Page 60 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

Ignoring the wine, she moved toward him.

It was a small motion, something no one else in the world would record or remember, but he knew he would never forget it.

The reasons why they should not clearly no longer enough to stop her, she reached for him.

Only a fool would not have reached back.

He was not a fool.

Eliminating the distance between them, he gathered her scantily robed figure into his arms, lifting her onto his lap once again as he tilted her face up toward his.

Their lips met, fitting together like puzzle pieces while flames flickered and danced in the fireplace, bathing their bodies with motion-filled light.

Her hands fisted in his hair as their mouths tangled, neither of them reserved or withdrawn.

It might have been snow madness.

It absolutely was.

There had been ample warning.

They were colleagues, not allowed to be lovers.

And yet they came together with smooth and supple ease.

She had moved to him, and then opened like a flower.

He plunged into her, savoring a nectar that was as intoxicating as if it had evolved to attract specifically him.

She sighed into his exploration, pliantly invested, savoring the sensations he brought to her while her fingers gripped his shoulders hard—not, he sensed, in an effort to remain upright, but in order to not let him go. In order that he not stop.

But she was in no danger of him stopping.

He had no stop left in him, save the emergency brakes reserved for her.

Only she could stop him now, not because they shouldn’t or couldn’t, not because of her job nor his, and not because he wanted to keep her at arm’s length.

None of those reasons was more compelling than she was.

None of them greater than his need to have her again—to have more of her.

He did not want a taste followed by another night of tossing and turning, and he was past worrying about it.

He wanted her naked, riding him like he suspected she could, or laid out below him, or presented in front him, on her hands and knees, her curves taking on the shape of the only kind of instrument he was interested in playing.

She looked so damn good in the robe.

It was a shame that it had to go.

Sliding its upper edges over her shoulders while she straddled him on the couch, their position a re-creation of the night before different only in that neither of them seemed to have any intention of slowing things down tonight and there were fewer layers of clothes between them to begin with.

Her beautifully rounded brown shoulders shone soft and smooth in the light, her large breasts looking like some kind of layer cake, dressed in a cornflower-blue lace bra.

Pooling at the base of her gently rounded stomach, accentuating the flare of her hips, moving the robe away had revealed a barely hidden goddess—the kind of woman who was built for everything a man might throw at her.

She had been sexy wearing the robe.

She was out of this world in just lingerie.

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