He smirked up at her and she wondered if he could tell how absolutely turned on she was by the whole experience.
Even if Krystal wasn’t afraid of the water, she never understood why so many people loved fishing. By all accounts, fishing was supposed to be a completely boring pastime. There was no mentally challenging aspect about it. It wasn’t like cooking, where Krystal could always have her hands busy doing something with a recipe. It wasn’t like fixing a special espresso that required concentration and focus.
But, if she was fishing with Devin, she knew she could grow to love it. She was already loving it and they hadn’t even caught anything yet.
The sun dipped lower and lower on the horizon, its light and warmth receding from the earth. But to her, Krystal was more than just warm; she was even sweating a bit. In that moment, she wished she hadn’t left her bag in the car that had her body spray and deodorant. Even though there was probably no way to apply any without Devin noticing.
Devin stood and moved toward the other side of the stern, just a couple of feet from her. When he cast his line, it didn’t take her long to notice that his line buzzed a lot longer before the reel finally stopped turning. She didn’t even hear the sound of impact as the hook sank below the waves.
“That was pretty far,” she whispered.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Lots of practice.” Damn he was hot. She was in way over her head.
“So, why do guys like fishing so much? It’s a pretty mindless sport, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “And that’s the point,” he replied. “I can come out here after a hard day at work and just relax. I don’t have to think.”
Krystal tilted her head. “And that’s something that guys like to do? Not think?”
He slid her a frisky glance. “Believe it or not, we need to shut off our brains every once and while, so they don’t overheat.”
“I can’t imagine a moment when I’m not thinking or feeling something.”
He shrugged. “We’re all made differently. And there are plenty of other mindless things men can do to unwind.”
Krystal smiled. “Valerie’s roommate, Shawn, plays videogames all the time.”
Devin paused in reeling in his hook to gesture to her. “See? That’s probably his outlet, while my outlet is fishing.”
What she couldn’t understand was why Devin would need an outlet in the first place. Did it have to do with his job as a cop, or that nameless past childhood drama involving his father? What about the obviously strained relationship with his sister? Why should a man such as him, ever need an escape from life? He was in Goldcrest Cove now, far away from Boston and whatever troubles he left there. Wasn’t that enough? Or was there something else he wasn’t telling her?
“Are there any other mindless activities I should know about?” she asked, adding a certain feathering of suggestion in her words. “Any other way you like to unwind?”
She saw the slow smile spread across Devin’s face and she knew exactly what he had in mind.
“Well, maybe you’ll find out.”
Then, Krystal felt that tug on her line again. She jerked the rod back, just like Devin had. But the line didn’t go slack again. Whatever was on the other end must have snagged itself on the hook, because it was not letting go.
She let out a soft cry and pulled until the rod began to bow and bend.
Devin set his rod down in one of the holders on the edge of the boat and came to her side. “I think you got something.”
The utter elation almost rivaled the thrill of Devin’s touch as he gripped the handle with her and held it back, so she could keep reeling it in. The battle ensued for what seemed like forever before her catch finally surfaced.
The fish squirmed and thrashed about as Devin grabbed the line and pulled it over the deck. It had to be at least a foot long, but Krystal was never a good judge of size.
“You got a bluefish!” he announced. “It’s a snapper, but still, it’ll make for a nice dinner.” Devin gripped the fish and worked the hook loose.
“That’s the first fish I’ve ever caught,” Krystal laughed, still in disbelief that she was actually here, with Devin, doing the one thing she had never thought she would do. The reality hit her that she was out on the open water, unafraid of the consequences, and having the time of her life.
Devin was right. She might have just been starting out, but fishing did take her mind off of the stresses of reality. She wasn’t thinking about the coffee shop and the fact that she would be taking Devin back to a house that wasn’t entirely cleaned to her liking. She didn’t think about the fact that he didn’t know her secret, or the fact that he probably had a few of his own.
For just a little while, she was blissfully unaware that anything could possibly ruin this date.
Chapter Nine
As soon as the door was open, Krystal scampered inside. The buzz from catching, not only her first fish, but three fish, hadn’t worn off.
“I’ll preheat the oven!” she cried excitedly as she left Devin in the foyer. He could only smile and listen to her scurry around the kitchen, pulling out whatever supplies she needed.
In one hand, he carried the small foam cooler, filled with ice and the bluefish fillets he had skinned on the docks after they moored the bow rider to one of the pylons where the harbormaster directed him. Krystal didn’t care to watch as he sliced up the fillets, but she sure seemed eager on the ride home as she babbled about how exactly she would cook them once they arrived back to her house.
He stepped into the kitchen and whistled at its size. Somehow, he expected a house this old to be small, inefficient for modern needs. Krystal and her family must have renovated, because he had only seen kitchens like this on the cooking channel. Stretches of counter space lined the walls with tall, beige overhead cabinets above them. The backsplash was a charming wallpaper design of herbs, flowers, and vines. The granite countertops were a dazzling green with speckles of gold and silver throughout.
Krystal didn’t skimp on the appliances either. A gas range was installed in the kitchen island that served as somewhat of a focal point for the kitchen. The refrigerator looked new and boasted one of those deep freezer drawers to free up the upper cold storage. Devin was even impressed by the double oven setup, one of which was already preheating.
Strewn out across the counter was a deep baking pan, a roll of tin foil, and a bag of vegetables.
Krystal had her head in the refrigerator, moving contents around.
“Sierra always moves the butter whenever she makes toast in the morning,” she mumbled. “I swear, she puts it in a different spot every time.”
Devin watched her, his gaze sliding over her. She had already shed the sweater she had been wearing out on the boat and her tank top hugged her form just right, so he could see all of her lovey, perfect curves.
In the excitement of catching fish and discovering Krystal’s fear of the water, Devin had to give up on any errant thought about getting cozy on the boat. Though his manhood was a little disappointed, the evening was far from over.
Krystal must have found the butter and then began grabbing for other things, like a green bottle of lemon juice. She bumped the refrigerator door shut with her hip and fled back to her cooking station. He could have watched her like that all night, but she turned and regarded him with a slight look of impatience.
“Are you going to help me?” she asked as she pulled the elastic tie from her wrist to pull her hair back into a ponytail.
Devin set the cooler on the kitchen island and his eyes went wide. “Oh, I can’t cook. Ask anyone.”
“Nonsense,” she said with a flip of her hand. She obviously didn’t notice the way he appraised her chest and flat stomach while her arms stretched above her head. “Everyone can cook. You just follow the recipe.”
Somehow knowing that he wasn’t going to win this argument, he popped the lid off and let the odor of dead fish fill the kitchen. “What first, chef?”
Krystal t
ore off pieces of foil. “Bring the fillets over here and we’re going to wrap them in tin foil for baking.
Sounded simple enough. He found the paper towel roll and grabbed a few, so he could carry the fish to her without getting his hands or the counter messy. Devin waited for Krystal to drizzle the olive oil over the foil before slapping the fillets down.
“No, no. Skin side down,” she instructed, then corrected the two he had placed.
“And you said cooking was easy,” he muttered.
She giggled as she reached across him to pinch the end of a couple of fillets to bring them to her spreads of foil. “It is. I’m sorry I wasn’t clear.”
And they continued like that until they had all the fillets laid out in the pans. Krystal handed him the pepper shaker and she took the salt, so they could season them just right.
“Not so much pepper, though,” she added. “I don’t like the kick.”
Devin slid three fillets to his side of the counter. “Well, these will be mine then.” And he loaded them down with pepper, just like he did with everything else he ate.
“And you can keep them too,” she giggled. “I can’t stand a lot of hot spice. Nice and subtle for me.”
Devin let a fiendish grin spread over his lips and he slid a glance her way. Nope, she didn’t even realize what she just said could be taken in an entirely different way. “I’ll have to remember that.”
Krystal slid down a cutting board from a fixed rack on the other counter and pulled a few lemons out of one of the vegetable bags. “Can you hand me a knife from the block over there?”
“Should I ask which one?” Devin reached for a couple of the steak knives first.
“No, you’ve got it right. The lemon skins are hard to cut into so I just use those.”
He handed her the knife and it took a little bit of careful maneuvering, but they managed to share the same cutting board as they sliced into the lemons. Krystal took the slices and evenly distributed them across the fillets. “Now for the butter.”
The oven beeped to let them know it was done preheating as Krystal took up the sticks of butter and used the same knife to cut thin squares. Devin picked up the shavings and positioned them between the lemon slices just as she directed. He hadn’t done anything like this before, cooking with a woman in her own kitchen. Even before his mom passed away, he didn’t dare step in her way when she was making dinner. She preferred it that way, but it seemed Krystal was eager to have a sous-chef work alongside her.
“Can you fold up the tin foil to make boats while I go grab the herbs?” she asked as she rinsed off her hands in the wide, deep sink behind them.
“Boats?”
“Yeah, so the juices won’t spill out.”
Devin shrugged and watched her disappear through a swinging door at the other end of the kitchen, but not before plucking a white-handled knife hanging upon a peg next to the door. While he bent and formed the foil into the boats, just as she asked, Devin couldn’t help but acknowledge to himself how completely head-over-heels he was for Krystal. He knew he was attracted to her, not just for her beauty, but her soul. But their trip out onto the water opened up something new within him.
All his life, he had run from almost every relationship. His family had let him down, his friends were practically nonexistent because of his demanding job, and just in the last year, he learned the hard truth that getting attached to anyone was a big mistake.
He was making that same mistake with Aaron and Krystal as he made with Paul.
Yet, somehow, he didn’t care. He wanted to feel that fellowship, that fondness for someone’s company again, like he had when he was a kid. In this town, he couldn’t afford to be detached. Everyone knew everyone, and it was going to be impossible not to feel something for the people he served and protected every day.
It was equally impossible not to be drawn to Krystal. He couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was that made her so damned irresistible, but he felt he was getting closer to learning the truth. A little longer, a few more kisses, and maybe he would figure it out. And what happened if he did? Would it reveal her soul to such a degree that he would lose interest? No, never.
Krystal came back in, a fistful of savory smelling sprigs of herbs.
“Thyme, tarragon, and parsley,” she explained as she arranged the fresh herbs over the fillets.
“Straight from your garden, I presume?” he asked as he moved behind her, his focus on anything but the fish.
“You got it,” she replied.
Devin reached up and ran his palm beneath her long, silky black ponytail. He saw the way tiny bumps rippled across her shoulders and upper arms.
“What are you doing?” she asked coyly. He didn’t have to see her face to know she was smiling.
“Nothing,” he whispered before planting a tiny kiss just below her ear.
Krystal squirmed and giggled as she reached over to grab the bottle of white wine near the back of the counter. He let his hand drift down her slender side to rest on her hip, right at the edge of her tank top. Just one slip of his fingers and he could be touching her soft skin and make that gooseflesh spread a little farther south.
She either didn’t pay any attention, or she was too focused on the task of getting these fillets in the oven.
“Do you want anything to go with the fish? Rice? Broccoli?”
“You,” he mumbled, his lips grazing over her neck.
Krystal laughed again. “I’m serious. These fish will take about twenty minutes, so if we want something else to go with them, we need to fix it.”
Devin knew he had to get her attention someway, so he let his hand tuck under the fabric of her tank top. His fingertips slide across the smooth skin on her hips, just above the loose waistband of her skirt. “No,” he breathed. “Just fish is fine.”
Then, he remembered the hot chocolate from the festival the day before and how absolutely addictive it was. He also remembered spotting a wood burning fireplace in the living room as he passed it just moments ago.
“Actually, do you have any more of that hot chocolate mix? Maybe we can spend that twenty minutes by the fireplace?”
It was a risky move. He hadn’t been anywhere near a fire since the incident. He even hated it when someone on the street struck their lighter to start smoking a cigarette. And that was just a tiny flame. He had no idea if he’d relapse in the presence of a bigger fire. Why did he even suggest it? Krystal was doing so much more to him than just giving him a hard on.
Yet, something about being in Krystal’s company made him forget about that. He didn’t hear the screams or smell the burning flesh as he did whenever he even thought about fire. Maybe the weeks of therapy in Boston did the trick. Only one way to find out.
Krystal sighed and he could see the way her hands trembled a bit as she crimpled the edges of the tinfoil boats to seal the fillets. “That sounds like a good plan to me. Do you want to go start the fire?
There should be plenty of wood and kindling on the hearth, and the matches are on the mantle.”
Yep, he was about to get a full immersion test to see if he could function like a normal person again. Devin gripped her hair and gently pulled her head to the side, so he could steal a kiss on her lips. The skin on her hips grew warm and he hoped she wasn’t catching a fever after spending all that time out in the cold night air.
Krystal leaned against him until he could feel her back pressed against the front of his body, dependent and pleading as she eased into his kiss. A bit of her own heat transferred to him and he felt his face flush. That never happened.
Devin pulled away and tapped her hip as he pulled down her tank top. “Better get those in the oven.”
Krystal’s eyes popped open and once more, she was the chef in the kitchen and began placing the foil packets in the wide baking pan. “You are so distracting, you know that?”
Devin only laughed as he left the kitchen and walked into the living room. He swallowed hard when he picked up the b
ox of matches. There was nothing to be afraid of. The fire would stay contained in the fireplace and she even had one of those fireplace screens, so the embers would bounce off the iron if the logs shifted.
He set to work, placing the logs like he used to when he was younger. His dad’s house had a fireplace too and both Devin and Alana used to roast marshmallows when their dad wasn’t home or was passed out in his recliner. Those were the only times they had a moment’s peace, and fireplaces used to be one of those things that served as a reminder of what happiness he did have growing up.
He wadded up the old newspaper, shoved it under the rack that the logs sat on, and took up the matches one more time. Just a tiny flame, completely controlled.
He struck it and watched as the red tip sizzled and sputtered to life. He felt the moderate heat on his face as the flame burned at the end of the match. He stared at it, facing the fear head on, just like Krystal did. If she could be strong, then so could he.
Devin lowered the match under one of the balled up newspapers and soon it caught fire, which spread to the rest of the kindling. He set the screen in place and stepped away as the fire grew and ignited the logs rather quickly. The stones in the firebox would keep it contained.
In the kitchen, he could hear Krystal start to take down a pair of mugs from the cabinet and it hadn’t been more than a few minutes, but the lemony, fishy fragrance of their dinner wafted all the way to the living room. Krystal had told him that bluefish was delicious when cooked right, and it certainly smelled like she was doing it right. It beat frozen dinners anyway.
A long, relieved breath escaped him and he turned his attention to the framed pictures on the mantle to distract himself. There were a few pictures of Krystal and her sister when they were little girls in school. Krystal had the same black bangs masking her forehead, but her smile was missing a tooth or two. Other pictures appeared more recent. A family portrait of Krystal, Sierra, and whom he assumed were their parents, posing in front of a large tree.
Their father was tall, and it seemed that Sierra took after him more as far as facial features went, while Krystal had her mother’s dazzling brown eyes. They all looked so happy, smiling at the camera with those genuine smiles that crinkled the outer edges of their eyes like they had just been laughing about something.
Bewitching Fire Page 13
