A Kindled Winter

by Rachel L. Demeter

  “Damn you, woman,” he said through a breathy laugh. “Now you’ve asked for it.” His senses soared to life while sugary sweetness seeped between his lips and flavored his tongue.

  Then the entire mood shifted. Somehow, Jeseca’s body ended up wedged between his chest and the kitchen island. Barely breathing, he reached forward and propped a hand on either side of her slender waist. Beyond the walls, a gust of wind penetrated the home. Brody brushed against their legs, spooked by the sound. David paid him no heed; his attention was riveted on Jeseca … on the exquisite feel of her curves, the sound of her breath. After a moment she stiffened against his chest and locked onto his gaze. Silence took command, and their electricity sparked into a blazing inferno.

  They inhaled each other’s exhales. Transient and teasing, her hot, shallow breaths wafted against his cheeks like a lover’s kiss. They smelled enticingly sweet. Doubts and insecurities screamed through the back of his mind—and yet he couldn’t stop himself.

  Touching her was inevitable.

  She was far too close, too warm, and pure temptation sang through his veins. Unsteady hands ran up her slender waist, over the sides of her breasts in a daring, featherlight touch, up her pale neck … and finally lost themselves within her curls.

  She sagged against him and released a low, feminine moan. In spite of the scar tissue, those curls felt impossibly soft against his skin.

  He slid the rubber band from her hair, allowing the strands to cascade down her body like a diva’s shawl. He felt as her heart banged, echoing his own doubts and insecurities. She was as frightened and conflicted as he was. He felt it in her racing pulse, heard it in her erratic breaths, saw it in those penetrating green eyes …

  Eyes that would haunt his dreams for many nights to come.

  “David … I—”

  “Damn,” he gasped against her skin, “we’ve made a mess.”

  Then all rational thoughts evaded him. Focusing only on the woman resting in his arms, he swooped forward and swallowed the very last of her words.

  •

  Jeseca melted against David’s stone-hard chest while the entire room twirled onto its very axis. She felt the last of his resolve crumble into ashes. His tongue—smooth and decisive—conquered her mouth in a bruising kiss. He was no longer shy and insecure. Oh, no. He was confident. Ruthless. Eager to take what he deemed to be his. And Jeseca caught herself surrendering completely.

  Unable to stop herself, she reached into his hair and sifted the thick strands through her slightly sticky fingers. All five of her senses roared to life. Nothing escaped from her notice … the grind of the wooden counter biting into the small of her back, the wind’s mournful howl, Brody’s soft body pushing against her legs, the sculpted planes of David’s chest, the flitting highlights in his auburn hair …

  Heart beating like a bunny rabbit’s, she looped both arms around the column of his neck, tipped her head onto its side, and allowed his tongue full entrance. Conquer me. He responded with a groan, latched onto her hips, and drove her body against his own.

  She felt as his erection strained against his jeans and nudged her stomach. He tugged her closer and murmured incoherent words inside the cavern of her mouth. Her heartbeat increased tempo and feminine pride washed through her. His hands’ scarred palms cupped each of her cheeks in a painfully delicate touch. God, those hands … they fascinated her, drove her wild. She gripped onto his hair and forced him ever closer. Her effort was rewarded with a masculine moan.

  “Jeseca, you have no idea who I am …” Once more, he spoke inside her mouth, filling her with pain and angst. “Or what I’ve done … the pain I’ve caused …” His chest rumbled against her body and caressed her insides with the force of his vocals. A distinct agony warped those words, and Jeseca’s heart responded with a pang. His hot breaths beat against her face, swelling her nostrils with a minty scent … branding her forever.

  And then his eyes locked onto her own—and a shiver spiraled through her limbs. She felt herself melting inward, as if the center of her body was collapsing in on itself and would swallow her whole. “You have no idea what I’m capable of … what I could do to you right now …” His tone held a distinct challenge.

  She felt the sweltering heat of his words as they brushed against the bridge of her nose, the rumble of his voice moving against her body.

  Jeseca surprised herself and met it head on. “You think you know me—but I’m a damn stranger. Even to myself.”

  A breath caught in her throat. He was struggling to push her away—to secure the barriers around his heart and forever bar the entry. She wouldn’t allow it.

  Jeseca summoned every ounce of her courage and met his eyes. They penetrated her very soul and caused the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle. “Then show me. Show me the kind of man you are.”

  Silence stretched between them. The thick muscles in his shoulders, which had felt delectably firm and strong beneath her fingers, stiffened with tension.

  Jeseca reached out and laid her hand on his cheek. He leaned into her touch and blew out a long breath, molding the side of his face to her palm. “Let me know you, David. Please. Let me in.”

  More silence prevailed. Finally David stepped backward, erecting several feet of air between them, and repetitively clenched his fingers. Various emotions crossed his face.

  Desire. Pain. Anger. And the faintest trace of hope.

  She was losing him. Jeseca sensed his distancing like a palpable force. How long had he done this? How long had he shut out people who cared for him and built impenetrable walls around himself?

  Silently he shook his head and made a harsh signal toward the sink. When he spoke again, his tone was clipped and borderline clinical. “Some things are better left unknown. And this has gone too far. I apologize—you’re my guest. And I … I got carried away. I should have never …” He cleared his throat and shoved past Brody, who was preoccupied with licking a glob of cookie dough off the floor. “I’m going to wash up,” David stammered, shoving a handful of fingers through a flour-coated hairline. “I suggest you do likewise.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Jeseca,” my sister whispers between chapped, blistered lips. Her voice is shallow, weak, paper thin. Huddled against the headboard, she grasps onto her upright knees and neurotically rocks back and forth. Tears cascade from eyes so like mine and shatter her words into a million little pieces. “Please, Jes, please, please. You have to help me escape this place. They’re trying to poison me again. I’m so scared … I just wanna go home. Please take me home, Jes, please. I’ll die if I stay here.”

  I swallow the bile in my throat. Emotions racing, I sink down next to her and gently reach for her shoulder. I cringe at the feel of the long, reed-thin bone—a prominent wing jutting out from her frail back. She tenses at my touch, as if I’m a complete stranger, then locks onto my gaze. An icy chill races up and down my spine, and mutual tears tumble down my cheeks. I battle to regain control of my breathing and count backward from five.

  Five.

  “Please, Aubrey … you are sick. They’re only trying to help you. But you need to help yourself first. I beg you …” My gaze runs over her malnourished shoulder blades and sunken cheeks. Brutal welts cover her arms, marking where she’s repeatedly ripped out the IVs. “You need to eat. Please. Then you can come home. Okay? I miss you … I miss you so much …”

  Four.

  Aubrey’s entire countenance transforms. She backs away and rotates toward the wall. “They sent you! I knew it! And now they’ve turned you against me! My own sister, my best friend!” A dull echo through the room while she repeatedly bangs her forehead against the wall. “I want Daddy! He would help me, I know he would. You and Mom want me to rot in here! Go get Dad! Please! Daddy …”

  Three.

  My tears resurface, and my heart hammers, threatening to shatter through flesh and bone. “Dad is gone, Aubrey.” The words lodge inside my throat. An image of Dad, unconscious on the kitchen fl
oor with a bottle of vodka and Vicodin beside him, flashes through my mind. “Mom and I love you. More than anything. We would never do anything to hurt you. Both of us would die for you! Please—”

  Thud. Thud. Thud. A crimson line streams down the center of Aubrey’s forehead, and purple bruising begins to welt her skin. I frantically reach out and attempt to stop her self-destruction. She shoves at my shoulder with a surprising amount of force, sending me flying off the mattress. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you, and I hate Mom!”

  Two.

  “Stop it! Aubrey, stop doing this to yourself! Please!” Positioned on my hands and knees, tears drench my cheeks while I watch Aubrey from the cold, stone floor.

  Not seeming to hear me, she continues to slam her forehead against the wall until a bloody print takes shape. My heart tightens into a poignant knot. Helpless, defeated, and at a total loss for words, I witness as my sister descends into a place where I have no hope of ever reaching her …

  One.

  •

  Four days till Christmas

  The following evening, Jeseca cleared the dinner table with numb and detached movements. Her sister’s broken voice echoed through her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake it away.

  Please, Jes, please. You have to help me escape this place. I’m so scared. Please take me home, Jes, please. I’ll die if I stay here. You’re supposed to be my sister, my best friend …

  Jeseca harnessed back her tears and fought to combat the crush of emotions. Speaking to her mom had helped alleviate the pain somewhat—but, as always, the nightmare left a distinct void inside her chest.

  It was a hole that would never be filled. A part of herself that would forever remain lost and incomplete.

  She felt David watching her from across the table with eyes like a hawk’s. Those blue orbs bore into Jeseca, drinking her in. Balancing the wineglasses in one hand, she locked onto his gaze and propped an inquisitive, slightly accusatory brow. “Seriously, what? You keep staring at me like I’m going to combust at any given moment.”

  He snickered, and his lips curled into a small, charming grin. In response, Jeseca’s heartbeat picked up pace.

  He was truly devastating when he smiled. Those smiles never lasted long and vanished as fast as they’d first appeared. It was akin to catching sight of a spectacular phenomenon … much like witnessing a blazing comet as it streaks across a velvety night sky.

  It was a precious moment you cherished until your very last breath. And Jeseca wouldn’t ever forget it.

  “You’re acting quite different tonight,” he murmured, running a damp rag over the table. He brushed the crumbs to the end of the surface, and collected them in his scarred palm. Every movement was vigilant. Meticulous. Executed with great care and tenderness. As always, those hands fascinated Jeseca. Not the scars, burns, raised lines, or welted skin—but the intricate way they moved, as if everything they came in contact with was a prize to be cherished and adored. “You’re not acting at all like your usual self.”

  Jeseca felt the tears spring to her eyes again and a dark storm cloud gather overhead. “Oh? Well, perhaps you don’t know me at all.” It was a childish thing to say—but the words fled her lips before she could stop them. She was suffocating—drowning beneath the wave of memories.

  She needed out.

  She harshly turned away and paced into the kitchen, moving as fast as her legs could carry her. She blinked away impending tears and counted backward from five.

  Five. Four.

  Flipping on the sink, she held the wineglasses beneath the running water. The hot liquid cascaded over her knuckles in lieu of the tears she refused to shed.

  Three. Two.

  Relishing the warmth, she squeezed both eyes shut and fought to escape her sister’s haunting voice.

  I hate you! I hate you! I hate you, and I hate Mom!

  One.

  Solid muscle pressed against her back. Jeseca’s eyes shot open, and a sharp gasp fled her throat. The wineglass tumbled from her fingers and came dangerously close to shattering. Then she gripped onto the countertop while David’s unique scent filled her nostrils and heightened her senses.

  Exotic spices from distant worlds.

  Then his drugging voice was in her ear—inviting and warm. “Let me know you,” he whispered against her nape, parroting her words from the previous day. “Let me in …”

  Succulent breaths wafted through her curls and stirred them to life. He smelled delectable—of spices, winter, and mint. He inched nearer still, enclosing her body within his own, and brushed tantalizing fingertips along her spine. They smoothed away her curls and sent chills shooting through her body.

  Her thighs grew moist, her thoughts drew blank—and all she could bring to mind was his rich scent, the invigorating feel of his body, the tentative caress of those masterful fingers weaving through her curls …

  She craved the comfort he offered—and it took every ounce of her willpower not to spin around and melt against him.

  Then he ran his fingers down her bare arms in soothing, calculated strokes. His touch was gentle and light, though it surged with a fortifying strength. “You’re shaking.” His hand clasped onto her own in a possessive grip.

  He stepped to the side, as smooth and graceful as ever, glanced over his shoulder, and captured her eyes. Within that moment, his entire countenance softened, taking on a youthful appeal that stole her breath away. He squeezed her fingers between his own, applying an affectionate and reassuring pressure. “Everything will be okay. I promise. Now relax and come with me …”

  •

  Minutes later, David draped a thick sheepskin blanket over her shoulders and passed a mug of cider into her palms.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Steam rose from the spiced liquid and kissed her cheeks in warm, lush waves. She was curled up on the sofa, feet away from the crackling fireplace. The heat seeped into her bones and helped melt the icicles that clung to her heart. She lifted the mug to her mouth and swallowed her fill. Oh, yes. She surrendered to a low moan as the liquid streamed down her throat and into her belly.

  Nearby, Brody sprawled across the floorboards, and gnawed on a mangled scrap of rawhide. David settled down on the opposite end of the sofa, his colossal shoulders stiff with tension.

  Is he trying to distance himself from me? Or the flames?

  Cradling the mug in her palms, she took a moment to examine the family room. Rich chestnut tones, an elegant stone fireplace, dark floorboards, burgundy drapes, and rustic furniture. It was beautiful … and void of any genuine joy and warmth. Indeed. It was far from a family room.

  “You don’t decorate for the holidays. Why not?”

  “Why would I?” His voice was nearly a whisper and riddled with pain. He ran an unsteady palm through his hairline and gazed into the wavering fire. Then he laid both hands in his lap and curled his fingers into two unyielding fists. It was a defeated, defensive stance. And Jeseca had the notion that he didn’t stomach defeat well. “What purpose would a couple of lights and a tree serve?” He snapped. “And for whom?”

  Silent tension swelled the room. “For yourself. Do you really believe you’re so undeserving of feeling happiness?” The silence stretched on, fractured by the sounds of splintering wood, wind, and Brody’s insistent gnawing.

  A lump rose inside Jeseca’s throat. She held the mug against her chest and scooted closer to David, eliminating the gap between them. The muscles in his throat undulated as he swallowed. “I lost someone too, you know.” Her own throat constricted and choked off the words. “Someone very special. Two people, actually …” Contemplating the amber liquid, she stared into the mug while the silence took command. Steam rose from the cider, causing loose tendrils to dampen and curl against her nape in spirals.

  David’s hands fastened around her own, engulfing her skin. He loosened her death-grasp from the ceramic and set the mug atop the coffee table. Then he entwined their fi
ngers, webbing them together, and simply held her hand.

  His touch infused Jeseca with strength and courage. She turned to him and held his gaze for several indescribable moments. He carefully reached forward with his free hand and grazed the curve of her cheek. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t know she was holding before dipping into his palm. The uneven skin caressed her, causing a delightful ticklish sensation to awaken her nerve endings. Those hands were a doctor’s hands … hands that had healed so many … and she felt them healing her even now.

  “You can trust me, Jeseca. I’m here for you.”

  Jeseca lolled her head against the sofa and inhaled a steadying breath. The entire room seemed to spin—and a brutal wave of nausea rose into her throat.

  “Breathe,” came David’s gentle whisper. She felt his hand on the center of his chest. He applied a light pressure and massaged her thudding heart. His fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, and Jeseca felt some of the grief ebb away. “Slowly breathe. Slowly. That’s it. In. Out. In. Out. Good.” She did as commanded. Unexpected relief swelled her mind and body. “Take as long as you need. All night or the rest of winter. I’ll be here for you.”

  Jeseca mutely nodded. Then, without warning, the words spilled from the depths of her soul and took her by complete surprise. “We were fraternal twins. Though looking at us, you would have thought we were identical.”

  His hand found hers again, and he tentatively wove his fingers through her own. Caressing her knuckles with repetitive, hypnotic strokes, he gently urged, “What was her name?”

  “Aubrey.” The name summoned a choked sound from her throat. Years had passed since she’d spoken it aloud. David’s grip tightened on her hand, and she suddenly felt like she’d be lost without him. In this moment, he was a lifeline … her guiding lighthouse within a world of darkness.

  “A beautiful name. Means ‘Fair Ruler of the Little People,’ if I remember correctly.”