Snowed in with the Bear by Montrose Isadora

Author:Montrose, Isadora
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Isadora Montrose
Published: 2019-03-11T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Amanda~

She never cried. Well, hardly ever. Not since she had buried José. And even then, only in solitude. Certainly not in front of other people. Definitely not in the arms of a sweaty man trying to worm her out of her pants.

But she couldn’t seem to stop. She wept for José, too soon dead. For the babies they had tried and failed to conceive. For her lost clan. For the pleasures and hardships of life. For enjoying herself with a black bear. And all the while, her rich, decadent lover rubbed her back as if she were a sobbing child and laid his head beside hers.

As if he understood. Sympathized. Shared her grief. As if. But she still couldn’t stop her tears. They came to an unattractive, hiccupping halt on their own. Bascom rocked her gently. He handed her a large folded handkerchief.

She dried her face and blotted her stinging, tender eyes with the clean white cotton. Tried to sit up to blow her nose. But he held her tenderly and hushed her silently. It was easier to let him stroke her hair and massage her neck than to fight free of his embrace.

“All you had to say was ‘No’,” he remarked casually. Teasingly.

She ignored his comment. If she responded, she would have to move, and she didn’t want to move. His hand kept making comforting movements. She blew her dripping nose.

Great. She now had puffy, reddened eyes and a blotchy face and nose. Not a good look for any woman. A damned disgrace for an officer. She might as well leave her cheek against his wet shirt where he couldn’t see it.

“You ready to tell me what brought that on?” he finally asked. His hand continued to circle her neck.

“Guilt.”

He rubbed a circle on her back through her sweater. “For what? I’m unattached. You’re unattached. Right? If anyone should feel guilt, it’s me. I’m the boss, not you.”

“You’re not my boss,” she objected automatically. “And I feel guilty for cheating on my husband.”

She wasn’t a small woman, and she certainly wasn’t weightless, anything but. But she was parked by herself on the couch in seconds and he was over by the fireplace panting and glaring savagely at her.

“You’re married?” he said ‘Married’ as if she had admitted to having both Ebola and syphilis with a side of tuberculosis. A combination of horror and disgust.

Who would have thought this cosmopolitan bachelor who was photographed with a different woman hanging off his arm at every society function would be totally scandalized by adultery?

She tried to explain. “I’m a widow.” That restarted her unwelcome tears. She had to hide behind his handkerchief again, drying her eyes and blowing her nose.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” His words were conventional, and his tone sincere. But when she emerged from the handkerchief, his big, broad face was puzzled. Those expertly groomed brows were snapped together across his forehead in a deep black V.

How could she explain the guilt she felt for having coupled with him as if she owed José’s memory nothing at all? She couldn’t.

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