Page 53 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

And now he waited for her in the sitting area.

Since when did he wait for people?

He didn’t wait for people.

Was there any greater waste of time than waiting for people?

A man could spend his whole life waiting and never get anything.

One had to act, and efficiently, to gain the kind of power and control to impact and save lives.

A man did not get there by waiting.

But, because it was Miri, he was waiting—and because it was her, the wait felt longer than it should have.

While he brooded on the couch and stared into the flames, his staff set the table and quietly left again, abandoning him once more to his private thoughts in his private living room.

“Things took a bit longer than anticipated.” Her voice broke into his thoughts first, entirely too welcome. “Turns out this was one of those rare times you were wrong. The high school attire didn’t fit and then took me a while to squeeze out of.”

Turning in her direction, all thoughts immediately disappeared from his mind.

How was it possible for a woman to look so absolutely stunning wearing a simple spa robe?

The short robe was wrapped and cinched tight around her waist, stretching across her chest at the same time it hugged her hips and skimmed across the tops of her thick thighs, barely covering her gorgeous ass.

On her feet, incongruously and painfully sexy, she wore her work pumps.

Clenching his fists at his sides, he swallowed, his own thighs flexing and releasing as he focused his entire strength and will on not leaping at her.

He had already acknowledged that she was put together like no other woman he had ever encountered.

Now he was forced to admit that he might be developing some kind of kink around it.

At the very least, she had become the prototype for a new fantasy overnight.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, forcing himself to be a host instead of a pervert, and she smiled.

The smile was a reward on top of her delicious body, and one that he didn’t deserve.

Not when he didn’t have the strength to redirect the flow of his thoughts.

“I figured we’d do the candles first,” he said, voice rougher than he had intended.

Or perhaps it was as rough as it needed to be, given the fact that she was standing over there looking the way she did when they were about to light candles in his family menorah for the first time since he had lost his family.

There was only so many stimuli a man could take.

“Sounds good to me,” she said softly, crossing the space between them, past the set table, to stand beside him in front of the fireplace.

The menorah rested on the mantel, candles in place.

Retrieving a lighter from his pocket, he held it up, gesturing with his other hand for her to do the honors.

Their eyes locked and though he would have thought it impossible only an instant before, for a moment he forgot about even the titillating robe.

Her eyes were so beautiful.

They were warm and boundless, tough and compassionate, brilliant and sexy.

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