Snowbound with the Suffragette: A steamy grumpy-sunshine snowed-in historical romance (The Flower Sisters) by Ginny B. Moore

Author:Ginny B. Moore [Moore, Ginny B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ginny B. Moore, Author
Published: 2023-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

How can I convince him to kiss me again?

Sadie washed her hands furiously in the sink, cursing the icy water that numbed her fingers before splashing a handful on her flushed face. That kiss, the simple touch of his lips, had been so far from frenzied, so distant from desiring, and yet…

So perfectly Garrett. Sweet and adoring and—

No, he didn’t adore her. How could he? How could anyone? The moment she’d asked her family to accept her for who she was, they declined. The sting had dulled in the past year but never fully healed; the wound resurfaced often enough to make her question her judgment.

She was prickly and impatient while he was kind and giving. She treated him with open disregard and sometimes hostility, and he called her “sweetness.”

No one had ever given her a pet name before, not one born of affection.

While she loathed to admit it, perhaps she had been wrong about him. But if he held more for her than mere desire, would it last when the snow melted and the real world pressed back in?

Sadie had never enjoyed reading romantic novels; so many pages wasted with heroines moaning over confused feelings and miscommunication. She swore she’d never be one of those hapless halfwits, that she’d boldly ask the question and end the story several hundred pages earlier: Do you desire me?

Perhaps that wasn’t the right question, or at least the unanswered one.

Will you still desire me when the snow has melted?

Her stomach swooped. She couldn’t just ask him that, could she? What if he said no? Then they’d be stuck sharing a space—a bed—until they were rescued. Suddenly the hapless halfwits seemed less harebrained.

Oh, Jane Austen. How I’ve misjudged you.

She would have stood in the washroom for longer, but the soles of her feet were growing numb. With a shake of her head, she summoned the communal strength of great feminist icons before her. Susan B. Anthony. Catherine the Great. Joan of Arc. Then she scurried back to the bedroom, eager to tell Garrett how she felt, to start their lives together—

But the bed was empty.

A bolt of panic struck her chest as she searched the room for any sign of him. His trousers were gone, as was his shirt. Irrational fear tugged at her gut, overloading her senses. Had he left her without a word? A sob slipped past her lips and she pressed her fist to her mouth to prevent another. More pressing than the fear of being left here alone was the staggering regret.

Grabbing her discarded clothing, tugged on her still-damp skirt and stockings, and dashed towards the front of the firehouse. She ignored her corset as she threw her shirt over her head and wrenched open the heavy door—

And collided with a wall of man and logs.

She shrieked and jumped back as the pile of firewood tumbled to the floor. Garrett gripped her upper arms and tugged her aside. “Christ, Sadie, you almost killed me!”

As she stared at him, she

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