Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed, page 12
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.”
And though he had stopped being sentimental about his mother’s cooking a long time ago—if only because he could no longer remember what it tasted like—he realized that Miri was right.
He had thought he had forgotten it, but tasting the soup tonight, he knew that what was in front of him wasn’t it.
Miri, however, leaned back from her plate with a contented sigh. “That was fantastic. It’s just too bad we ate all those doughnuts last night.”
Laughing that she could crave more doughnuts after their smorgasbord the night before, he said, “No doughnuts tonight. But the chef did put together some delicious blackberry pie and fresh vanilla ice cream. The vanilla comes from my home in Seychelles.”
She snorted. “You know they also sell it at the grocery store.”
He laughed out loud at that.
There again was that spine, and it was even sexier showing up when she wore nothing but a robe.
“Wait until you taste it before you say that,” he challenged, appreciating the way her cheeks shone in the firelight and the aftermath of wine. “I can guarantee you’ve never put anything in your mouth quite like it.”
A familiar duskiness came to her cheeks, a blush darkening them without diminishing any of their glow.
On the surface, he spoke of vanilla but they both knew he suddenly made promises that didn’t have anything to do with dessert.
They both understood it, and they were both curious—at least, according to the look in her eyes and the heat of her cheeks.
Watching her, he fought the sense of possession that rose within him.
She was not his, regardless of the fact that she wore his robe and had eaten the food of his world.
Persephone had not been allowed to leave after consuming pomegranate seeds.
They’d had multiple meals now.
Didn’t that mean she couldn’t leave?
He was surprised to realize he didn’t want her to.
Aspen was his private sanctuary, but he was enjoying sharing it with her.
Across from him, Miri cleared her throat, and then shocked him with the words, “So what are we waiting for, then? Time to put your money where your mouth is.”
She had to have been aiming for something else, something tough or playfully combative, he guessed—not the provocative challenge that came out.
At least, that was what he surmised by the way her eyes widened after the words left her mouth and her face flamed even further, her plump lips dropping open.
He had kissed those lips only the night before, and she had ended up on his lap when he had.
Could the same happen two nights in a row?
The answer should have been a resounding and absolute no, but it was not.
Instead, he wanted to put the question to the test, to see where she ended up in that little robe.
But he would not act on his impulses.
Things had gone too far last night on impulse. There was no sense in pushing the boundaries for a second night in a row.
Rising, acutely aware of the pulse and throb of each blood vessel in his body, some of which were more insistent than others, Benjamin said smoothly, “If you knew how much I wanted to, Miri.”
Words, it seemed, had abandoned him, too.
Whatever he’d been left with had him moving toward something he knew he wasn’t supposed to have with unstoppable purpose, careless of all the reasons why he should not.
Turning to get her dessert was the only way he was able to take his eyes off her.
Retrieving their dessert plates from the covered and temperature-controlled containers his staff had left them in, he placed two delicate plates in front of her.
Their eyes locked again, and once again, there was a long moment in which they simply stared.
When she finally said, “Thank you,” her voice was rough.
He nodded, replying, “My pleasure,” before returning to his seat where his eyes found her again, dropping to the vee where the robe overlapped to cover her breasts.
As tightly as she had initially had it cinched, and it had been enough to bring his attention and appreciation to the way it emphasized the pinch of her waist, it had loosened over the course of their meal, now revealing a tantalizing hint of the swell of her breasts.
He was playing with fire and could not seem to stop.
“Mmm...” she moaned, and his eyes shot back to her face, his body abruptly and absurdly stiff in attention.
It was the ice cream she purred over, not him—her mind far from the prurient thoughts that raced through his head upon hearing the sound—and it didn’t matter.
Watching her enjoyment activated his own pleasure.
She savored each bite, balancing warm pie on her spoon with the creamy, smooth ice cream. And each time she closed her eyes, tilting her head faintly back.
She swallowed and he followed the movement of her throat, unable to look away.
Somewhere in the barrage of her indulgence, he managed to finish his own portion, barely tasting it for all that he knew it was delicious.
It did not compare to her.
When she had finished the last bite, she opened her eyes, the whole of her person radiating a satisfied glow. “You were right. That was absolutely delicious.”
For an instant, speech evaded him.
Then, clearing his throat again, he said, “I like to deliver on my promises.”
Her gaze darkened at his words, her pupils dilating, and she gave her head the tiniest of shakes.
Blushing, she pulled back, energetically as well as physically leaning back, and gave a forced sounding chuckle. “I guess that’s how you became Benjamin Silver, self-made billionaire.”
He didn’t want to talk about how he’d distracted himself from loneliness for years, drowning himself in work in order that he not have time or space to think about all the irreplaceable things he had lost on the boat that day.
He wanted to unwrap the gift that was her robe and appreciate the present inside.
But they weren’t supposed to.
It wasn’t allowed.
There could be consequences.
She wasn’t ready.
Her eyes were wide, and her breath was short, her breasts lifting with each inhale, but she held back.
And he would not push her. Something deep and primal within him knew he didn’t really need to.
She wanted to come play with him.
She just seemed to be trying harder to recall why that was a bad idea.
The self-made billionaire Benjamin Silver, as she had called him, knew that sometimes you had to wait to get what you wanted.
“I made my money by having nothing else to live for outside of my calling,” he said, joking but also serious. His passion had been the only bridge between his parents and life that existed for him for a long time. “Coding, software engineering, design, all of it came to me as if I had been born with the understanding. It was my parents’ greatest wish that the world would recognize that someday. After they were gone, losing myself in my studies and personal projects were the only things I could do to feel like a working part of the planet anymore. By the time I came out of that, I had made my first million. It was easy after that.”
He had not planned on being quite so revealing with what he told her, but when had he ever with her? She had a way of drawing more out than he intended to give.
She gave back just as much.
Compassion warred with disbelief in her face. “I don’t know if I should be depressed, impressed or incredulous,” she said, beautifully honest, as always.
Amused by her frankness, he smiled. “Incredulous,” he challenged.
A spark lit in her eyes, and he knew she wouldn’t shy away.
“Easy? I don’t think you know how hard it is out here for some of the rest of us poor souls.”
“Of course I do. I told you, I wasn’t always rich.”
“But you were never poor, either,” she challenged.
Lifting an eyebrow, he pushed back. “And you were?”
“Recently, yes,” she said, bringing her hands together and closing her eyes as she recalled. “In the gap between graduation and getting the job at the foundation, I was holding it together with piecemeal part-time jobs, but barely. If I hadn’t been hired by the foundation when I was, though, I would have lost my apartment. It was pretty grim there for a while, facing either moving back into my parents’ garage or living in my car. But then I got this swanky new job that I must preserve at all costs,” she said, smiling with a serious look in her eyes. “I can’t afford to lose this job,” she added, and in it, he heard unspoken concerns about the security of her position.
There were reasons to dislike being her boss, so to speak. He wanted a different kind of power over her, the kind that ruled body and mind, not paycheck. He resented the shadow of coercion the fact that he could fire her brought into their relationship.
He wanted things to be different between them because he wanted her—even more powerfully than he had their first night together.
And despite that, he focused on her seriously and spoke clearly when he said, “No word will ever come from me that you are not the ideal individual for your position. You’ve convinced me with your work, and I would never put the foundation at risk of losing you.”
Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she exhaled a long breath.
He frowned while her eyes were shut, even more frustrated to have work exist between them.
And yet without the foundation, he would have never met her.
Causing her to fear for her future was not showing her a good time, however. Nor, even, was alleviating that fear.
He wanted to make her smile.
She opened her eyes, expression earnest, to find him staring.
A slight frown drawing her eyebrows together, she said, “Thank you. I was worried after last night...”
“We’re fortunate in being hundreds of miles away from anyone who might care, and neither of us is interested in reporting what went down here. As to last night, you have nothing to worry about.” It was a promise he would use his considerable power to ensure he kept.
And he would make her smile again.
Voice turning teasing, he prodded her away from the direction of her fears. “So, you’ve struggled, it sounds like, but only recently. What about in childhood?”
Lifting an eyebrow at his question, she eyed him warily as she shook her head. “As a kid, things were happy and stable. We were never rich or anything, but I didn’t have to worry about my needs being met, and my parents were able to afford things that weren’t cheap, like piano lessons and judo.”
“What did your parents do?” he asked, increasingly curious about everything that made her her.
“My dad is a pastor with his own church and my mom works for him as an administrator and all-around helpmate. The congregation pays the bulk of their salaries, which while not crazy by LA standards, was enough for a happy childhood and a bunch of spoiled grandkids.”
Lifting his brow in response, Benjamin asked, “A pastor?”
Cringing slightly, Miri nodded. “Yep. There’s a reason religious holidays are so big with my family.”
A deeper understanding of her feelings of unbelonging dawning on him, Benjamin was softer than he might otherwise have been upon learning the information.
Instead of sarcasm or dry humor, he offered, “I hope he comes around to seeing the great value in interfaith celebrations in the future.”
Startled, her face shot to him, her eyes widening as she moved. A look entered them that was part hopeful and part vulnerable, and she swallowed. “Thanks,” she said, after licking her lips, and he could tell that as much as she might be afraid to, she hoped that vision would come true, too.
He could tell she missed being a part of moments that were simultaneously familial and sacred.
He was honored to understand that about her. He got the feeling she kept a lot of herself hidden from the world around her.
But she still wasn’t smiling.
So he said, egging her on through his tone and arch look, “Judo? I’m intrigued. Piano fits.”
Her expression lost a bit of its softness. “And how’s that?”
“It’s a proper activity for a good Christian girl,” he said with a sly grin and a shrug. “But judo? So violent.” He shuddered in mock horror and her eyes lit with humor.
“Those of us that went to public school needed to be able to defend ourselves,” she teased.
“So you’re a public school brat then,” he said, pleased to see her lift her chin with a glint coming to her eyes.
“And proud of it,” she said, the corners of her mouth finally lifting.
He smiled.
He hadn’t had a guess in either direction; he’d simply wanted to see her with her dander up again.
She was beautiful when she sparked.
She was always beautiful.
Blinking to break the spell, he cleared his throat and gestured toward her plate. “Do you want any more?”
She started, confused for a moment as to what he referred to, before looking down at her empty plate. She looked back at him with a smile and a shake of the head. “I couldn’t possibly, I’m stuffed. What I want most right now is a comfortable place to stretch out for a post-meal coma.”
He chuckled, amused by her way of being frank without crass, only mildly taken off guard by the satisfaction it gave him to feed her.
Why should providing for her fill him with such warmth? She was his guest, and it wasn’t like it was a challenge for him physically or financially. It should have been a basic, second-nature thing to see to his guest’s pleasure, and yet the evidence of hers made him pleased and smug—more akin to a caveman providing for his woman than a wealthy contemporary man seeing to his guest’s comfort.
The achievement of pleasing Miri felt more like a necessity than a nicety.
“That can easily be arranged. Shall I walk you back to your room and the large bed awaiting you?” he began, only for her to stop him with a quick shake of the head and blush.
“No, no, no. I mean, no thank you. I’m not quite ready for sleep yet,” she said, her voice taking on a breathy note it had lacked before. After a swallow, she moistened her lips. “Besides, why go so far when there is that gorgeous sofa and fire just right over there? Plus, the candles haven’t burned out...”
Her eyes were like candles themselves, burning bright, their fire searing through everything that covered him.
He swallowed.
They had gone to the couch once before and the results had been...heated.
They’d already been playing with fire—throughout the entire meal, in fact—and he was struggling to resist the effect she had on him.
“And what if we go too far?” he asked, unwilling to be anything but direct, even in the face of the currents running through his veins.
“No one ever need know if just this once...” she breathed, words thick.
His forearms tensed.
They shouldn’t, there were more reasons than one, but they wanted to, and she was right, for the moment, they were the only two people in the world.
“Is that what you want?” He forced the question even as he already knew his answer.
He wanted her more than he could remember ever wanting anything in his life.
But while it could be their secret, it must be the choice of both of them.
There would be no claims of being caught up in the moment, swept away by doughnuts and rosé.
Waiting for her to decide, however, was another torture. Watching her mind work, her silhouette outlined by the fire behind her, his breath bated because of her for the third time that day.
When she nodded, his breath caught, the muscles of his abdomen clenching at the same time.
Picking up the wine that remained in the decanter, he rose, gesturing for her to precede him toward the fire and sitting area.
Her gaze followed the path of his hand, her eyes and mouth widening as they landed on the sofa.
The scene of the crime.
Wise as she was, he knew there was still a chance she might change her mind.
Color came to her cheeks, and she swallowed, the closing and reopening of her lips a sensual thing.
Would her mouth be confident wrapped around him?
With a bodily shudder, he imagined it would.
She looked from the place they had kissed the night before back to him.
Lips remaining slightly parted, breath escaping her, she nodded again.
She stood and again he wanted to groan aloud.
The robe had loosened enough to reveal a hint of the lace brassiere she wore. Her heels clicked across the floor as she walked to the couch.
At the edge of the rug she stopped, and he held his breath, watching her, wondering what she would do next.
His question was answered when she slowly stepped out of the heels, one foot at a time, each one a sensuous rise and fall, before stepping barefoot onto the sheepskin rug and letting out a sigh.
The muscles of his lower abdomen tightened at the sound.
