34. Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
Tuesday, 3 days before the wedding: Frankie
B efore she opened her eyes, Frankie felt the blissful weight of her relaxed limbs. The dry, soothing heat from the stove enveloped her, leaving the quilt draped across her lower half unnecessary. Memories of the romp she and Benjamin had shared the night before sent delicious curls of satisfaction through her bloodstream. Who knew that when it came to banging, that uptight, stick-in-the-mud would be so . . . intuitive? Erotic? Masterful?
However his skills should be labeled, all she knew was that she wanted more. Surely, another round before vacating the cabin was reasonable.
Frankie rolled over, reaching for the sexy man who’d rocked her world the night before and found nothing. Her eyes popped open and she searched the room. Sunlight glowed in through one of the windows, evidence that the storm had passed and they would be able to get the hell out of the valley that day. She sat up and scanned the small room. Empty except for a swish , swish , swish coming from the bedroom. Wrapping the quilt around her, she stood and meandered to the door.
Inside, Benjamin swept the shattered glass into a dustpan. He was fully dressed, but that didn’t keep Frankie from shivering at the recollection of what lay underneath his layers. Rock solid sex appeal. She grinned, watching him as he worked .
“Good morning,” she purred, slowly letting the blanket slide low on her breasts, hinting at the rosy peaks beneath. “Care for a little breakfast to start your morning?”
The length of time it took Benjamin to turn his head after letting out a heavy sigh cooled her libido. He leveled his gaze on her eyes with no consideration to drift lower. Enveloping herself against the sudden chill, she cleared her throat. “Is . . . Is everything ok?”
“Fine,” he clipped. The sweeping recommenced. “I just want to get out of here.”
“Yeah. Same.”
Frankie hovered a moment then turned back and dressed hastily in the living room. It wasn’t like she was expecting to cuddle up like a couple or anything, but she had expected a little more warmth. Perhaps a lingering hum of desire. A tiny crackle of want, like embers that hadn’t yet burned out in a campfire. Not a fully extinguished flame that fizzled before it ever had a chance to roar.
Maybe he slept like shit.
It made sense and would explain a lot. She leaned into that scenario as she folded the quilts they used for their makeshift bed.
They worked around each other, erasing any evidence that they’d spent two nights in the cabin aside from the broken window and reduced supply of dried goods. In their silence, the process took about an hour, and as they hoisted on their packs and stepped out the door, Frankie wondered where the hell she’d gone wrong.
The sun hovered blindingly in the cloudless winter sky. It shined cheerily down upon the undisturbed snowfall that coated the trees and boulders meandering along the valley. The blanket of crystalline flecks covered the dips and mounds like fistfuls of iridescent sanding sugar on a white cake. Every now and then a delicate breeze drifted through the trees, kissing the branches together with the tinkling chime of ice against ice. The air smelled fresh. Long gone was the musty scent of autumn with its fallen leaves and earthy mushrooms. Winter had arrived despite what the calendar said, and typically, Frankie would have been overjoyed.
Typically.
Instead, the sour tang of rejection sullied her tongue as she tried to enjoy the leathery piece of jerky that was her breakfast. Even without the breeze, it was cold. The temperature likely hovered around the high teens, but she didn’t feel much of it.
What she felt was pissed.
And a little used.
The humor in that wasn’t lost on her; it just didn’t land like it should have. Typically, she was the one doing the using, although the men she played with were always happy to oblige, so could she really call it that?
Neither she nor Benjamin had spoken beyond a quick “you ready” and a “yep” as they left the life-saving shelter. And then, with the trudge in knee-deep snow on what Frankie was pretty sure was the trail that would lead them to a trailhead along Highway 2, the silence was loud. Deafening. A distraction.
Unable to hold her ire back any longer, she spun around.
“What the hell , Benji?”
His eyes widened behind foggy glasses as he popped his head up in surprise. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb, professor .” She air quoted his title as the scorn dripped with her words .
“I am a professor.”
“What?”
“I am a professor,” he said exasperatedly, removing his crooked frames and buffing out the lenses with his undershirt. He replaced the smeared result on the bridge of his aristocratically masculine nose. “Air quotes imply satire or sarcasm when applied to a phrase, but since I do, in fact, teach at a university—”
“Ohmygod, stop.” She retraced a few steps using established footprints and lumbered angrily back to him. “You know what I am talking about—last night. We had sex—great sex, actually—and now you’re enacting the silent treatment like I . . . I dunno . . . like I switched your lecture USB drive with one loaded full of dick pics or something.”
His lip twitched, though Frankie couldn’t be sure if it was while suppressing a smile or a frown. Either way, it was a reaction.
Finally.
Anger would be fine.
Amusement would be fine, even if it were at her expense. But what she couldn’t handle was the reinsertion of an aloof chill, not so soon after they’d . . .
“It’s not personal,” he finally said.
“Well, I should hope not. I know I didn’t do anything wrong.” She crossed her arms, recalling the way their bodies molded together, how filthy words flowed from his characteristically proper mouth.
Goddammit, Francesca.
You’re ruining me.
She shivered despite the sweat that trickled down between her shoulder blades.
“It’s complicated,” he huffed, brushing past her—trying to at least—to continue down the trail.
“So use little words, and maybe I’ll be able to keep up.” She bounded past him like a ridiculous golden retriever puppy because, surprise, surprise, it was impossible to march purposefully in knee-deep snow. Taking the lead, she stopped ahead of him again.
“It doesn’t matter. What happened happened. It’s over. Done.”
“I still don’t get it.” Impulsively she raised a hand and settled it on his chest. “Last night was incredible. And just so you know, I’m not one to stroke a man’s ego. The key is to let them go home thinking they need to work just a little bit harder the next time—”
His deepening scowl cut off her words.
Focus, Frankie.
“My point is,” she continued, “we were amazing together, and that’s not only my self-inflicted-fall-quarter-vow-of-celibacy talking.”
“Francesca,” he said, exasperated. She was wearing him down. Just a little more. She needed to know what went wrong and why he didn’t want an encore of last night.
Why he didn’t want her.
“Look,” she pushed. “I’m not looking for anything serious, but it would be foolish to ignore the chemistry we have. Why not relinquish control and see what happens?”
He trained his especially icy eyes on her face, scanning for answers like he was some artificially intelligent robot trying to solve a riddle. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, looked to his feet, and puffed out a ragged breath. Frankie waited for him to look back up at her, allowed him the time to organize his thoughts, to come to the same conclusion that she had. But all the heat fled her body as he leveled a frigid expression on her.
“Last night was a mistake, Francesca,” he stated coolly with his Professor Clark mask secured in place. “I take full responsibility for my actions. It should not have happened and it will not happen again. Period. Out of respect I will keep our interaction to myself. I hope that you will extend me a similar courtesy and do the same.”