused to welcome back into his life.

And yet when he had been alone, after Miri had gone to bed last night, with just the remnants of the doughnut box and her empty rosé glass to remind him that he had spent most of his day with a woman he had only just met—even going so far as to lose track of time with her—it had not been regret that he felt.

Or rather, it had been, but not regret that he had brought her into his sanctuary.

It had been regret that he hadn’t taken her back to his room.

Last night he had been willing to admit that he had enjoyed her company.

Today, however, he would remember the fact that he was not allowed to.

He might be one of the richest men in the world but enjoying Miri’s company in any way beyond the brunch they shared now or long planning meetings could get her fired.

And entirely willing to blame the truth of it on Colorado, he already cared enough about her that he couldn’t let that happen.

They ate in relative quiet for most of the meal, each enjoying the well-made feast in front of them, with a brief moment in which they each paused to gaze into the incredible storm outside.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s letting up any,” she said quietly, and he shook his head.

“No, it doesn’t, and neither is it predicted to anytime soon,” he replied.

Moistening her lips, she opened them to say, “It’s incredible. So powerful. Able to make it seem like the entire world has disappeared.”

She was right, he thought, responding to her words with a nod as he, too, stared at the force outside.

It was easy to imagine the estate was a world of its own—and they the only people in it.

Noticeably shaking herself free from the storm’s hypnosis, she gestured to her near-cleared plate. “Everything was delicious. Amazing. Like a restaurant,” she said, finishing the last of her plate before leaning back with a champagne glass in her hand. “Thank you,” she added.

“I’m glad you enjoyed. I’ll pass the word along.”

“You have enough staff to cook a meal like this, but I never see them around,” she noted, looking around the room that held only the two of them.

The decor of the formal dining room was dominated by natural wood and large beams, and also like the rest of the space, he’d lightened the heavy impression of both by installing massively enlarged windows and utilizing white accents.

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