Calamity Gene

Chapter 7

"Nice start?" Gene said under her breath as she leaned weakly against the door of her cabin, which she'd just closed behind her. "Try spectacular start!"

Not that she was going to let Trace know just how spectacular it had been. (Well, not unless she got that multiple orgasm—it would be churlish not to express her appreciation at that point. The way she was feeling right now, though, she didn't actually care if she got the mystical MO—not that Trace had to know that either.)

Nope. Best to keep him in his toes.

Anyway, she was through pandering to the male ego. Look what making Kevin think he was the best lover in the world had got her! She'd spent a fortune on lingerie for his viewing pleasure, smilingly accommodated herself to every uncomfortable position he'd bent her into, routinely faked her orgasms while praising his prowess to the skies...and the end result was that he'd believed she was so well-satisfied with his underwhelming performance she'd put up with anything. Such as the affair he was having.

When the truth had come out about that Kevin had actually expected her to accept it, to accommodate it. He'd been so shocked when she'd packed her bags and left.

Hmph. Well she was through "accommodating" a man.

Which brought her back to today, the starting point of her ultimate fantasy, of which she would be in control. She had to keep the straightest and coolest of straight, cool heads on her shoulders for this to play out the way she wanted. She had to be businesslike about it. No getting carried away by the romance of it. Romance was for suckers, sex was where it was at. No hearts and flowers, no rainbows and unicorns, no wild west heroics—those had been Trace's words, but she wholeheartedly agreed with them.

She laughed out loud with sheer exuberant euphoria. "Wow! Wow, wow, wow! I am going to have sex without any semblance of love for ten whole days and I am going to love it."

And then she realized what she'd just said and a dart of panic pinged in her head. "No, I am not going to 'love' it," she corrected. "I am going to enjoy it, maybe even revel in it, but the word 'love' is hereby banished from my vocabulary for the duration, and love as a concept in any way, shape or form is hereby banished from my mind and my heart." Oops. "Okay, it's not banished from my heart because I don't have a heart, at least not for the next ten days, I have a body made up of erogenous zones. Now freshen the hell up and get over to the lodge for dinner where you will ignore Trace Johnson because the only place you're going to like him from this moment on is in bed."

Strong words, but when she entered the lodge fifteen minutes later and Trace was nowhere to be seen she had to perform some emergency CPR on her bravado because...because why wasn't he here?

"About time!" Llew said, and looked behind her. He frowned then. "Where's Trace?"

"How should I know?" she asked with a deliberately dismissive toss of her head, and sat beside him.

"He was searching for you. Did he—"

"Find me? Yes. And...and then he...I...we...went our separate ways." She passed her plate to Llew. "Can you put an enchilada on here? I'm starving."

***

Trace seethed as he saddled Barb.

A nice start? He'd have to try a little harder next time?

Jesus, that had irked him, needled him, fucking...fucking shamed him.

He'd wanted to tell her there wouldn't be a next time. Wanted to tell her...tell her...hell, tell her who knew what else (she'd shocked the bejesus out of him, it was hard to think of a response cutting enough), but she'd sashayed her ass out of the barn as though she didn't have a concern in the world, pausing only to throw a smirking "See you at dinner," at him over one shoulder.