4. Jace
four
Jace
I wake before dawn, habit more than necessity. The usual mountain silence is replaced by the soft howl of wind around the cabin's corners. The storm hasn't let up. If anything, it intensified overnight.
My workshop had been a refuge last night—somewhere to escape the unsettling presence of a woman in my space. Not that Elisa was demanding or intrusive. Just the opposite. She'd folded herself into my home with surprising grace, despite her obvious frustration. But having her here feels like an invasion anyway—of the solitude I've carefully constructed over the past five years.
Five years since I walked away from my Toronto engineering firm, the corner office with its view of nothing but other buildings, the endless meetings about optimizing designs for mass production rather than purpose. I'd been designing water filtration systems for disaster zones before corporate interests shifted to more profitable ventures. The day they reassigned me to luxury plumbing fixtures was the day I knew I was done.
I remember the bewildered expressions when I handed in my resignation. " You're going where to do what ?" My boss couldn't comprehend walking away from a six-figure salary to build rescue equipment in the mountains.
Some mornings, like this one, I wonder if he had a point.
I pull on wool socks and heavy flannel pants, not bothering with a shirt yet. I check my phone. No signal, which isn't surprising. What is surprising is the blank screen on my smart home panel. The power's out.
Perfect.
The main room is still warm enough from last night's banked fire. I kneel at the hearth, adding kindling to the coals that have survived the night. At least the chimney's drawing well, despite the wind. The flames catch quickly, hungry for fuel.
"Is the power out?"
I turn to find Elisa standing in the doorway of the guest room, wrapped in what appears to be every blanket I own. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, tangled from sleep, and her eyes are still heavy-lidded. Something tightens in my chest at the sight.
"Since sometime overnight," I reply, adding larger logs to the growing fire. "Generator should have kicked in automatically."
"But it didn't."
"Apparently not."
She clutches the blankets tighter. "So what does that mean exactly?"
"Means I need to check the generator. For now, it means no heat except the fireplace, no electricity, no running water since the pump's electric."
"No running water?" Her eyes widen. "But—"
"I keep emergency water in the pantry. And there's always snow to melt." I stand, brushing wood chips from my hands. "I'm going to check the generator. Fire should warm things up in here soon."
Her eyes drop to my bare chest then quickly back to my face. A flush spreads across her cheeks that has nothing to do with the cold. "Do you need help?"
The question catches me off guard. "With the generator?"
"Or anything. I feel useless just standing here."
"Coffee would be good. Percolator and grounds are in the pantry. You can make it on the woodstove."
She nods, looking relieved to have a task. I grab a shirt from the back of a chair and pull it on, too aware of her eyes following the movement.
Outside, the world has transformed into a white void. Snow reaches halfway up my front door, and it's still coming down hard. I wade through the drift to the generator shed, hoping it's just a minor issue. We're going to need power if this keeps up.
Twenty frozen minutes later, I've identified the problem—an iced-over vent—but fixing it properly will take parts I don't have on hand. I manage a temporary patch that gets it running, though I'm not sure for how long.
When I stamp back into the cabin, the smell of coffee hits me immediately, along with the surprising sight of Elisa managing the stove-top percolator.
"You got it working," I say, shaking snow from my hair.
"Necessity." She pours the coffee into two mugs. "Your generator?"
"Running for now. Might not last." I accept the offered mug, our fingers brushing in the exchange. Even that brief contact makes my breath catch. "We should prepare for it to fail again."
Her face falls slightly, but she nods. "Tell me what we need to do."
We spend the morning preparing—bringing in extra firewood, melting snow for water reserves, moving perishables from the fridge to the coldest corner of the pantry. Elisa follows instructions without complaint, her efficient movements reminding me of SAR team exercises. She's surprisingly strong for her size, carrying in logs I wouldn't have expected her to manage.
By midday, we've done what we can. The cabin is warm from our efforts and the steady fire. I check my emergency radio, catching snippets of road reports. None of it good.
"Davidson Pass is completely blocked," I tell her as she arranges kindling by the fireplace. "Avalanche danger is too high for crews to attempt clearing. They're saying at least three more days."
Instead of the meltdown I half-expected, she simply sits back on her heels. "Then I guess I should learn how to keep this fire going properly."
"You're taking this well."
She gives me a wry smile. "Would panicking help?"
"No."
"Then what would be the point?" She turns back to the fireplace. "Though I would appreciate it if you'd show me how to do this correctly. I'm improvising based on what I've seen in movies."
I move to kneel beside her, close enough that I can smell her—a light floral perfume mingled with wood smoke. "You're not doing badly, but the structure needs work. Here."
I reach around her to rearrange the wood, my chest nearly touching her back. She goes very still, and I become acutely aware of our proximity. My hands suddenly feel too large, too clumsy as I demonstrate the proper arrangement.
"The key is airflow," I explain, my voice rougher than intended. "You want oxygen to feed the flames, but not so much that it burns too quickly."
She nods, and the movement causes her hair to brush against my jaw. "Like this?"
She adjusts a piece of kindling, and her fingers graze mine. Neither of us moves for a moment, the contact lingering longer than necessary. The firelight casts golden shadows across her skin, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lower lip as she catches it between her teeth.
"Yeah," I manage. "Like that."
When she turns her head to look at me, our faces are inches apart. Something shifts in her expression—a decision made.
"Jace?" Her voice is barely audible.
"Yeah?"
"I'm getting mixed signals here."
I should move away. This is a complication I don't need. But instead, I hear myself ask, "What signals are you getting?"
"That you wish I wasn't here. And also..." Her eyes drop to my mouth. "That maybe you're glad I am."
"Both can be true." The admission surprises even me.
She shifts, turning to face me fully, the firelight playing across features that have been occupying my thoughts more than they should. "Which one's winning right now?"
The rational part of my brain is sending urgent warnings. This is temporary. She'll be gone as soon as the roads clear. Back to her city, her wedding planning, her world that has nothing in common with mine.
But my body has its own ideas. My cock is already hardening, straining against my pants from just this proximity, just the floral scent of her and the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
"Fuck it," I mutter, and close the distance between us.
Her mouth opens under mine immediately, hot and eager. The kiss isn't gentle or tentative—it's hungry, with an intensity that catches me off guard. Her hands find my shoulders, nails digging in slightly through my shirt. I grip her waist, pulling her closer, groaning when her soft curves press against my chest.
I slide one hand into her hair, cradling the back of her head as I lower her to the thick rug before the fireplace. Her body fits beneath mine perfectly, soft where I'm hard, yielding where I'm insistent. My cock pulses almost painfully now, pressing against her thigh through too many layers of fabric.
When she arches against me, creating delicious friction, I have to break the kiss to catch my breath. "Elisa—"
"Don't overthink it," she whispers, her hands traveling down my back to my hips, urging me closer. "Just... I need this. Don't you?"
The honest answer is yes. After months of solitude, her touch feels like a sip of water in a desert. I capture her mouth again, rougher now, my restraint slipping as she moans softly. Her hands find their way under my shirt, exploring the muscles of my back, tracing each ridge and plane with appreciation that makes my skin burn hotter than the nearby fire.
I trail kisses down her neck, addicted already to the small sounds she makes when I find sensitive spots. My hand moves to her breast, cupping its weight through her sweater, feeling the peak harden against my palm. She gasps, arching into the touch, silently asking for more.
"You're beautiful," I murmur against her collarbone, pushing her sweater up to expose the creamy skin of her stomach. "Wanted to touch you since I first saw you."
"Even though I'm an annoying city girl?" she asks, a hint of challenge in her breathless voice.
"Especially because of that." I dip my head to place open-mouthed kisses along her ribs, moving steadily higher. "The way you walked into the lodge like you owned it. Confident. In control."
She laughs softly, the sound turning to a moan as my thumb brushes over her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. "I'm not in control now."
"Neither am I." It's truer than I want to admit.
Her hands move lower, skimming my abdomen, fingers dipping just below the waistband of my pants. My cock jerks in response, desperate for her touch. When she cups me through the fabric, I can't hold back a groan.
"You're so hard," she whispers, sounding pleased with herself as she strokes the length of me.
I push her sweater higher, exposing her bra—simple cotton rather than the lace I'd imagined, somehow more arousing for its practicality. I press my mouth to the swell of her breast above the fabric, and she clutches my head to her, fingers threading through my hair.
The firelight plays across her skin, creating shadows in the hollows of her collarbone, highlighting the flush that spreads down her chest. I reach behind her to unfasten her bra, needing to see all of her, when—
The lights suddenly flicker on. The abrupt hum of the refrigerator and heating system startles us both. Real world, crashing back in.
We freeze, her hand still on my cock, my mouth still on her breast. For a long moment, neither of us moves. Then she starts to laugh, softly at first, then with more abandon. It's surprisingly musical.
"Talk about timing," she says, dropping her head back against the rug.
I can't help my own reluctant smile. "Generator must have stabilized."
Slowly, we disentangle ourselves, adjusting clothing, avoiding each other's eyes. The moment hasn't fully broken, but it's suspended now, complicated by the return of reality.
My radio crackles from the counter, perfect timing as always.
"Boone, you read me? It's Jake."
I stand, adjusting myself as discretely as possible, though the tent in my pants is obvious. Elisa's eyes follow the movement, her lips curving in a small, secret smile that doesn't help the situation.
"Copy, Jake," I respond after grabbing the radio.
"Just checking you're okay up there. Satellite shows you got hit hard. I'm on volunteer duty today while trying to figure out how to reach my brother. He's stuck in some dilapidated cabin a few miles from town."
"We're fine." I meet Elisa's eyes across the room. "Power was out but it just came back. Your brother safe?"
"Yeah, he's good. Just uncomfortable ‘cause he’s got some city girl with him. Nothing like being snowed in with a mountain man, right?" Jake laughs. "Listen, latest from highway patrol isn't good. They're saying Davidson Pass is closed indefinitely. Massive drift at the north junction, plus avalanche risk is critical. Could be five days minimum before they attempt clearing."
Five days. The news should alarm me more than it does.
"Copy that," I reply. "We're well supplied here. No concerns."
After signing off, I turn back to Elisa, who's straightened her clothing but still looks flushed and disheveled in the best possible way.
"So," she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Five more days."
I nod, studying her face for signs of panic or regret. Instead, I see something that might be anticipation.
"We should probably talk about what just happened," I say, though talking is the last thing I want to do.
She stands, smoothing down her sweater with a newfound confidence. "Or we could continue it later. After you show me how to properly maintain this fire."
The double meaning isn't lost on me.
"Maintaining proper heat is critical in these conditions," I agree, surprising myself with the playfulness in my tone.
Outside, the snow continues to fall, sealing us into this unexpected sanctuary. Five more days suddenly doesn't seem like enough time at all.