Page 87 of Floodgates

“You’re so pathetic,” he snapped at me scornfully, yanking his wrist free. “You think Cord Nolan wants you for anything more than a quick fuck? You know better, but because you can’t stand to be alone, even for a short time, you’d let him do whatever he wants to you.”

I couldn’t speak. I could only stare at him.

“What? Are you going to fall apart now? Cause a scene?”

“No,” was all I could find the voice to say.

He shook his head disgustedly. “Whatever, Tracy, do what you want. I’m through groveling. You don’t want me, fine. It’s your choice.”

He turned and stalked away, and I was left standing alone in the hall, staring at the empty space where he had been. It was all so confusing. First he loved me and wanted me to take him back, and now it was fine that I wouldn’t. Most of all, I wished that I’d thrown out some zingers too.

If I’d still needed any sign to know I was altogether over Breckin Alcott, God, that would have been it. In the face of losing the supposed love of my life, I wanted to make sure I returned fire. If you wished for a scriptwriter when you were fighting, maybe you shouldn’t be fighting. Maybe it wasn’t worth it.

“Hey.”

I turned to find Cord leaning in the doorway.

“You want me to shoot him? I can make it look like an accident.”

I smiled at him as he closed in on me, finally taking my face gently in his hands.

“I don’t want you for a quick fuck.”

“You heard,” I mumbled, ashamed.

“I did,” he whispered, tilting my head back so he could bend and kiss me. It was soft, tender, and when I opened for him, he slipped his tongue inside to mate with mine.

He walked me backward, behind the stairs, and once there, he made the kiss long, slow, and deep, licking and sucking, nibbling on my lips until I was whimpering under the tender assault.

When he tore free, I was left shivering and panting, wanting the man almost painfully.

“Stay.”

I nodded and leaned back into the alcove, into the darkness, concentrating on calming my racing heart.

Minutes later, Cord came back. “So apparently there’s some sort of cheese festival here this weekend.”

I chuckled, and his smile was instant.

“As God is my witness, there’s a whole thing, so the bed-and-breakfast is all full.”

“I thought we had a reservation.”

“Apparently they could cancel at their discretion.”

“Or,” I said, surmising what had happened, “if the folks at the B&B had someone standing right in front of them willing to pay them, say, double or even triple?”

“Right.”

“Small towns,” I teased him.

“Yep.”

“So we gotta stay here.”

“Yes, we do.”

“In the same room?” I asked hopefully.