A Kindled Winter

by Rachel L. Demeter

  Jeseca,

  Didn’t want to wake you. Hope you’re feeling better and had a restful night’s sleep. As you already know, I’m no cook by any stretch of the imagination—but I thought I’d give it a go with this cinnamon muffin.

  Bon appétit.

  D.D.

  David’s words sent a warm wave shimmering through her body. Smiling to herself, she laid the note on the table and reached for the muffin. It was rather hard and the bottom was burned to a crisp. Regardless, she broke off a chunk and thrust it inside her mouth. Dry and a bit over-sweetened—but she devoured it just the same. After sipping the bitter orange juice, she rose from bed and strode into the hallway. The house was ice-cold, and David’s baggy T-shirt and boxers provided little comfort.

  He will need to fetch my suitcase from the car as soon as the snow lets up.

  Brody greeted her in the hallway with a talkative bark.

  “Well, good morning, handsome,” Jeseca returned. Then she crouched to her knees and wrapped both arms around the dog’s fluffy neck. He felt über-soft, and the scents of pine and winter clung to his coat. Laced within those smells lurked his master’s spicy aroma. An exotic blend of rare spices. Jeseca inhaled the unique scent, allowing it to warm her mind and body. “So where’s your papa? Huh?”

  As if he understood the inquiry, Brody leapt onto his hind legs and raced down the winding stairwell. Jeseca followed after him, her heart somersaulting inside her breast.

  She discovered David in the family room lounging by the fireplace. He was staring into the flames with a taut, uneasy expression stretched across his handsome face. The curtains were drawn tight—and the fireplace was the only source of light inside the large room; it cast long spidery shadows along the chestnut walls and shimmered across the wooden panels. The flames turned everything a warm golden hue and called to Jeseca like beckoning fingers.

  Obeying, she edged closer, utterly drawn to David. On the coffee table sat a bottle of dark wine, and a book was cradled in his lap. She continued to inch toward him, not wanting to disrupt his thoughts—yet needing to shatter the solemn silence that seemed to have devoured him whole.

  That silence was intense. Suffocating. And it spoke volumes.

  Brody leaped onto the sofa and jostled David from his inward solitude. She observed as he wrapped two strong arms around the dog’s neck and planted a kiss to its forehead. Brody returned the affection with a barrage of wet kisses, his entire butt wriggling back and forth. His undulating body almost knocked the wine bottle onto the floor. David rubbed the dog’s chest and murmured words of endearment that only Brody could hear. Then something that sounded suspiciously like baby talk babble reached Jeseca’s ears.

  Laughter burst from her lips before she could stop it. David’s eyes snapped to hers, a blush lightened his cheekbones, and his relaxed demeanor all but vanished.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to spy,” she said, edging closer to the sofa. David’s hair was damp, and the aroma of exotic spices swelled the room. Thick, dark stands clung to his nape like melted chocolate. He looked delicious. Good enough to eat. She willed her thumping heart to resume a normal rhythm.

  “No harm done,” he murmured in that deep, husky baritone.

  The middle of her body grew heavy and, despite her valiant attempts, her heart beat a little quicker. She reached out and grazed David’s arm, relishing the hard sinew and muscle beneath her fingers. “So? What’re you reading?”

  David tensed again beneath her touch and met her eyes. Nudging Brody away, he grabbed hold of the book’s corner and hastily flipped it over.

  “‘Hands and Hearts,’” she read aloud.

  “It’s a memoir of a renowned surgeon,” David cut in, attempting to extract the book from Jeseca’s fingers. She scooted backward, rocked onto the pads of her feet, and lifted it from his reach. David’s T-shirt pulled tight as he crossed both arms in dismay—though a small grin tugged at his mouth.

  Victory.

  Suddenly the temperature seemed to increase by one hundred degrees. Jeseca’s heart thumped an uneven tango while her palms grew hot and clammy. Distracting herself, she opened the book and scanned the page. “‘Few things are more difficult than speaking to the patient and their family moments before open heart surgery. For many—’”

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Reading to you, silly. Now no interrupting, please.” His grin expanded into a full-blown smile, just as she’d hoped it would. “Just relax and close your eyes.” To Jeseca’s surprise, he did as commanded. Her breath caught while she examined his face. She seized the opportunity to study him. And for the first time she really saw into him.

  There was something whimsical and undeniably tragic embedded in every line of his face. A distinct sadness—a mirage of painful memories—burdened his handsome face. It was rugged, softened only by dark, sweeping lashes. They rested against his cheekbones and cast crescent shadows along his tan skin. Day-old stubble peppered the curve of his jawline. Jeseca battled the urge to latch on either side of his face and draw him into a slow, sensual kiss …

  Never had she seen such haunting beauty. Or such sadness.

  “Change of ‘heart?’” came the smooth rumble of his voice. The words jostled her from the trance, nearly causing her to drop the book. Then one of his eyes peeped open. “I realize it’s no Jane Eyre …”

  “Sorry. Here we go.” Jeseca cleared her throat and continued reading from the page. “‘For many, this meeting may very well be a last goodbye, and as the surgeon, I hold the patient’s fate in the palm of my hand …’”

  Minutes crept into a half hour, and David descended into a peaceful sleep. All the while, Jeseca continued reading from the pages.

  Hands and Hearts.

  •

  Cold water streamed from the showerhead and helped cool David’s body. Damn. Thanks to Jeseca Reed, he was on fire and burning. Mind spinning, he outstretched both arms against the shower wall and stabilized his languid body weight.

  He’d run on the treadmill and lifted barbells until his muscles burned and the sweat blinded him. Then he’d run some more. He’d exhausted both his mind and body to the point of fatigue. He was a foolish idiot, driving himself to sickness, the doctor in him scolded. As always, he’d attempted to run from himself—to outrun the emotions boiling inside his gut—and as always, he’d found he couldn’t outrun reality.

  It was a cold, hard truth … and one that was over five years in the making.

  His gaze drew to the tattoo wrapping his left bicep. A black Spider-Man design decorated his inner arm. David squeezed both eyes shut and summoned an image of Charlie inside his mind.

  His son’s features materialized within his thoughts: his lush mane of brown curls, blue eyes, and dimpled chin …

  Exhaling a rigid breath, David’s head lolled forward until it rested against the shower wall. Ice-cold water streamed down his back—yet the inner turmoil continued to radiate.

  Never had he believed in fate; his mind had always been grounded in cold, hard reality. And yet, he had a strange feeling that this woman has stumbled upon his doorstep, a week before Christmas, not by chance. And something warned him that everything was about to change—his carefully constructed perspective was about to be flipped onto its axis.

  The protective walls of his Blue River home were about to come crumbling down, and soon there would be nowhere left to hide.

  She had read to him—and the gentle lull of her voice had carried him into a lush dream world. For once in so many years, the nightmares had kept away.

  It couldn’t be ignored. The more David interacted with Jeseca, the more he found himself aching to know everything about her. He winced while the logical, pragmatic side of his brain constructed a detailed, methodical checklist of all things Jeseca Reed.

  What sort of music did she like? Did she prefer coffee or tea? Was she a good or lousy dancer? What about her voice? Could she carry a tune? Did she sleep on her si
de, on her stomach, or on her back? Was she a passionate kisser, fearless in her affection? And what had brought that transient sadness to those beautiful eyes—that palpable grief that he felt echo inside himself? Could they have a future a together?

  Can I dare to feel hope?

  Emotions churning, David flipped off the showerhead, deciding he’d learn one of those things before dusk.

  Minutes later he cracked open Charlie’s door and stood beneath the archway. Silent and still, he observed as Jeseca peacefully napped. Brody was curled up next to her—a massive ball of stark white—and David found himself envying the beast.

  He slipped inside the room, completely transfixed, and swept a loose curl from Jeseca’s cheek. Shallow breaths passed through her parted lips—and David wanted nothing more than to bend forward and kiss her senseless. Her slender torso rose and fell with dreamy breaths. David clenched his fingers as he grew hypnotized by those graceful motions.

  Turning away, he crossed an item off his checklist: Jeseca Reed slept on her side.

  •

  Hours later, dusk crept up on the home. Long fingers of darkness crawled through the rooms. The snow had grown stronger throughout the day, and a lush, white blanket cloaked Blue River. David sat in his office, occupying his mind with medical research.

  Refreshed from her afternoon nap, Jeseca secretly observed him from the archway with a mixture of sadness and fascination. He sat before the computer, solemn and painfully grave, his long back straighter than an arrow. The monitor’s illumination softened the angular lines of his face. His blue eyes were narrowed in intense concentration, his large shoulders stiff with tension, and his scarred hands gently stroked the keyboard. Those hands had saved hundreds of lives … they’d conducted miracles. How would they feel upon her body?

  And what had caused those scars, she wondered? Her heart gave a sudden twinge. Behind him, the window was drawn open, showcasing an iridescent winter wonderland. She reflected on the Christmas video … on how happy and at peace he’d once been. Now he resembled a mere shadow of that man. The desire to step behind his chair, set both hands on his shoulders, and massage the tension from his muscles nearly overwhelmed her.

  She understood that numbing, all-consuming feeling; his losses called out to her, resonating inside her soul.

  Aside from their sporadic interactions, she hardly ever saw David; he took his microwaved meals alone, immersed himself in books and research … or simply sat in thoughtful, distant silence. And yet, when they’d eaten together and she’d read to him, glimpses of that carefree, warm spirit had emerged. But he’d erected a protective barrier around himself, she knew well—and Jeseca ached to tear it down. Seduced by that thought, the beginning of an idea unraveled inside her mind.

  •

  David’s stomach rumbled as an exotic blend of rich aromas flavored the air. At first he was sure he’d imagined them—but over the last hour and a half they’d grown unmistakably vivid.

  Throwing down his pen, he leaned back in the leather chair and searched the office for Brody. The wretched beast was nowhere to be found. Sighing, David rose to his feet and tracked down the hallway. It led to the stairwell, which led to the family room, which connected to the kitchen—where he found Jeseca kneading a huge wad of … something.

  Brody was plopped on his haunches—and observing her every movement with a hawk’s eye. He patiently awaited a blunder on Jeseca’s part, which might result in a fallen scrap.

  Humming to herself, Jeseca stood before the center island. A light dusting of flour coated his T-shirt, the white clouds contrasting against the black material. His boxer shorts gave a delightful view of her long, slender legs—and David imagined them entwined about his thrusting body …

  I’ll fetch her suitcase tomorrow—even if the storm damn near kills me.

  Her hair was fastened back with a rubber band, placing the fine architecture of her collarbone on full display. She sighed to herself and shot Brody with a narrowed glance. Shaking her head, she muttered, “Tsk-tsk. You only like me because of the food, huh?”

  Delicate, slender hands continued beating the wad into submission. She paused for a moment, as if to catch her breath, then scratched her nose with her lower arm. Unbeknownst to her, flour clung to her cheeks and mouth. David leaned against the wall while a slow, unexpected smile crawled across his lips. Then her face jerked up and back, as if she sensed being watched. Her gaze slammed into his own with a startling force, and held him completely spellbound.

  “Oh, David! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m a cardiovascular surgeon.”

  “Ah. Touché.” She smiled and tipped her face, causing a red curl to swirl against her cheek. Then a pink tongue pushed through her mouth, and she licked away the flour.

  The movement was unconscious, David knew—yet it was highly sensual and more than a bit arousing. His groin stirred in response, and he prayed she didn’t notice his jean’s straining material.

  “Oh! I hope you don’t mind,” she explained, gesturing toward the stove and pot with floury hands. “I wanted it to be a surprise. You always eat by yourself,” she rambled, shoving curls from her face. “I thought you’d appreciate a home cooked meal.”

  “A surprise?” he echoed, dumbfounded.

  “Dinner and dessert. More specifically, spaghetti and sugar cookies. It’s my little way of saying ‘thanks’ after all you’ve done.” Then, she added with an endearing blush, “I didn’t have much too much to work with. I, uh … I hope you don’t mind. I pretty much plundered your pantry.”

  Mind? How could I mind? he thought with amazement.

  David felt something unwanted contract inside his chest. Rendered speechless, he moved toward Jeseca, drawn to her in spite of himself, and smiled down at her flour-coated cheeks. Tipping her face back, she audibly drew in a breath as he reached out and dusted the tip of her nose with two fingertips. The sweet scents of sugar and vanilla made David want to bury his face in her neck. The aromas clung to her skin like some whimsical perfume.

  With her standing there, so impossibly close, caked in flour, dressed in his clothes, the pot of water boiling on the stove, the air sweetened with warm, inviting scents … the house felt like a home again. The realization caused his insides to convulse and gather into a tight, poignant knot.

  It felt right. Terrifyingly right. And for a startling moment, David wondered how he’d survived in a self-imposed exile for so long. Her easy humor and warmth felt so much a part of him … it made no logical sense and sent his emotions spinning in a thousand different directions.

  The puzzle was growing more erratic, more irrational, and damn near impossible to piece together.

  “You’ve got flour on your nose,” he murmured. “And your glasses are cloudy. It’s a wonder you can see anything.”

  “I can’t.”

  Grinning wide, David removed the glasses, dusted them with his T-shirt, and slid them back into place. Then he pushed a wayward curl from her hairline and examined the cut on her forehead. It was healing quickly—a faint dash of red against her alabaster skin.

  “Looks beautiful,” he said—though he wasn’t talking about the cut, and she damn well knew it. He leaned in closer, closer … until their mouths were mere inches apart, sharing the same intakes of air. Her elegant, slim neck called out to him and whispered his name. Touch me, taste me, consume me …

  “God, you’re such a mess.” His insides caught fire and roared to life. Every inch of his body grew hot as his ravenous stare danced across her face. His erection violently strained against the zipper of his jeans, fighting to bust free. She looked stunning, her hair powdered white, her cheeks caked in flour, his oversized T-shirt devouring those slender, petite curves …

  Tension sweltered between them. David wanted nothing more than to thrust her against the kitchen wall and feast upon her lips with the fervor of a starved man. He debated lifting her onto the counter and climbing on top of her bo
dy—but insecurities reared inside his gut and kept his feet rooted to the tile floor. Damn it to hell. If he didn’t regain control of himself soon, he’d at the very least kiss her senseless. Insecurities be damned. And he knew she felt the attraction too. The very air sizzled with electricity and sensuous heat.

  Without warning a mischievous glint surfaced in her eyes—and before he knew what hit him, Jeseca squished a huge wad of cookie dough in the center of his face.

  “Would you look at that? Now you’re a mess, too!”

  What just happened?

  David stood in stunned silence for several seconds. Eyes never abandoning Jeseca’s victorious expression, he stripped the cookie dough from his nose. An achy sweetness flooded his senses and caused his stomach to rumble. Musical, robust laughter filled the air as Jeseca edged away from the counter. Then she stuck out her tongue—and David couldn’t help but meet her challenge head on.

  For the briefest of moments, the horrors of his past vanished. All that existed was him, Jeseca, and a sugary wad of cookie dough.

  Hardly knowing what he was doing, he grabbed a handful of said dough and hurled it across the counter. She ducked, avoiding the ammunition by a mere inch, and circled around the island. David followed suit while rich laughter vibrated his chest. They eyed each other from across the wooden surface, their combined laughter swelling the space.

  When was the last time he’d lost himself to something as simple and silly as a food fight? Hell, when was the last time he’d allowed himself to laugh, to feel joy and wild abandon? The sensation was foreign—and a youthful fire sparked to life inside his belly.

  Meanwhile, Jeseca collected another handful of dough and chucked it at the center of his chest. He dodged the assault by a mere inch, whirled around the counter, and latched onto the edge of her T-shirt. His handprint contrasted against the material, stark white upon the black. She squealed, grabbed for the dough, spun around full circle, and smashed it straight into his hair. If that wasn’t quite enough, she smeared the remaining dough that stuck to her fingers over his face. It gripped onto the skin between his eyes and hung from his cheeks in dangling strands.