Chapter Seven-Gloria
H oly Father Christmas of orgasms.
Watching Bo come had to be one of the sexiest damn things I’d ever witnessed.
My heart squeezed.
My temperature soared.
I gasped as he writhed, prolonging my own orgasm and lifting me even higher.
By the time I fell back down to earth, I could barely breathe without acknowledging that something profound had just happened.
And not just the outstanding sex, but yes, that had been a part of it.
Bo shuddered and wrapped his arms around me, burying his beard against my neck. It tickled my skin, but it felt good.
I sighed appreciatively, nuzzling him back. For the first time ever, I felt petite, positively tiny as he held me in his massive embrace.
This was a first. Cuddling with a man who’d made me see stars only minutes before. Knowing that I’d brought him to the same level of pleasure that he’d given me— at least I hoped I did —well, that was just amazing.
Bo groaned and pressed both hands flat on the mattress beside my head. He pushed up on his arms, and I watched him cautiously.
I was dying to tell him how I felt. Wanting to know if he’d experienced the same oh my God moment I had.
This couldn’t be a one and done, could it?
I mean, he had to have felt the same earthquake I did, right?
His beautiful green eyes glittered down at me, and I chanced a smile at him, hoping to show him how on board with this I was.
I suppose I could blame it on being caught up in the warm, mushy aftermath of emotions that sometimes accompanied or followed great sex.
I waited for him to say some soothing words. To acknowledge whatever this was. My nerves increased. He slid out of me, grabbing the condom and holding it in place as he walked to the bathroom.
I admired his fantastic ass as he did, and pretending not to hear him as he used the toilet and flushed. The sink turned on next, and I assumed he washed his hands.
A moment later, he emerged wearing sweatpants and a flannel shirt.
“Bo? Where are you going?”
“I’m going to check the cabin. Make sure it’s safe for you to go back.”
“Oh. Um, thanks,” I murmured, covering my nudity with my hands.
It didn’t matter. He’d already turned around.
I slid down the bed and stood up, grabbing the robe I’d discarded earlier and wiping my face.
Stupid traitorous tears.
Sniffing, I used the bathroom, washed my face then marched into his bedroom and grabbed a tie from the closet, using it as a makeshift belt.
I found Frou-Frou sleeping inside his carrier. Not that I could blame my little prince of a cat.
It was one of those gigantic carriers with a soft cushion for his fluffy bottom and plenty of room to move around. Beneath it was a travel litter box, which might have come in handy, if I was staying there, which clearly, I was not.
I found my boots and slid them on my feet, grabbing the throw blanket I’d used earlier. I had the blanket in one arm and was using both hands to lift Frou-Frou in his carry and carry him out the door when Bo came stalking across the yard.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
And the man looked appalled. Like he had any freaking right!
“What does it look like?” I answered with more than a little snark.
“Look the smoke cleared out, but it will be hours before the place warms up enough for you to be comfortable.”
“I brought warm clothes. I’ll be fine.”
“Slick—”
“Don’t you dare call me that!” I snapped.
I refused to let this brute of a man see how badly he’d hurt me. I sure as fuck wasn’t about to cry in front of him.
“Let me carry him,” he growled, grabbing the handle on top of the carrier.
“Get your paws off my pussy!”
“Ha! You weren’t saying that a few minutes ago,” he retorted.
“That’s it,” I mumbled, and lashed out with my booted foot.
It connected with his shin, and Bo muttered a curse. But he still managed to take Frou-Frou out of my hands.
He walked slightly ahead of me, grumbling about crazy city slicker women, and normally, it would have amused me.
But it didn’t. Because fifteen minutes ago, Bo DuBois had taken me to paradise, then the second he got what he wanted he’d turned into the same unfeeling bastard I’d met the first day I’d arrived on his mountain.
I should have left the second I saw him.
Should have known better than to drop my panties for a man I knew nothing about. A veritable stranger who did not know me at all.
It was my fault for reading too much into what was little more than scratching an itch for him.
Foolish of me to think about falling in love with a stranger.
It was my turn to curse myself a fool as I walked up the steps behind him.
“Gloria, it’s cold in here. Be reasonable. Come back to my place. I’ll sleep on the couch if that’s what’s bothering you,” he said.
“That won’t be necessary. Thank you. Please leave,” I murmured.
“We should talk—” he tried again.
But I did not want to hear it. Didn’t need him to explain to me that I was just a handy body.
“Just go!” I ran to the bathroom and locked the door behind me.
I heard him curse once more, and I might have imagined it, but I thought I heard him talking to Frou-Frou before the sound of the front door closing reached my ears.
The hum of the generator was soothing, and I listened as forced air made its way through the vent. It was still cold, though.
Shivering, I slid down to the rug and allowed myself a few moments of self-pity before I forced myself to get moving. I took another shower, washing Bo’s woodsy scent off my skin.
Then I dressed in thermal pjs, thick wool socks, and a long cozy sweater. Bo must have let Frou-Frou out of the carrier, since my little marmalade fur baby was presently sitting atop the sofa licking his paws.
I’d used the dryer on my hair but hadn’t bothered styling it, so I knew my short blonde curls were likely sticking up every which way.
“You’re not this person, Gloria. You don’t fall apart over one night— or in this case one afternoon —stands.”
Pep talks were not really my thing. As I tried to convince myself what had happened between me and Bo wasn’t the end of the world, I wound up making myself cry all over again.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
This wouldn’t do. I knew tomorrow I would have to be an adult and apologize to Bo over my insane emotions.
I made myself a hot toddy and put on one of the many old Christmas movies I’d packed and brought with me. I made myself an enormous bowl of popcorn, refilled my toddy, and sat on the sofa in a cocoon of blankets and pillows.
Die Hard was just the thing to take my mind off Bo.
Nothing like a little gun fighting with terrorists and a Christmas backdrop to make a gal feel better about her latest in a lifetime of lousy decisions when it came to men.
“Yippee-kai-yay,” I muttered and settled in.