Daire Denis - Big Sky Seduction

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1

OH, DEAR GOD...

Gloria’s vision narrowed, like the shutter of a camera in ultra slow motion, closing in smaller and smaller. Her chest ached as if an elephant was sitting on her and a knot the size of a fist formed in her stomach.

No.

Not here.

Not now.

Carefully, she lifted the big, rough hand from her hip and rolled, or tried to, but her legs were stuck—entwined—between two large, tree-trunk-sized limbs.

“Mmm.” A hand slid around her waist and snuggled her even closer to that massive chest at her back. So close, she could feel the sound of contentment rumbling against her shoulder blade, the kind of sound a big, well-fed cat of the king-of-the-jungle variety might make.

With each wriggle she made in an attempt to break free, his ridiculously powerful arms held on tighter.

“Ah, Dillon?” The words were more a gasp than a name.

“Hmm?”

She wriggled some more. No give, whatsoever. “Dillon?”

“Mmm.” He nuzzled his whiskered jaw into the back of her neck, placing a sleepy kiss there. Those big, callused hands of his roamed freely across her stomach, one up...the other down.

Gloria pushed herself away and sat up on the edge of the bed, breathing hard, as though she’d just climbed a flight of stairs, not made the simple transition from lying to sitting. Was it the dim light in the room that made her vision spotty? She rubbed her eyes.

No. It was something else.

Panting, she said, “I’ve got to go.”

“To the loo?” He drew a line across her lower back. “Okay, darlin’. Hurry back.”

Oh, God.

She stumbled—naked—to the bathroom, found the robe the hotel provided hanging on the back of the door and slipped it on. Her clutch—the one that matched the Valentine red of the bridesmaid dress that lay crumpled somewhere on the hotel room floor—sat open on the vanity counter. She checked the contents: room key, phone, lipstick and a twenty dollar bill.

Good enough. She leaned against the vanity, gulping air, willing herself under control. When she opened her eyes, her gaze landed on the cellophane-wrapped, one-size-fits-all slippers. She unwrapped them and stuck her feet inside—they were miles too big but they’d have to do. When Gloria went to stand up, her head spun and her vision closed in around her, forcing her to sit on the closed toilet seat, the bathroom suddenly a fishbowl, all watery and blurry. Closing her eyes, she focused on breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In. Out. Nice and slow. Unfortunately, images from earlier in the evening decided to replay behind her closed lids to mock and taunt her.

Dillon’s big, rough hands on her body. Dillon’s big, talented tongue in her mouth. Dillon’s big, sinfully male appendage inside of her, so...wonderful.

Wonderful? Really?

If it was so wonderful, why was she sitting here on the toilet seat on the verge of a panic attack? She hadn’t had one of these suckers in years. So, why now?

It had to be the cowboy.

Gloria pressed her palms to the sides of her head to try to stop her ears from ringing.

No.

This was not going to happen.

Fumbling for her phone in her clutch, she turned it on and did her best to type a one word message—EMERGENCY!—to her best friend, Daisy. Though whether her fingers actually hit the correct letters, she couldn’t tell because her phone was no more than a fuzzy shape in her hand. After a few more deep breaths, she pushed herself to her feet and careened her way to the hotel room door. She paused, listening, but all she heard was the roaring of blood between her ears.

The second she was outside in the hallway, she could breathe again, as if there was more oxygen out there. She still felt wobbly and, with a hand to the wall to keep herself steady, she lurched down the hall because it seemed that the farther away from the room she got, the clearer her vision became. Clear enough to check her phone for a reply from her best friend. Not that she really expected one.

It was Daisy’s wedding night.

Shit.

She stopped in front of the elevators and pressed the button, not because she had anywhere to go, but because that was what a normal person did when standing in front of an elevator. Except normal people didn’t stand in front of elevators naked under their hotel robe.

Good God, Glo. What were you thinking?

“I don’t think I was,” she whispered aloud.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. A bellboy was inside.

“Having a good night?” the young man asked, with a smirk.

After a deep breath and with her head held high, Gloria entered the elevator. “Yes. Thank you.” She turned to face the front where, unfortunately, there was a mirror on the inside of the door, forcing Gloria to face exactly the state she was in—her makeup streaked, her pretty updo no longer up unless sticking out in all directions was considered up.

She groaned. It was worse than she thought.

“Which floor?”

“Honeymoon suite.” The words came out before she had time to consider them. The young man pressed the button and Gloria was subject to the longest elevator ride of her life. She avoided his eyes by checking her phone every few seconds, hoping for but not expecting a reply from Daisy.

How on earth had she found herself in this position?

It could have something to do with the fact that it was Valentine’s Day and her very best friend in the world just married an amazing man and it was the nicest wedding, ever, and while Gloria was over the moon for Daisy, she was also a little bit...

Hmm. Jealous?

No.

Did she feel sorry for herself? Was that why she’d slept with the cowboy?

God. That was sad.

It all started when the cowboy in question, a cousin of the groom, got up to do his speech, but he didn’t speak. Oh, no. He had a guitar stashed in the back, retrieved it and sang “Remember When” by Alan Jackson—only one of her favorite country songs of all time. She’d nearly dropped her wineglass. Instead she downed its contents followed quickly by another glass. His voice, deep and smooth, sang, “Remember when we vowed the vows...” It was her fantasy come to life. Except the man in her fantasy sang to her, not to the bride and groom—of all the cracked things one could imagine. Then the dance started and he asked her to dance.

She should have said no.

How was she supposed to know the man could dance?

But he could.

He led her around the dance floor, spinning her, pulling her in close, holding her tight, so sure of himself, sure of his movements, and Gloria knew, she just knew he’d be good in bed.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Because when he wasn’t singing and he wasn’t dancing, the cowboy drove her bat-shit crazy. From the moment they’d met ten months ago, when he’d purposefully done everything in his power to irk her, she didn’t like him. Not one little bit. He was messy and loud and obnoxious and too sure of himself and too big and...ugh!

Every word that came out of his mouth made her want to scream. Everything he did made her want to smack him. Hard.