Page 54 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

They were the eyes of a woman with good ideas, a welcoming heart, and the strength of will to be honest and real.

They were eyes, he realized, that he couldn’t imagine tiring of, even should they be snowbound for the entire duration of Hanukkah.

She moistened her lips, reminding him of what it had been like to explore her mouth, and reached for the shammash.

He struck the lighter.

To the side of them, the fire in the fireplace made silhouettes of them both, two backlit and shadowed profiles gazing into each other.

She tilted the candle wick into the flame, holding it sure and steady until it caught.

Releasing the lighter, Benjamin watched her, attention focused and detailed, noting everything about her in this moment.

Her hair, the robe, her satin skin glowing in the firelight, her eyes bright—everything about her radiated.

Smiling upon the lighting, she turned to him.

She lifted her chin, angling her face toward his, taking a step toward him—opening her mouth to recite the blessings. It was natural for him to tilt toward her in return.

As if drawn by a force outside of their control, their mouths neared each other—until suddenly she blinked, gave her head a small shake and cleared her throat.

“Maybe it’s enough to just light the candles tonight?” she said breathily.

This time she had been the one to come to her senses.

Shaking himself, Benjamin flashed her a sardonic smile before looking up and away, staring into the storm in the darkness outside rather than the woman who was a flame to his moth.

“Certainly,” he said, his voice not his own, thick and gruff. “I’m sure you’re hungry. The table is ready if you are.”

Nodding, she jumped on the subject eagerly. “Yes, starving.”

He led her to the table and held out a chair.

She sat delicately, careful to ensure that the short robe continued to cover her ass as she did.

Clenching his hands around the chair, he swallowed as he gently pushed her in.

“Thank you,” she said. “Once again, everything looks wonderful. I hope we didn’t let it sit too long.”

Her voice was airy and light.

“Nothing to worry about. Hot plates,” he said, gesturing to the well-set table, each dish sitting on a state-of-the-art warming plate kept at its own perfect temperature.

“It looks delicious,” she said, drawing in a deep inhale. “Smells delicious, too.”

Recalling her story from the previous night, Benjamin had ordered a slow-cooked matzo ball soup for the night, with sides of grilled fish, roasted vegetables and fresh baked bread.

And once again he had selected the wine for the night, choosing from among the bottles he had the most anticipation around.

The wine was delicious.

The food, however, was unexpectedly disappointing.

Miri didn’t think so, however, based on her commentary and sounds of approval.

“It’s good,” he said, unwilling to disparage his chef in the face of what was arguably a delicious soup, “but something is not quite right.”

She laughed at that, the sound blunt and casual and comfortable, and teased, “It’s not your mom’s.”

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