A painful knot gathered in Jeseca’s breast. She shook her head and set the bowl on the end table.
“Wait—David. Don’t go. Stay. Please?”
He paused, then slowly turned to her. The dark forelock slid from his eyes, and Jeseca was struck by those luminous blue depths. They were impossibly deep … as vast, blue, and secretive as the ocean. The knot in her breast tightened, strangling her heart.
“Aren’t you going to eat something, too?” she asked, allowing a smile to grace her lips.
The simple question seemed to render him speechless. He stood for several moments while only the wind and rain fractured the quiet. Then his eyes snapped to hers, defensive and searching. From his reaction, she might have asked him to donate a kidney, rather than share a meal.
Never had she witnessed someone so guarded. So guarded and so wary of others. A tinge of apprehension sparked within her belly.
“I have something waiting for me in the kitchen. And I’m sure you’re exhausted from—”
“Doesn’t sound like the storm’s gonna let up any time soon,” she cut in, slinking toward him. “We really should get to know each together while we’re stuck together. I mean, for all you know, I’m a raving lunatic.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth that she’d didn’t bother to comprehend. She shook head and quickly interjected, “And besides, I could use the company. It can get very lonely up here. Remember?” His handsome features softened while he raked a hand through his glossy hairline. The muscles contracted beneath his T-shirt as the fabric drew taut.
A ridiculous desire overcame Jeseca: she yearned to slide her hands beneath the material, rub them over those sculpted muscles, and discover if his body was as toned as it appeared to be. Then that smile made a brief, teasing reappearance—and her heart warped into a fuzzy ball.
“All right. You win. Just give me a moment.” David nodded, raked a hand through his hairline once more, and swiftly exited the bedroom.
•
David returned five minutes later with another steaming bowl of soup. His nerves churned and his heart thumped an irregular beat. He tried to write the reaction off as a simple, straightforward medical symptom: he’d been shoved out of his comfort zone, a truckload of chemicals had been released into his system (epinephrine, adrenaline, and cortisol, to name a few), and he was experiencing some mild palpitations. Nothing more. A perfectly natural response, his mind reasoned. Even expected, given the circumstances. Yet, something warned him that it was much more complicated—and no medical assessment could explain it.
When was the last time he’d eaten with another person? It was such a small, simple thing … yet he couldn’t recall the last time he’d done so. Ever since the accident, he’d distanced himself from humanity—and rightfully so. He’d found a fragile contentment within his self-imposed solitude—and, in an unexpected twist of fate, Jeseca Reed was changing everything.
Plopping onto the mattress, she offered her brightest smile yet and patted the empty space beside her. Her smile was truly breathtaking and set her green eyes aglow. They shined like a pair of emeralds and tugged on his insides.
Get yourself together, damn it.
“Sit.”
The mattress’s coils screamed in objection as they accommodated his body weight. Jeseca scooted backward an inch or two, he noticed—and David battled not to be offended by the gesture. Then she lifted her bowl in a playful toast. Her smile caused dimples to embed each cheek. David’s heart continued to pound inside his chest, overpowering the logical thoughts he struggled to bring to mind. All he could think of was this mysterious woman, her lemony scent and infectious smile …
He’d almost forgotten what it was like to crave a woman. He ached to run his tongue over her lush, full lips. He wanted to explore her … to discover what made her squirm and blush, to conquer her body and awaken her mind.
“Cheers.” A resounding ting echoed the room as the two bowls shared a kiss. Their fingers briefly touched, and David’s chest gave a chaotic whirl. Wrenched from his thoughts, he watched in silent awe as Jeseca brought the spoon to her lips and blew on the steaming liquid.
How would that warm breath of air feel on my nape? he caught himself wondering. How would it feel against my scars? He quickly cursed away the inquires and returned his glower to the soup. His grasp tightened on the bowl until he was seconds away from shattering the damn thing.
“So. What sort of surgeon were you?”
“Cardiovascular.”
“Oh, wow. That’s impressive. And admirable.” Relaxing, Jeseca slouched her back and thoughtfully gazed out the window. Kissed by remnants of moonlight, her red curls glowed and caught fire. They rippled and glistened with each motion … a lush curtain of flames. Then she brought the bowl to her lips and swallowed her fill. Her lips hugged the bowl’s outer rim in a sensual kiss. Her slender throat pulsated and drew David’s eyes. Her muscles’ subtle movements were unnerving and strangely erotic. A curl fell across the slope of her cheek. He clenched his free hand as he was overcome with the urge to deftly sweep it away … to tuck it behind her ear and graze the erratic beat of her pulse.
“Yes, well,” he resumed, simultaneously clearing his throat and mind. “I mostly do research and writing now.” He clenched his hands several times and exhaled a stiff breath. “I haven’t practiced surgery or seen patients for years.”
•
A knife twisted inside Jeseca’s chest as her gaze landed on his scarred hands. Her own hand trembling, she reached out and gently traced a fingertip over the welted skin.
David tensed beneath the simple contact, as if he wasn’t used to human touch, then slid back a foot, erecting extra space between them.
He gave off the pretense of being untouchable. Like one of those immaculate Greek statues, finely carved and made from stone, which stood far beyond the reach of mere mortals. Jeseca shook her head as she realized the absurdity of her thoughts; David Drake was just a man, a living, breathing human being, like any other. And something warned her that he felt more profoundly than most.
She pulled her hand away and stabilized the bowl with both palms. “Because of these scars? Is … Is that why you stopped practicing?”
Her heart constricted while he locked onto her gaze. Then he nodded and dropped his head, causing the dark forelock to slide across his blue eyes. She twisted her fingers in her palm, suddenly overcome with the need to sweep the hair away. “These and others.”
A fierce shudder raked through her body. Clasping onto her bowl, she cleared her throat and glanced out the window. “Do you miss it?” A light rain continued to fall, curtaining the world around them.
“Every day.” Jeseca had a strange feeling he was speaking about something else.
“And what part do you miss the most?”
A brief silence seized them. Then: “My patients.” A devastating grin crawled across his lips as his eyes took on a faraway look. His entire countenance softened while his voice, steady but infinitely powerful, swelled the room. “There was one in particular … Karen Simms. She’d just graduated college when she came to me for her first consultation. She’d been born with Transposition of the Great Arteries—it’s a congenital defect where your anatomy is more or less reversed. Anyway, she’d just fallen into heart failure. She went through four voluntary surgeries to correct it … and after the final one her heart functioned normally, almost like any other heart. Some would call it a miracle, if you believe in such things. Numerous doctors told her she’d never see thirty. Now she has a little girl of her own. Every year on her birthday Karen sends me flowers and a list of her accomplishments. Patients like her were the reason I became a surgeon.”
Jeseca couldn’t restrain her smile. Warmth filled her chest as she leaned forward and set her palm on top of David’s scarred knuckles. Then their gazes locked and another shudder tore through her body.
“You haven’t lost that. What you’ve done for Karen—for all of your patients—they live that reality
every day. And nothing can take away that gift.” A tense silence passed between them. Jeseca cleared her throat and awkwardly removed her hand from David’s. She examined the haunting rows of shelves and framed photographs with growing unease. Fierce chills chased the warmth from her bones and replaced it with a numbing coldness. She swallowed back the nervous bubble. “Has it always been your passion? Medicine, I mean?”
“Yes.”
“Well. I’m sure your parents were supportive of your choice. And I’d bet they’re very proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”
“They were. And I know they still would be. They died ten years ago in a car crash.”
“Oh, David … I … I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“Forget it.” His mood shifted, and Jeseca had a feeling he’d descended into a dark, unreachable place. This was echoed by his posture: his massive shoulders tightened, his back drew straight and erect, and the grin faded from his face. Then he cleared his throat and examined her for several moments.
Jeseca was struck with an uneasy sensation … as if he were attempting to see inside her very soul. “And how about you? What do you do? What’s your passion, Jeseca?” Her name slid off his tongue in a delicious, husky baritone. The mild whisky tone, which flavored his voice, spilled through her veins and heated her insides. In response, the tiny hairs on her nape prickled and a strange tingling sensation rocketed through her limbs.
“I’m in advertising, actually. And yeah, I’m … I’m pretty passionate about it. Working in Los Angeles or New York at a large corporation … being right in the hustle and bustle of it all … it’s one of my dreams. A silly one, I suppose.” Dear God. Her voice emerged as a pitiful squeak.
She’d always felt a great deal of pride and love for her career choice—and yet, sitting next to this former surgeon, a man who’d saved countless lives—who’d allowed Karen Simms to achieve her goals each year—Jeseca’s dreams suddenly felt so small and insignificant.
She felt small and insignificant.
David tensed then nodded, silently voicing his approval. Jeseca swallowed as she battled to contain her reaction to this strange, darkly mysterious man. She wasn’t normally like this. But there was something about David Drake’s hypnotic gaze, rich voice, and veiled secrets that lit an inferno inside her soul.
“No. That doesn’t sound silly at all,” he murmured. Then he raised the soup bowl and attempted a charming, crooked smile. “To passion.”
•
Six days till Christmas
The following day passed by in a flurry. At David’s insistence, Jeseca dedicated the hours to reading Gothic novels, lounging in bed, and chatting on the phone. The landlines were finally in working order, and Jeseca’s apprehension had eased at the sound of her mom’s voice. Rebecca was much more than her mother; ever since Aubrey’s death, she’d become her best friend and closest confidant. Yet there were things Jeseca had never shared with anyone—not even her mom.
Nighttime soon descended upon the home, and with it came a fresh wave of apprehension and loneliness. Unable to sleep, Jeseca lay awake as she scanned the towering shelves and countless trinkets. She fastened both eyes shut and allowed
David’s words to consume her mind.
It can get very lonely up here … They died in a car crash … He’s with his mother for Christmas …
Unable to stop herself, Jeseca slid out from the covers and restlessly paced the room. With each step, the uneasy feeling expanded inside her gut. She cocked her neck back and surveyed the shelves. Her heart contracted and tears stung the corners of her eyes; this room was like a time-capsule—and every photograph, every toy, every trinket represented a remnant of a distant past. She reached out and ran her fingertips across a shelf’s sleek wood surface. Railroad tracks cut through the dust, emerging wherever she touched.
Moonlight slanted through the curtains and set the photographs aglow. Jeseca stopped in front of the family portrait and lifted it from the shelf. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and had to elevate it several inches from her face. Her heart twisted at the sparkle in David’s eyes … something that seemed to have all but vanished.
Sighing to herself, she returned the photograph to its home on the shelf—but her hand froze midair. In back was a stack of DVDs. She hesitantly rifled through them and read the labels: Christmas 2009, Charlie’s 2nd Birthday, Christmas 2010. She wrestled with the ethics of poking through David’s belongings—but her curiosity eventually won out. She fetched Christmas 2010 from the stack, collected her glasses from the end table, and slipped into the hallway.
It was eerily dark beyond the bedroom, though David had left several lights on for her. She tracked through the long, twisting corridors, searching for the office.
A subtle glow ensnared her attention. Swiftly she crossed the threshold and eased inside the small room. The computer’s monitor pierced the darkness—the one light, save for the moonbeams beyond the shuttered window.
Meticulous piles of documents lined the desk, a half a dozen handwritten notes, and an empty bottle of wine. Books of every genre overflowed the lofty, Gothic shelves—many of them authored by none other than David S. Drake, MD.
Breathless, Jeseca plopped into the leather chair and inserted the DVD. The computer swallowed it up—and a moment later a video filled the screen.
The camera was held in an unsteady grip as it maneuvered through the cottage’s rooms. A woman’s voice, light and soothing, narrated the film: “Christmas morning, 2010.” It was the same house, she noticed immediately—Jeseca recognized the hallway and robust, antique furniture. But the darkness, which now cloaked the home, had been nonexistent. Colorful Christmas decorations bathed everything beneath a warm, hospitable aura. Candles and decorative lights twinkled and beamed, casting a romantic glow. Jeseca stiffened in the chair while she watched the memories unravel for the next hour.
David of 2010 nearly stole her breath away; he was dressed in boxers, a white tank-top, and a constant smile. His hair was deliciously messy, an endearing five-o’clock shadow covered his chin, and there was an elated glint that never seemed to fade from his startling blue eyes. No burns marred his skin—and no darkness dimmed his gaze. She watched with a mixture of sorrow and awe as the smooth, muscled flesh of his arms drank in the twinkling lights … she observed the way in which he effortlessly scooped his son beneath his biceps, as if the child weighed little more than a football.
His wife’s laughter boomed from the speakers while she tracked him through the hallway. Moments later, David tore through a door and entered a guest bathroom. Chuckling, he dangled Charlie’s squirming body upside down—holding him directly over a gaping toilet. The little boy kicked both legs and hollered with joy.
“You ready? Ready to be flushed?”
Laughing hysterically, the little boy flailed like a worm on a hook. Brody, barely out of puppyhood, cut into the picture and bellowed a resounding bark. Then he stood on his hind legs and bathed Charlie’s dangling, upside-down face with kisses. David’s warm laughter filled every crevice of the office; the baritone seeped into Jeseca’s veins and purged the breath from her lungs.
“Here we go,” he said through husky laughter, “time to get flushed. Say goodbye to Mommy and Brody!”
“Goodbye, Charlie!” his mom said, her cheerful voice filling the camera’s mic. “Enjoy the ocean! Come back soon!”
Just as the tips of Charlie’s hair skimmed the toilet water, David flipped him upright and embraced his son with both arms. A distinct look of joy fell across his countenance and softened those rugged features. Chuckling, he mused his son’s hair and grasped him impossibly tighter. “My, you’re getting so big. What am I going to do with you?” Staring straight into the lens—straight into Jeseca’s eyes—he pressed a kiss to Charlie’s damp forehead and gave a true, heartfelt smile.
Then he raised and lowered Charlie several times, as if testing his meager weight. “Yes, sir. Lucky for you, you’ve grown too big to be fl
ushed.” Jeseca’s heart clenched as she paused the film and studied David’s smile. It was like witnessing an entirely different person.
Dr. David Drake.
With trembling hands, she swept a loose curl from her face and discovered that her cheeks were damp with tears.
CHAPTER FIVE
Five days till Christmas
Humming woke Jeseca the next morning. Airy, feminine, and musical, it tugged at her heartstrings and resurrected fragile memories.
She stirred awake while transient rays of sunlight brushed her face. Obstructed by shifting clouds, the beams fought for life as they tore through the small room. “Aubrey?” The humming gradually faded away, leaving a stark, cold silence in its wake.
Jeseca squeezed her pillow, counted backwards from five, and shoved away the tender memories. Of course Aubrey wasn’t there. She was gone.
And I’m finally losing my mind.
Brushing curls from her forehead, she sat up and glanced out the fogged windowpane. Her breath instantly lodged in her throat. The outside world was magnificent. Beyond the window, snowflakes descended from a bruised skyline and blanketed the ground. Rows of trees lined the cobbled walkway, leading into a pure, untamed wilderness; the naked, skeletal branches shuddered while a mild breeze whispered through them.
The windowpane jolted against the sill, swelling the room with a repetitive thumping.
Jeseca was struck with the ridiculous urge to climb through the window and run barefoot through that lush, freshly fallen snow. How wonderful it would feel to reconnect with her childhood soil in the most primitive ways. Perhaps she’d discover Aubrey hiding behind one of those trees … or sliding down a snow-capped hill, laughter spilling from her lungs …
Jeseca stretched her limbs and scooted toward the edge of the mattress. Then she glanced at the end table, where she discovered a muffin on a small plate, a meticulously folded napkin, a tall glass of orange juice, and a post-it note. Jeseca snatched the scrap of paper from the surface, shoved on her glasses, and grinned at the clumsy, nearly illegible penmanship. True doctor’s writing.
A Kindled Winter Page 4
