Chapter 13
Up in Flames
Jenny
I kept my promise and didn’t backtrack, but moving forward was painstakingly slow for both of us.
And for entirely different reasons.
Deacon wanted my trust. In him. And in us.
He wanted to take me to The Loose Moose for dinner, out for coffee and shopping in Peppergrove, and away for the weekend to Mistlevale.
He was even willing to attend Frostival, Moose Lake’s winter festival, with Miller, Baxter and the rest of the gang, the same people he avoided like the plague when we were new.
Worst of all, he was making plans to have dinner with his brothers.
And hoped to include his parents at some point.
All of which gave me a bad case of emotional hives.
As for me, I wanted his body over mine.
Desperately.
But every time we got close, he pulled back.
One day, he picked me up from work and took me out for dinner and to the movies in Peppergrove.
Another day, we went to the mall where we exchanged my coat for a new pair of boots, a gift I didn’t want to accept.
On Sundays, we visited Ansel and Darlene at St. Michael’s, and we spent another wildly fun Monday in Sage Ridge where we took more pictures than I could count.
After each, he dropped me off at home.
Sometimes he came in, sometimes he didn’t, but at no time did he attempt to touch me.
Nor did he take me to his place.
I wanted to move on to the next level, but not in my safe space. To make that kind of memory there? It would haunt me when things fell apart.
If they fell apart.
Tonight was different.
Other than the bonfire, Frostival was not my favourite of Moose Lake’s festivals. It was cold, it was dark, and it was heavily geared toward couples and families.
But it did mark the first week of March and promised Spring hovered just round the bend.
Frostival kicked off Friday night with tubing down Main Street. Saturday’s festivities began with a Polar Bear Dip, moved into snowmobile drag racing, and ended with a giant bonfire on the beach complete with roasting marshmallows.
Ice fishing, skating, horse drawn sleigh rides, and the snowshoe obstacle course ran nonstop throughout both days.
Rather than having a central food and drink tent outside, outdoor offerings comprised of hot chocolate, roasted peanuts, and maple syrup rolled into lollipops on the snow.
Inside the school gymnasium, you could fill up on teeming bowls of pea soup or chili and peruse the displays set up by local craft vendors and artisans.
In addition, participants took part in a community scavenger hunt that led them around participating businesses and offered a chance to win a variety of prizes collected by the Women’s Auxiliary of which I’d never been a part.
I was probably the only female business owner in Moose Lake who wasn’t.
Buns and Biscuits had always taken part in the annual scavenger hunt. In honour of Ansel, I continued the tradition.
I even baked bear claws and cheesy buns especially for the festival.
Once closed, I usually holed up in my apartment with a hot drink and a much hotter fictional man.
Not this year.
Deacon picked me up as soon as I closed up shop. Ensuring I’d latched my seatbelt, he flattened my palm over his hard, jean-clad thigh and covered it with his hand. Then he drove me to see his place for the first time.
“I know this house,” I mused as he pulled in the driveway. I laughed. “I actually dreamed about buying it one day.”
The lower portion boasted grey and white stone which led to forest green siding and ended with an A-frame shingled roof sporting a stone chimney. Redwood steps rose to a curved entranceway that opened onto a small porch, just wide enough for two Adirondack chairs.
I’d loved that house since I was a teen. I’d seen the realtor’s pictures online, and the renovations made by the present owners catapulted it into my house of dreams.
He cocked a heavy eyebrow, his dark eyes lighting with speculation. “Really?”
I nodded then frowned. “You bought it?”
“Rented,” he muttered. “For now.”
“I’ve never been inside,” I commented. “But I’ve seen the pictures online. It’s beautiful.”
“Should I invite you in?” he teased.
I smiled. We were getting back to who we were. “If you know what’s good for you.”
He lifted my hand from his thigh and turned it over in his before kissing my palm. “I do. I do know what’s good for me, Jenny.”
I swallowed and nodded.
His words were sweet. I even believed he meant them; I just wasn’t sure for how long.
But now that the heartbreak was inevitable, I was going to soak up as much joy as I could.
Swallowing those dark thoughts, I reveled under the weight of his hand on my back as he guided me inside.
“Oh,” I breathed, shrugging off my coat.
It was better than I expected.
Sliding out of my boots, I smoothed my leggings and tugged my heavy-knit sweater down over my bum as I took it in.
The open concept kitchen and family room, decorated in shades of cream and oak, slid through my senses like butter and honey.
The back stairs split, one half going up to the bedrooms, the other down to a second family room I could see from the top of the stairs was unfurnished.
It was warm and cozy and everything a house should be. Just right for a small family, fully capable of hosting a larger group, and not nearly too big.
The furniture was sturdy and serviceable rather than elegant, but it was well made, and that held a class all its own.
What was his bedroom like?
“I love your kitchen table,” I murmured. Heavy with simple, smooth lines, it was so sharply pieced together I could barely make out the seams. It was a work of art and currently set for two.
He moved in behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. Dropping his chin to my shoulder, he murmured, “I bought it from the Amish place up past Mistlevale.”
“It’s gorgeous,” I admitted. “I love it.”
Rosemary, sage, and the heady aroma of garlic teased me. “What smells so good?”
“I made you dinner,” he said.
My eyebrows rose as I twisted to look at him over my shoulder. “You can cook?”
He smirked and kissed the tip of my nose. “I can crockpot with the best of them.”
I smiled up at him. “Well, that’s good,” I murmured. “Because I love to eat.”
He grinned, that long dimple in his cheek making a rare appearance, growing deeper still at the bearlike grumblings rising from my belly.
His chuckle lit up his eyes.
He looked younger than he did a month ago. Lighter.
Squeezing me close, he dropped his lips to my neck. “Let’s get you fed.”
He moved easily around the kitchen, his long legs eating up the space, the tendons in his arms flexing as he lifted the heavy crockpot and carried it to the table.
After the first few mouth-watering bites, hungry for something else, I barely tasted the food.
Deacon Raine had made me dinner and was currently sitting across from me with his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, lightly dusted forearms.
What was it about veins that made me want to lick them?
With his shirt open at the neck, I could already tell his chest was hairier than it was at twenty-three when he left.
How would he feel now?
And what would he think about the changes in me?
I helped him clear the dishes, my movements jerky and uneven as my temper flared. Huffing out a sharp laugh, I shook my head as I stood by the sink.
The heat of his body aligned with my back as his hands came forward to bracket me between his body and the counter. “Are you frustrated?”
My body trembled.
Shame dusted my cheeks.
I swallowed and shook my head no.
He dragged his lips down the side of my neck, his stubble lighting me on fire as he breathed, “I am.”
Chills forged a path from his lips to my breasts. I dropped my head back on his shoulder with a low moan.
With his hands on my hips, he pulled me back from the sink and crowded me toward the family room, his beautiful mouth busy laying waste to my senses.
We made it as far as the couch where he tumbled me down onto his lap, tucking my arm behind his back as he cradled my body. His other hand claimed the curve of my bottom, and his mouth covered mine.
Slow and methodical, his tongue stroked and teased until he lulled me into a passion-fueled haze.
Without breaking our kiss, he ran his hand up my side to cup the curve of my breast over my heavy sweater.
“Yes,” I breathed into his mouth.
I grasped his wrist and held his hand to my breast in case there was the slightest of doubts where I wanted this to go.
His thumb gently brushed over the tight bud at the tip before twisting his arm and grabbing my wrist.
Pulling it up over my head, he circled it with his other hand before seeking out the hem of my sweater.
For a moment I worried about my plain cotton bra, but from the moment he swept his rough palm up over my ribs, the only thing that mattered was getting it off.
I hummed in approval.
He pinched my nipple.
Hard.
I gasped at the sharp bite of pain, shrinking away for just a second to process the novelty before arching further into his touch to ask for more.
“Beautiful, stunning, woman,” he murmured as he pulled back slightly, face serious, dark eyes intent. “So soft and giving, so generous with your response. You’re a gift.”
I flushed.
“Beautiful,” he breathed. “Honest.”
Holding my eyes, he dragged his knuckles across my nipple before trailing it over the curve of my breast, down my ribcage and my abdomen to coast along the edge of the panties under my leggings.
I tugged to free my wrist from his grasp, but he only tightened his grip.
I stilled and held my breath.
My fist twisted the back of his shirt as his big hand swept across my mons.
My thighs fell open of their own accord.
“Very nice, baby,” he praised.
Half of me, astounded at my brazen behaviour, scolded me to pull myself together.
The other half won. “I need,” I gasped.
He dipped his head and dragged his nose along my cheek to my jaw before moving back to look at me. “What do you need, baby?”
“No more talking,” I moaned.