Move, she mouthed to herself. As quietly as she could, she padded to the front window and pushed the curtain aside slowly with her fingertips.
There was something on the porch, but it wasn’t the wolf she’d imagined.
It looked like a… Blaire narrowed her eyes. Was that a limp turkey?
Movement caught her eye, and she nearly swallowed her tongue when she saw Gentry headed this way over the snow-covered parking lot. He wore jeans low on his hips and was pulling a white sweater over his head. Abs and perfect chest and that sexy V of muscle and, holy moly, she’d forgotten for a moment how drop-dead gorgeous he was. But when his face showed through the neck hole, she grimaced and hunched her shoulders. He looked utterly pissed off. What had she done now?
He marched up the porch with a deep frown on his face, picked up the—yep, it was definitely a dead turkey—by the feet and stomped off the porch and back toward his cabin.
Blaire sprinted for the door, threw it open, and yelled out before he got too far away. “What just happened?”
“Nothing important,” he called in a voice that was hoarse like he’d been yelling all night. “Breakfast is canceled. Rough night. I’ll see you later.” He didn’t even turn around once before he made his way back into his cabin with the limp poultry and slammed the door behind him.
The wind was arctic against her cheeks, but the sting of the frigid temperature was nothing compared to the slap she felt on her heart. Last night she hadn’t been able to sleep because she was so excited about breakfast. She was looking forward to seeing Gentry again and getting to know him better. A man who made her body feel like it did last night had to be worth getting to know, right? He hadn’t just screwed her and fulfilled his own desires. He’d taken care of her, put her needs before his, made her come twice to his once, and didn’t push them too far.
Too far…
Some dim memory ate at the very corner of her mind. I’m not even supposed to kiss you.
He’d said that last night, but distracted her away from the admission immediately. What did that mean?
Realization slammed into her like a sack of bricks. He wasn’t supposed to kiss her because he was with someone. He didn’t wear a wedding band. She’d checked. But that didn’t mean he was single. Now it made sense. He was off the table, and look what they’d done.
Blaire felt sick to her stomach.
She didn’t know who his girlfriend was, but Blaire’s guilt was bottomless. And if she was honest, she was instantly mad at him for not telling her and not stopping them last night.
He was only the second man she’d experienced intimacy with, and now she’d probably ruined some poor girl’s life who probably loved him, because why wouldn’t she? Gentry was confident, mysterious, strong, and sensual, and now he was chopping dang logs in that sexy tight sweater and jeans like he was some sexier version of the abominable snowman. If she had a rock disguised as a snowball right now, she would chuck it at his dick. The dick he was supposed to be using on his girlfriend. Or crap, she could even be his fiancé, Blaire didn’t know.
She slammed the door hard, but it banked back and hit her. With a screech, she slammed it again, followed it with her fists, and punched it closed the rest of the way.
“Ouch,” she yelped, rubbing her knuckles. Her fury was still infinite, bubbling up inside of her until she couldn’t see straight, so she stuck out her middle finger at the door. Felt good, so she did it with the other hand, too. And then she alternated her middle-fingers, jamming them toward where stupid, sexy Gentry was chopping wood like a dang hot lumberjack, probably to tempt her into being the other woman again. She made machine gun sounds as she punched her birds at the door. Still enraged, she karate kicked at the air, and then stomped into the bedroom.
She felt dirty. So dirty! This was all his fault. She might puke. Don’t look at the toilet.
Blaire’s eyes burned with tears that she refused to let spill, so she blinked over and over. She readied for the day in a haze, her mind spinning around and around her disappointment, not only in herself for not getting to know him better before fooling around with him, but for him being an unfaithful B-hole. And to be honest, her heart hurt way more than it should’ve. This was what men did, right? Of course, it was. Gentry was seven levels out of her league, younger than her by years, and the owner of this giant, beautiful inn. He could have whoever he wanted. And he did! And last night it just so happened to be her. Tonight it would be whoever he was dating.
She would not cry over this, not one single tear. This was part of getting back out there and dating. Ashlyn had warned her about this. She’d told her exactly how the dating world was, and Gentry had lived up to Ashlyn’s warnings one hundred percent.
Lesson learned. Time to move on.
Only it wasn’t so easy. She really, really liked him for reasons beyond her comprehension. The second she’d laid eyes on him, her body had liked him in some strange chemical reaction she hadn’t had with anyone else, and then with every second she’d spent with him, her heart had liked him, too.
Of course he was freaking taken!
Today was a light make-up day, wild curls piled into a messy bun, skinny jeans, snow boots, a red sweater, and a thick winter jacket kind of day. No point in dressing up to attract that cheaty little cheater who was still chopping wood outside. Chop, chop, chop. It echoed through the house. Apparently, he had the stamina of a Clydesdale. Annoying.
Blaire grabbed her purse and left the house, trotted down the stairs, almost busted her butt on the icy bottom one, saved her balance, dusted off her jeans primly, and walked to her car, which was still parked in front of Gentry’s cabin.