A White Rose

by Bekah Ferguson

  They looked about for awhile, drinking their cocoa, breathing in its scent, and enjoying the stillness and hush of the forest. An occasional clump of snow tumbled from a tree here and there, landing with a whumpf. Bear had disappeared for the past while but returned with his fur wet and dripping to sit next to Jason.

  It was snowing now, the sunshine long gone.

  Jason pulled back the sleeve of his coat and checked his watch. “We should head back,” he said, buckling his snowshoes back on and standing up. “It's two-thirty. Gotta get you back in time for your evening plans.” He smiled at her, reaching for his hiking stick and tossing the backpack over his shoulder.

  She stood up slowly, having forgotten her dinner engagement and remembering it now with reluctance. It was to be another rendezvous with Alexandre. He'd called the night before. After three days of stewing over her Wednesday appointment with Josie, she'd practically leaped at the opportunity for male companionship.

  They made it back to Jason's within an hour.

  The snow was coming down heavy now, the sky a dismal gray. The untimely darkness and cold of mid-afternoon sent a chill up her spine and she longed to retreat inside Jason's quaint, hand-hewn home where she knew he'd be kindling the wood stoves and switching on cozy lamps. She wanted nothing more than to curl up on his living room sofa with a patchwork quilt about her shoulders. If only she hadn't told him she had plans; perhaps he would've invited her to stay.

  At the back deck, she unstrapped her snowshoes and tucked them under her arm, following Jason to the storage shed next to the carport. She peered inside it as she handed him the snowshoes. Several sets of skis leaned against one of the shadowed interior walls. “Oh, you have skis too!” she said, holding back a squeal of delight.

  He stepped out and gave her an inquisitive look before closing up the shed. “Tell me you've been skiing before.”

  “Once again—sadly no.” She let out a lilting laugh. “Never was interested in flying down cliffs on flimsy sticks.”

  “But what about cross-country skiing?” he asked, breath cloudy. He yanked off his hat, hair all mussed up.

  “My friends love the hills, so no one's ever wanted to try cross-country. I guess it seems boring to them—not as much of a thrill. I would love it though,” she said, hoping for an invite. “The snowshoeing was an interesting experience, but I think I'd like skiing even more.”

  If he'd taken the hint, he didn't act on it. “Depends on the condition of the snow, really,” he said. “If it's packed down some, it's perfect for skiing.” He pulled off his gloves and scarf, glancing at his watch again. “You coming in for a bit or do you need to head out now?”

  She pulled off her own hat, hoping her hair wasn't too flattened and static-charged. She usually spent a good half hour or even a full hour preparing for a dinner date—but she couldn't bring herself to leave just yet. As long as she was home by forty thirty, she could scramble to get to Alexandre's by five and still look decent. Her being late was good for him anyway; kept him guessing. They liked that. Something enchanting about a woman who couldn't be tamed.

  “As long as I'm out of here by four,” she said, “I'll be fine.” She stuck a hand on her hip and gave him a kittenish glance. “Are you offering me another hot chocolate?” A wink.

  He stood still a moment, his eyes clear and thoughtful as he held her come-hither look. “Are you still trying to seduce me?”

  She was too startled by his bluntness to summon an immediate response.

  He turned and headed through the broken snow to the front porch with brisk steps and taut shoulders.

  Dakota stood rooted in place a moment, unsure what to do or say next. With a shrug of her shoulders at the blank sky, she let out a long exhale and trudged after him.

  He was so unpredictable.

  In any case, it was at least refreshing, if not frustrating.

  Chapter 30

  Jason paused when he reached the front steps and glanced back over his shoulder. “You coming?” he said. His expression was completely affable and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  With a bright smile, she closed the gap between them and followed him into the warm house. A whiff of smoldering logs filled her with a sense of nostalgia; as though in a past life she'd lived this way, perhaps as a pioneer.

  She hung up her coat and scarf, excusing herself to the washroom where she straightened her hair and inspected her appearance.

  Jason was in the kitchen, his broad back toward her as he poured hot water from a kettle into two mugs. A can of whipped cream stood on the counter next to them.

  He turned around and smiled, his hair smoothed now. She wondered if it was for her sake or just something he did by habit. His cheeks were still rosy from the exercise and she longed to run a finger along the shadow of his jaw line.

  With a smile, Jason passed her a mug topped with a whirl of whipped cream and then stepped around her. Normally she wouldn't drink two hot chocolates in one day, but this was an exception. She'd watch her diet the rest of the week to make up for it.

  They went to the living room to sit around the toasty parlor stove and after she'd taken a seat, Jason sat on the sofa across from her. It seemed a deliberate act of reserve. Did he think she would pounce him if he sat beside her? He seemed aloof now; not as blithe as he had been outdoors. If only she hadn't given him that suggestive look.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?” she asked.

  His eyes widened. “Did I give that impression?”

  She shrugged and crossed one leg over the other. “Kind of.”

  “Well then—maybe a little,” he said, chuckling. “You're pretty intense sometimes.”

  She laughed. “Do I scare you, Jason Sinclair?”

  A half smile. “I'd say so, yeah.” He patted his lap and Bear jumped up onto the sofa, curling up next to him; fur visibly damp from the snow.

  What would it be like to stretch out in Jason's lap like that, to lay her head on his broad chest and have him wrap his strong arms around her?

  Fidgeting, she leaned back against the sofa and sipped her cocoa. The whipped cream had melted to a thin film and tasted like cream.

  Two windows behind Jason were shrouded in snow and shadows while the living room was warm and yellow. It was so cozy.

  She could stay here with him forever…

  “So, tell me—,” she said. “How do you stay so fit drinking such deadly hot chocolate all the time?”

  He laughed heartily and her heart fluttered in response. She bit back an irritated cuss.

  “I have hot chocolate maybe once or twice a month,” he said. “It's tradition—a tromp through the snow requires a cup of cocoa. It's like… watermelon on the beach.”

  “Really.”

  “Really.”

  With a lighthearted smirk, she broke eye contact and glanced around the room. She adored this house. It was so rustic, like stepping back in time. But it was also comfortable and artsy and so interesting to look at. The black and silver parlor stove, the walls of furrowed gray beams, the dull hardwood floors and scattered throw rugs. The mix of antique and modern furniture items; not one of the kitchen appliances matched the other.

  It was all so different from her own home of polished white floors, white sofas, white walls, stainless steel appliances. Yet Jason's house was so refined and restful somehow. A real home. Her house was more of a showcase really—a place to display her social status to friends. She'd never truly felt relaxed there; at least, not like she did here.

  Jason glanced at his wristwatch.

  Was he anxious for her to leave?

  “Is it that time?” she asked.

  “Ten-to.”

  “I'll stay a few more minutes then.” She studied his face, searching for an objection, but if there was one, he kept it masked.

  They spoke of the Christmas holidays, only four weeks away, and reminisced over favorite festive memories; most of which, for Dakota, centered around the holidays of her adulthood, spent with fri
ends and some years, Clarice.

  Jason shared a few childhood memories of Christmases in this very house as deeper thoughts streamed through her mind in an undertone—thoughts of Alexandre and the evening to come. Hazy images of his caresses, his fine wines, his laughter and brown eyes…

  She knew nothing of who Alexandre really was. Had they ever discussed anything beyond careers and frivolities? What were his values and future aspirations? What kind of memories did he cherish? More importantly—did she care?

  It was all about sex with Alexandre. The only kind of relationship she'd ever had with a man—the only kind she'd wanted.

  Until Jason, that is.

  But friendship alone wasn't enough. She wanted—needed—a lover. That being the case, why couldn't she be content to enjoy friendship with Jason as long as she was getting sex on the side as well? Surely that was enough to fill the sum of her needs.

  “Are you getting a tree?” she asked suddenly, sharply—pulling herself from the pervasive thoughts.

  Jason set his mug on the coffee table next to a dog-eared Bible and rubbed the back of his neck, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. “Yeah—Next weekend,” he said with a grin. “Jaelynn and I are going to hunt out back for the perfect one.”

  She tried to imagine wandering through the thick of forest, chopping down a tree with an ax and dragging it all the way back home. Her own tree—a crystal-white spruce with built-in lights—was carefully folded up in a plastic storage bin in her basement. Dreadfully ironic—she, the horticulturist, not wanting to cut and trim and care for a real tree inside her home. But she just wasn't willing to have pine needles all over her polished living room floor. Besides, flowering plants were her specialty, not trees.

  “You're unbelievable,” she said. “Please tell me you don't perch candles on the branches instead of lights.”

  He laughed. “No, but I do have a twenty-foot strand of popcorn garland I made when I was ten.”

  She stood to her feet with a loud sigh of feigned exasperation. “You are too much.”

  Jason stood as well and followed her to the front door, where she slipped on her boots.

  “Thanks so much for the trek and the chocolate,” she said with a smile.

  She reached for her coat then, pausing with a last minute thought of making a move on him. The idea had been in the back of her mind all afternoon; something which had always worked with men before. Numbers alone suggested the move would work. At the same time, all attempts at coquetry with Jason so far had failed miserably.

  But what if she were to force a kiss on him?

  All it took was one spark to start a forest fire. Could he resist the lips of a sultry, voluptuous woman?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Jason was hunched down and focused on Bear; scratching the dog's ears. He didn't seem to notice her hesitation in donning her coat, so she left it on the hook. Bear moved out of the way—opening the gap between them—and Jason straightened up.

  Before he could say a word or step away, she reached up, gripped his hair in her fingers and pressed her open mouth against his.

  His warm lips twitched in response but he reached up and took hold of her wrists, pulling her hands from his hair and stepping backward—breaking the kiss and creating a four-foot distance between them.

  A look of disappointment and anger simmered in his eyes.

  “I thought there was a level of respect between us now,” he said, voice sounding carefully controlled. “I was wrong.”

  Her heart sank, prickly heat stabbing at her cheeks. “Of course I respect you.”

  “Then tell me what that was.”

  No answer came to her lips.

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me something, Dakota,” he said, glowering. “Are you going out tonight with another man?”

  She mustn't lie.

  For as long as she could remember, she'd been careful to tell the truth when pressed for a direct answer—she didn't like deceitfulness in others and avoided it herself. But to tell the truth now would be the finishing blow.

  Respect.

  What had happened to all her admiration and respect for Jason?

  “Yes,” she said, lowering her gaze. “But if it means anything… I would've called it off in a heartbeat if you'd kissed me back!”

  She tried to meet his eyes but he moved around her and opened the door, flicking on the mounted porch lantern.

  She pulled on her coat and went outside. He didn't look at her as she passed by him. By the time she'd climbed into her vehicle, he'd already gone back inside.

  Dakota took her time backing out of the driveway, craning her neck to see out the back window. Hot tears trailed down her cheeks; the intake of her breath quick and raspy.

  ***

  Dinner with Alexandre was much like it had been the last two occasions as well—a whole lot of hot air trumpery.

  Dakota chatted with him pleasantly, a smile on her face and a teasing glint in her eyes. Inwardly she was raw and unsettled—not even knowing what he was saying half the time—but he didn't seem to notice. He enjoyed the sound of his own voice too much.

  When she caught herself leaning her chin in the palm of her hand for too long, she straightened up, arched her back, and threw on a bright smile. Keeping up a phony persona was quite a chore when she wasn't burning with passion. And why wasn't she burning with passion?

  She cursed Jason under her breath and tried to squelch all thoughts of him.

  It wasn't working.

  The memory of him rejecting her kiss continued to heat her cheeks and the tips of her ears. By the time dinner was finished and Alexandre had excused himself to prepare dessert, she knew she couldn't keep up the pretense any longer.

  Dakota pushed back her chair, straightened the straps of her cocktail dress and went to the kitchen where Alexandre, sleeves rolled up, was uncorking a bottle of wine.

  He glanced at her in surprise, a look of pleasure filling his eyes. “Dessert in the bedroom?” he asked with a slow smile.

  She shut her eyes and drew a deep inhale through her nostrils. Her heart pounded wildly, wound tighter than any passion had ever spun it before. But this wasn't passion. She'd never felt this sensation before—this desire to flee.

  Never.

  “Alex, I—I'm so sorry—” She opened her eyes. “I—don't think I can do this tonight.”

  Confusion bathed his features, eyes narrowing. He set down the bottle of white wine and moved around the counter to where she stood—placing his hands on her shoulders. “My dear, what is the matter?” His eyes softened as he searched her face. “Are you not feeling well?”

  The warmth of his lean hands on her cold, sleeveless arms weakened her resolve.

  “You must need some pampering,” he spoke in an undertone, drawing her to him and kissing her lips, her cheekbone. He slid his fingers over her ear and into her hair.

  She kissed him back, closing her eyes.

  Clipped visions of Jason filled her mind. Trekking through the woods ahead of her like a gorilla, winking playfully as he twisted off the cap of a scratched-up Thermos, taking her red-mitted hand in his big black one to help her up an embankment. Whenever he'd come near he'd smelled of cold air and sweat—masculine and alluring.

  But then there was the hurt look in his eyes after she'd tried to seduce him…

  She couldn't do this—stay with Alexandre.

  The last time she'd fantasized she was with Jason instead of someone else there'd been nauseating guilt to endure for weeks afterward—and even now as she recalled.

  Her eyes snapped open and she pulled away. “Alex—I'm so sorry.”

  He stepped back from her, cultured brown eyes darkening with anger or coldness. Or both. He would be a gentleman, of course—but this was it. Alexandre Belmont would never call her number again—not if she rejected him like this tonight.

  She walked to the front door of his elegant condo and slipped on her jacket and high-heeled bo
ots. Alexandre opened the door for her, no questions asked—his face devoid of the warmth and charm he'd sported all evening.

  Of all the men she'd dated over the years, perhaps not even one of them had been sincere. And why should they be? This was just a game, after all.

  “Thanks for a lovely meal,” she said, her body tense and feverish, heart pounding. “I'm… sorry!”

  He nodded and leaned against the door frame, gold bracelet glinting at his wrist next to his belt. If he was enraged, he didn't show it, aside from the fine line forming on his brow and the distant look in his eyes.

  She walked away.

  Chapter 31

  When Dakota walked away from Alexandre's flat and stepped into a gilded elevator, she didn't know what she was walking away from—besides the obvious. It's not like she had anything to walk to. And what next? If she eventually found another lover, it would be the same deal: wishing he was Jason.

  She pressed the down button and cursed Jason under her breath for the hundredth time.

  If she didn't get over him fast, she'd never have a life again.

  What life?

  She misstepped and grabbed the wall for support as she exited the elevator. Composing herself, she went outside and paused on the walkway; gazing at the snow-dusted rows of parked cars illuminated by towering lamp posts. Who was she kidding? She was in love with Jason Sinclair. After all these years of deliberately hoarding her heart, she'd gone and placed it so trustingly in his hands, like a small child, knowing full well he would never return her love. Another inward curse. Why must he continue to patronize her with friendship? Well… there was a good chance he wouldn't after today.

  Dakota crossed the parking lot to her SUV and climbed inside, thankful she'd only had one glass of wine. When she reached home, she changed into her flannel pajamas and sheepskin slippers and hung her lovely dress in the closet; feeling so very old for the first time in her life. In the kitchen she began to prepare a strong drink but changed her mind—brewing the kettle for herbal tea instead.