Page 40 of Revelry (Cowgirls Do It Better #2)

Gertie

“So, uh, that was great, thanks.” I rolled my eyes at my lameness as I pulled Tate’s shirt back on.

I turned away, trying to hide my trembling hands.

I hadn’t stopped shaking, whether it was from the soul shattering orgasms or the intensity with which he kissed me for over an hour, I didn’t know.

But Tate did everything intensely. I should have expected nothing else from him in the bedroom, or rather, the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding far away. Something changed in him just now. I didn’t know what it was but it felt like a barrier came up. I didn’t blame him, I needed one too. I was starting to feel like this could be permanent when I knew it couldn’t be.

I buttoned up the shirt, which hung haphazardly now it was missing a couple after he tore it off me.

But I didn’t care. I’d stand here with a tit out all day long.

I had great tits and Tate clearly thought so too judging by the beard burn that was currently stinging my soft flesh.

Besides, it was his own shirt he’d ruined, not that I planned on returning it.

Now he’d fucked me in it, it was mine.

I turned to face him, the wet patch on the thigh of his sweatpants heating my cheeks as I thought about how wantonly I’d rubbed myself over him. That’s how riled up he got me. I turned into some desperate, needy vixen who would fuck his leg given half a chance.

He stared at me, his silver eyes swirling with thoughts that I wanted to pick through, but I didn’t. I knew he wouldn’t tell me even if I asked him. The man was too damn bottled up.

I clapped my hands together. “I’m sorry, I needed the space to work. I ran out of room in my freezer. It’s for the fair.”

“It’s fine,” he said, his lip lifting on one side. Was it a smile? A smirk? A twitch? Gas?

“I know you don’t like people in your space so—” I rambled, flailing my arms at the countertop. Why was I being so awkward?

“I said it’s fine, Gertrude.”

“Gertie,” was all I could think to say, and his lips pursed. “I won’t be much longer.”

He inclined his head, staring at me like he was enjoying watching me unravel in front of his eyes. “Take your time, please.”

I nodded once and turned back to the counter.

I probably needed to get rid of this batch of ice cream now that we’d both put our hands in it and smeared it on each other’s bodies, licking it off.

I put it to one side and started again. My thoughts were scattered and I was unable to think about what to do with him standing there.

Eventually, he left the room and I could breathe easy.

I got to work, blending the caramel sauce and salt to the heavy cream mixture and stirring it.

When I turned to look for a container to put it in, I realized Tate had come back.

He was showered and dressed in a black sweater and black jeans, a dark, hot entity in the room, eyes boring into me as he watched me work.

When he didn’t say anything, I continued doing what I was doing and moved onto another batch. I made a lemon and lime sorbet, mint chocolate chip, rum and raisin ice cream, and also a vanilla ice cream but added lots of coloring to it and candy pieces so the kids would go crazy for it.

I also made strawberry ice cream, making it extra pink with big chunks of strawberries and placed that in Tate’s freezer, away from the others because that one was just for him. And the entire time, Tate watched me. Was he checking to make sure I cleaned up?

“Don’t worry, I won’t leave a mess,” I assured him, suddenly worried that’s what was making him stay, not that he actually just enjoyed being around me.

“I’m not worried, sugar. For the first time, I’m not worried about anything making a mess.”

His words gave me pause and I flicked my stare over to him, leaning against the kitchen counter. His brow was furrowed like he was confused by his words but he didn’t appear anxious, so that was something.

“You love this, don’t you?” he asked.

His words made me squirm. I did. I loved making ice cream, combining flavors and creating something new.

I even loved it when I put two flavors together that didn’t work at all.

I loved getting it wrong because it helped me learn.

And I loved watching people’s faces twist with joy as they ate what I made.

But there was a shame tied to making ice cream. Gary’s scorn flooded my mind. I had wanted to try and make a career out of this, and he made me feel stupid for that, made me feel like I couldn’t do it.

I turned away. “I do.”

His heat warmed my back as he stood behind me. “You can taste it.”

I spun and peered up at him. “I’m sorry?”

He gave me a half-smile that was too adorable for words.

“You can taste in your ice cream how much you love it. How passionate and dedicated you are. It isn’t bland and boring like other ice cream; it has that something extra.

It’s addictive.” He spoke gently, his words quieting at the end like he shouldn’t be saying them.

He was being too sweet, and it was twisting my stomach into knots. I needed a distraction and luckily, I spotted one. I peered around him, out of the kitchen and across the hallway into the living room. Which was bare.

“Where’s all your Christmas decorations?” I shoved past him and into the living room, glancing around. There was nothing.

He came up behind me, rubbing the back of his neck like he did when he was sheepish and about to admit something.

“I don’t really bother.” He shrugged. “Nothing to celebrate.”

I fixed my stare on him, the tight set of his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders. It wasn’t something he wanted to discuss and now I knew the history of his family, I could respect that and not push him, yet.

“Maybe this year, there will be?” I offered.

He nodded. “Maybe.”

We regarded each other, just like we’d done before, only now it was different. We’d been naked together, he’d seen my O face and I’d seen his.

It was even sexier than his normal face, FYI.

And certainly not something I would forget anytime soon. But there was an extra layer there now. I didn’t want to call it intimacy, but I didn’t know what else to call it. The I -word was scary.

His eyes narrowed on me. “Don’t be getting any ideas about decorating the house while I’m out one day. Now I know you have a key, I might need to change the locks.”

I grinned. Because as well as thinking about his orgasm face, I had been thinking about decorating for him, I already had a plan hatching. He knew my mischievous side too well.

“You wouldn’t do that, you like me being here too much,” I replied, holding my breath because if he said he didn’t then he would shatter me, and if he said he did, he would also shatter me. Because I was getting attached and only bad things happened when I became attached to someone.

Instead, he just snorted before he shook his head and went back into the kitchen. I trailed after him.

“You’re running out of space,” he sighed, looking around and then poking in the freezer, trying to make more room.

“It’s fine, I’ll store some at the ranch.”

He closed the freezer door, nodding again and then looked at the countertop, strewn with ingredients, powders, utensils and Tupperware. I expected him to panic, but he only clicked his fingers once before shaking his head.

“Make some more and then I’ll help you take it over.”

I bloomed under his words. “Really?”

He smiled. “Of course, what are friends for?”

My smile dipped, only for a second before I reinforced it. “Of course, friends .”

“I have to be somewhere, but I’ll be back in an hour,” he said.

“Where are you going?” I asked, feeling needy and insecure. It was none of my business. But I needed to know he wasn’t running away from whatever this was.

Friends.

“Just an appointment, I’ll be back.” He grabbed his keys from the sideboard in the hallway and then he was gone. The house grew empty and cold, like he’d taken all the life out of it when he went. I shook my worries off and turned back to making more ice cream.

After I finished, I stacked the containers on the side and then went upstairs and picked up my clothes. I accidentally left my panties where he would find them and hurried to shower and dress.

When I looked out the window and saw he wasn’t back, I got in my little VW and drove to the Christmas tree farm in search of exactly what I needed. So close to Christmas they wouldn’t have much left but I found exactly what I hoped for, laughing as I pictured Tate’s face.

One of the assistants helped me strap it to the top of my car, it didn’t take much effort though. I grabbed a couple of the gaudy decorations they sold and then headed home, ecstatic to see that Tate wasn’t back when I pulled up.

I unstrapped the tree and began dragging it into his house, stopping every five feet to make sure he wasn’t pulling up, and laughing to myself.

It was taking so long what with checking for him every few minutes, that I got frustrated and panicky.

“This is stupid,” I muttered before pulling out my phone and shooting him a text…or three.

Me: This ice cream isn’t gonna freeze itself…

Me: Are you coming back?

Me: Like, ever?

I waited, tapping my foot and exhaling in the cool winter air, seeing it balloon in front of my face. Finally my phone pinged his response.

Tate: Sorry.

Tate: Got held up.

Tate: Be one hour.

I grinned. “Perfect.”

I hurried inside and got to work putting the tree up. I pulled out the gaudy baubles, laughing at how hideous some of them were. Then I ran next door looking for ours. I had picked through our decorations when I put our tree up the other week, and we also had some less than stellar ornaments.

Snagging some of the worst ones, I ran back to Tate’s, adding the finishing touches and stood back to survey my work.

I understood Tate now. If I had gone with some gloriously lush, bushy tree, he would have hated it.

But this? I assessed my choice. This was perfect and I couldn’t wait to see his face.