Page 52 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

CHAPTER SEVEN

ONCEAGAIN,BENJAMINARRIVED before Miri.

Waiting for her for the second time in the same day, he wondered how she had spent the hour or so that they had been apart and considered the fact that a part of him had actually been reluctant to say goodbye to her.

What did that mean?

Despite his commitment to showing her a good time, he had needed the solitude after the incident with the menorah.

It was ridiculous, he knew, to have had such a strong reaction to the idea of bringing it down, but it had surged nonetheless. The last time he had placed candles in the menorah and lit them had been the last year his parents had been alive. There was something visceral in that, a kind of physical memory that could not help but remind him of things that were better off left in the back of his mind.

But to deny Miri’s request, a simple and obvious one given the circumstances and time of year—two Jews stranded together over Hanukkah—would be to punish her for the fact that he had things he’d rather remained buried and forgotten.

If it weren’t Hanukkah, she wouldn’t have even suggested it.

He knew that.

It was a normal, logical idea.

Except that unpacking his old family menorah, freeing all the associated memories it held, wasn’t a normal thing for him to do, at all.

And certainly not with a woman he barely knew.

It was an intimate thing to do.

Just like everything else that had occurred between them since their meeting had ended—an hour later than it should have.

For not the first time in his life, what a difference an hour had made.

It was the difference between appreciating the opportunity to work with a woman possessed of a body as fine as her mind and knowing what that woman felt and tasted like.

It was the difference between getting important work done and showing her a good time that was becoming progressively more personal.

He would put a stop to the momentum tomorrow, should the storm continue.

He would create some distance between them, blaming work if need be, to ensure there were no more slipups.

He had never had to be so diligent around anyone before.

But was it any wonder, really?

Even time worked strangely around Miri, flying by or stretching long in correlation to whether he was deep in conversation with her or anticipating the point at which he would see her again.

It was not an experience he regularly had in his life.

He had mastered time a long time ago.

The death of his adopted parents had been due to losing track of distance and time and running out of fuel in a rickety yacht just waiting to sink, and because of that he had disciplined himself into a man who was strictly aware of each minute as it passed, always knew where he was and insisted on high quality.

He controlled his time, he controlled his relationships, and through that, he limited life’s capacity to surprise or hurt him.

But he was frequently surprised when it came to Miri.

At her door, to which he had personally led her through the multiple staircases and long hallways between the attic and her room because he hadn’t wanted her to get lost, he had told her, “Dinner will be set for us at the informal table, near the fireplace where we ate the doughnuts.”

Heat had come to her cheeks at the reminder of their night, as it had every time anything touched on what they had done on the couch, and she had clutched his old clothing to her chest, her glowing amber eyes racing with thoughts that she did not share. Instead, all she said was, “Great. I think I can make my way back there.”

And he had wanted more, had walked away looking forward to the moment when he could have it.

---