Page 105 of Snowbound Surrender

Her pretend scolding dissolved into giggles. “Really, what is it?”

Randall swallowed. “Ah…” Above them, the wind still howled against the roof. Last he’d checked, the snow continued to drift against the front and back doors to a degree that would keep them inside for a few days to come. “Well…” If he was right, they had plenty more time to spend wrapped up in each other’s company, no one there to see the mischief they got up to, no one to judge or be scandalized. No one in town really knew who they were anyhow. They could get away with things that folks in regular society could never dream of.

Miranda crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Randy? I’m waiting.”

He cleared his throat. “You don’t want to know.”

“Yes I do,” she answered immediately.

“Really, you don’t.”

“Do you know my mind better than I do now?” Her burst of impatience and genuine irritation was just another sign of all the barriers that had been shattered between them in the last few days…and the effects of being trapped.

“I know you well enough to know that you would regret pressing for the answer,” he countered.

Her eyes flared with anger as fast as a grease fire flaring up. “Is that so? You know methatwell?”

“Four days in tight quarters can bring people close in a hurry.” A rush of warmth filled him at that thought.

“Undeniably,” she huffed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I have a right to know the contents of my own saloon.”

“It has to do with whores.” Maybe bluntness was the way to get her to turn a blind eye.

In fact, all it did was chase color into Miranda’s cheeks and put a coy look in her eyes. “I…I suppose I should know about those things, being the saloon owner and all.”

Randall’s brow shot up. She must be bristling with restlessness if she was thinking that way. Judging by the set ofher shoulders and jaw, he was going to have to answer, one way or another. He let out a breath and spread his hands. “You really want to know.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I do.”

I do. Randall’s throat went try at those two words, at the way they made his heart beat faster, filled his head with images of her in white at the front of a church. No, four days alone might have created a sense of intimacy, but it was hardly long enough to be entertaining ideas of marriage…was it?

“I’m waiting.” Miranda went back to tapping her foot.

“It’s a harness.”

When she merely blinked at him, Randall burst into a wave of uncontrollable chuckles.

“It’s a device worn by a whore for a very particular kind of…practice.”

Still, she blinked. “You aren’t very good at explaining things, Randy.”

No, but if she continued to use his nickname and to stare at him with such frankness, he was going to have to demonstrate instead of just telling her.

He wiped a hand over his face, unsure whether he would laugh or groan at the rate she was going. He repeated the gesture, discovering it was much easier to blurt the whole truth with his hand covering his eyes.

“It’s used with an imitation phallus and worn by a woman so that she can take the man’s role in…” He couldn’t go on. It was bad enough that he knew about that sort of thing, but explaining it filled him with ridiculous levels of mortifying titillation.

“What?” This time, Miranda’s outburst wasn’t a question so much as an exclamation. Randall peeked through his fingers to find her staring into nothing, eyes wide, mouth open. “Oh!” Understanding dawned on her. “Oh!” The syllable took on ascandalized tone, and she paled. “Oh!” Her eyes went wide in horror as her gaze finally focused. On him.

She slapped a hand to her mouth. Moments later, she burst into a fit of giggles that shook her slender form. Her borderline hysterical amusement was contagious. Randall let his hand drop from his face and let go, laughing at the wild silliness of the whole thing.

“Maybe we should leave the rest of this for another time and go have lunch,” he managed to say through his laughter.

“I think that would be a wise idea,” she agreed, voice hoarse with a combination of mirth and horror.

She turned and bolted for the stairs leading to the second floor. Randall followed. His face still burned with shame while the rest of him burned with something far trickier. He tried to tell himself it was cabin fever, he was a gentleman, that the only reason he knew things respectable people didn’t was because of all that time on merchant ships. But as they ventured back to Miranda’s apartment and the late morning light that peeked through snow-banked windows, he was certain of one thing. Miranda deserved better than the awkward fate that was handed to her.

“I don’t think we’ll run out of food,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him as she pored through the remaining contents of her cupboard. “I’m not sure what to make out of all this, though.”