David's Epiphany

by DawnMarie Richards

  A snuffled snort drew his gaze, and David brushed his hand over Ephie’s hair, the feathery ends tickling his palm. As he mused at their softness, her lips parted on a sigh, her hand skimming high along his inseam. The innocent caress sparked an arousal so intense it bordered on pain, icy fingers of anxiety winding his heart.

  Cupping her shoulder, he shook her awake.

  “Home already?” she yawned, stretching as she straightened in her seat.

  “It’s a quick trip when you sleep all the way.”

  He’d meant to tease, but when Ephie faced him her eyes were wide with guilt, her forehead creased with concern. He reached out to reassure her, smoothing a wayward lock behind her ear before turning away and exiting the car. Jogging around the hood, he was pleased she waited for him, taking his hand without hesitation as he helped her out of the car.

  Their fingers tangled naturally as they meandered up the walkway in silence, ascending the porch steps with coordinated strides. As soon as they reached the door, he tugged her to face him. And then he let her go.

  “Goodnight, Ephie.”

  “Wait.” She placed her hand in the center of his chest. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  An eager anticipation underscored her expression and, once again, David experienced the unnerving sensation some deep connection existed between them. Careful, Briar! he reminded himself.

  “It’s late.”

  An awkward silence descended and she withdrew, her hand slipping down his body, fingertips grazing his abs before dropping to her side to hide in the folds of her full-skirted dress.

  “Of course.”

  “Ephie…”

  “No. Please, don’t feel like you have to explain. I’m sorry for tonight…for making you feel like you had to come out and for Lexi and Philip and falling asleep and, well, everything. It’s just—”

  Without realizing it, he’d reached out and cupped her cheek, unable to resist tracing his thumb over her quivering bottom lip.

  “Don’t. You didn’t make me do anything. It’s been a pleasure. Honestly. But it is late.”

  David took her nod as understanding and began to straighten. But Ephie thwarted his escape, twining her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

  She tasted like cinnamon. Maybe it came from the last drink she’d had, but she tingled on his tongue like one of those red candy balls he’d been addicted to as a kid. And after the burn, the same sugary coolness rimmed his lips and lingered in the roof of his mouth.

  The effect bewitched him, the concerns of seconds ago forgotten as he grunted his appreciation. Delicate fingers threaded his hair, their gentle caress becoming urgent. He obliged, deepening the kiss. But it wasn’t enough. She strained against him, rising onto her toes, the hypnotic sweep of her tongue searing the chill from his lips and leaving no doubt what she wanted most from him.

  As if of their own accord, his hands migrated south, seeking the lush curve of her bottom. He clutched her tight, lifting until he felt her legs encircling his hips. Then he staggered forward, his palms and her back hitting the front door in a stutter of muted thuds.

  Oblivious beyond the temptation of Ephie’s sweet heat, it took several seconds before David realized the vibration along his thigh had nothing to do with the woman clinging to him. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he took a half-step backward, slipping his free hand into his pants pocket to retrieve his cell phone. He refused to dwell on the unsettling amount of effort it took to tear his mouth from hers, concentrating, instead, on the glowing screen in front of him.

  “Damn. I have to take this.”

  Ephie either didn’t hear, or chose to ignore him, shifting her attention to peppering his neck with languid kisses.

  “David Briar.”

  “Mr. Briar. It’s Candice Thompson.”

  “Good evening, Candice.”

  “He’s gone.”

  “I assumed. When?”

  “Just about twenty minutes ago.”

  “The family?”

  “They’ve been contacted. I expect they’ll be arriving in the next hour or so.”

  David closed his eyes and did a quick calculation.

  “I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  As he ended the call, he remembered he didn’t have a car.

  “Damn,” he muttered for the second time in as many minutes.

  The repeated curse got her attention. She lifted her head and looked at him.

  “What is it?”

  “Work. I’m afraid I have to go.”

  “Oh.” Immediately, she loosened her legs and lowered to her feet, gazing up at him as she slid her hands from around his neck to rest them on his shoulders. Seduction turned to solace in a simple caress. “I’m sorry.”

  Regret, unexpected and penetrating, twisted his gut.

  “Interruptions are an unfortunate part of the business.”

  The explanation, though honest, sounded terse to his ears. Ephie let her hands drop to her sides, and instantly, he missed her warmth. He reached down, cupping her cheek.

  “And I’m the one who’s sorry.” He took comfort in her tentative smile, giving in to temptation to brush his thumb along the curve of her lower lip. “But I do have to go.”

  “Of course.”

  Taking his hand from her face, he brought his phone up in the space between them.

  “I’ve got to call for a cab.”

  “Oh, David.” Her brows drew together. “I forgot you don’t have a car.”

  “So did I.”

  She gathered his hands into hers.

  “Take mine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, positive. I don’t need it tomorrow.” She looked up, as if considering. “I should be able to get a ride with Reece—”

  “Reece?” David clenched his jaw.

  “The Bennetts’ driver,” she told him matter-of-factly, her smile open and unassuming. “I’ll have to check with him, of course, but I don’t think he’ll mind. I’m pretty sure he lives out your way. He probably wouldn’t mind me tagging along so I can get my car. I mean, if it sounds all right to you.”

  The irrational urge to mark her in some way had David grabbing her by the waist and pulling her against him.

  “It sounds very generous. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He enjoyed the way she clutched at him for support, her fingers biting into his hips. He desperately wanted to kiss her, but didn’t trust he’d be able to stop a second time.

  “You have to go,” she reminded him, breathless.

  “I do.”

  But he couldn’t seem to release her.

  “Go.”

  At her half-hearted shove, he reluctantly let his hands fall to his sides, frigid air replacing her earthy heat.

  “You’ll need this.”

  She slid her hand into the pocket of her coat and brought out a small key ring. With a few flicks of her wrist, she detached the fob for her car and gave it to him. Then she turned and unlocked her front door, angling it open before looking over her shoulder at him.

  “Goodnight, David,” she told him solemnly.

  “Goodnight, fireball.”

  He grinned at her quiet gasp. And then, satisfied he’d given her something to think about in the long hours until he saw her again, he spun on his heel, trotting down the front steps to walk alone into the night.

  Chapter 6

  BRIAR House began life as a brick and white-trim confection. Built by Hector Briar in 1818 for his English bride, Chastity Horsfal, the classic Victorian would remain unchanged for more than seventy years. A symbol of prosperity and heritage, four generations of Briars would live and work and love and die beneath her sheltering roof.

  But with the new century came a transformation. Her party frock exchanged for somber shades of fern and moss. In her front room and parlor, guests of honor would lie i
n state in silk-lined coffins, hushed voices replacing the sounds of social chatter and children’s laughter.

  Like a pious soul having received the calling, she accepted her fate with grace and courage, ever faithful, ever true. And to this day, she waits, patient and impartial, slated turrets piercing a clear blue sky. An icon of comfort to those who must, in the end, pass through her grand front door.

  * * * *

  Ephie paused behind the gate, her gloved hand curling loosely around the tip of a fleur-de-lis finial as she remembered David’s words. She tipped her head, trying to imagine rosy hues and brighter times. The sun sat low on the horizon, creating a corona around the grand dame on the hill, burnt orange rays skating down her sloping, snow-covered lawn.

  Ephie thought it a clever pretense, David writing from the house’s point of view. It allowed him to express his own feelings of obligation to the past and resignation toward the future without sounding self-indulgent. After all, what child dreamed of being a funeral director? Even the too-tall-for-his-age, dark-haired, dark-eyed little boy she pictured him to have been had to have spent some time running around the yard wearing a pair of six-shooters and a cowboy hat. Or had he not been allowed to be boisterous, destined to become as subdued as his surroundings?

  She’d glimpsed a different side of him last night, though. There’d been nothing restrained in the way he’d pressed her up against the door, or in the blatant promise of his hard length. She’d woken up to the memory, his taste lingering on her lips as the crudest intentions took root in her heart.

  Epiphany Jones! Sex is like dessert. You must have a good, nutritious dinner before you indulge in sweets.

  She smiled as the familiar words echoed in her head. The nine hours she’d spent in class with David nowhere near qualified as well-balanced. But Gram’s recommendations for a healthy love life simply hadn’t been working for Ephie. Her last relationship had ended so badly, she’d gone on a sex sabbatical, a couple of weeks turning into months. Before she’d realized it, two years had passed. Two years! She hadn’t been on a date in close to four months. No wonder she’d thrown herself at David.

  The time had come for a new strategy, and Ephie had decided. She planned to walk into Briar Funeral Home and dive right into an enormous ice cream sundae—Whipped cream, nuts, and a cherry on top? Yes, please!—without having so much as a ham sandwich first. Damn the consequences!

  Squaring her shoulders, she unlatched the gate and slipped inside, careful to press it closed behind her. As she strolled up the winding walkway, she noticed the neatly edged beds and manicured shrubs slumbering beneath their wintery blankets. Not a twig or flake dared stray out of place. The word meticulous came to mind, followed closely by an image of the property’s owner.

  Her heels beat an eager rhythm as she trotted up the wooden front steps. How she longed to mess the man up—put a few wrinkles in his starched shirt, run her fingers through his carefully combed hair. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm her tripping pulse and then lifted her hand, still stubbornly unsteady, to press the button at the center of the gold-domed doorbell. The chime heralding her arrival demanded decorum, advising Ephie to remember where she was.

  “Apologies, milady.” She smiled. “I promise to behave…at least as long as we’re downstairs.”

  Almost immediately, as if David had been waiting for her, the door swung wide. Suddenly shy, Ephie dropped her gaze. In increments, she took him in, starting with the black wingtips so impeccably polished she could see her wavering reflection in their leather. His pants indented slightly above the spot where the hem met the top of his shoe. She followed the otherwise unspoiled crease, managing to pause only briefly at the hint of defined thigh muscle beneath the black wool before continuing on to traverse the vertical line of the slim belt at his hips. A brilliant white shirt backed the subtle pattern of his tie. His suit coat clung to his shoulders, the sleeves revealing precisely one half inch of cuff above the long-fingered perfection of his hands. Wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, she faced him, his lopsided grin sending a jolt of electricity through her nervous system, short-circuiting the controls behind her knees.

  “Did you say something?”

  “Yes…to the house.” At the quirk of his brow, she continued, “Reassuring her that I’ll be respectful.”

  His eyes narrowed as if he were perplexed, but he merely said, “Of course.”

  Angling to the side, he invited her in with a sweep of his hand, leaving little room between himself and the door jamb. She couldn’t avoid brushing against him as she stepped into the foyer. Instinctually, she turned to him, an apology on her lips. But his stoic expression kept her silent. She lowered her head, confused by the cool reception.

  A quiet click told her the door had closed behind her, and then she felt David’s fingers, warm on her neck.

  “May I take your coat?”

  My coat, my dress, my panties…Oh my! Swallowing her nervous giggle, she nodded while unfastening the three large buttons spilling down her front. She shrugged the wool off her shoulders into his hands and then turned to watch him, wondering at what magic he possessed to make the mundane deed seem erotic, as if she were the one being draped over the hanger to be put away for later use at his discretion.

  “Your purse?”

  The question jolted her runaway thoughts from their unseemly path. Expecting the usual disbelief at her answer, she displayed her empty hands as proof.

  “I don’t carry one.”

  “No?”

  “No.” She lowered her arms, fingers finding refuge in the folds of her skirt. “If it doesn’t fit into a pocket, I don’t need it.”

  Something sparked in his eyes at her response but, after nodding, he turned away, hiding it from her. She waited while he hung up her coat and then returned to her. For several long moments, they considered one another, Ephie thinking it no coincidence they each had their hands tucked in their clothes. She only wished she understood why.

  “Ephie—”

  She startled.

  “It’s so quiet,” she explained, her short laugh loud in the unnatural silence. “Where is everybody?”

  “Home.”

  “Really? I expected Saturday evenings to be especially busy for you.”

  “They usually are. That’s why I let everyone go as soon as we finished up this afternoon.” He gave her a curious look, as if he hadn’t meant to tell her they were alone. “Except for John, my aesthetician, he’s downstairs”—he shifted his gaze to the side—“working.”

  Most likely on the poor soul David had had to leave her for last night. Was that it? Did he think she wasn’t aware her decision to be with him held the distinct possibility she’d be having sex just a few floors removed from the recently deceased? She glanced over his shoulder at the grand staircase, knowing its winding treads led to the private quarters, a place as mysterious to Ephie as her fascination with the man standing before her. Was it austere and particular, like him? Or would it reveal another side? Give her some clue as to whatever it was about David that continued to haunt and enthrall her? First, though, she needed to find a way to cut through the painful awkwardness mounting by the moment between them. Turning away from her ultimate goal, she started forward.

  “Gram’s service was here.” She stopped in the doorway, her voice echoing in the empty space as she rambled. “Three years. It’s so strange. Some days it seems ages ago. And others, well, it feels as if it happened yesterday.”

  She heard his quiet sigh and then footsteps.

  “Losing someone you love does strange things to time.”

  She turned to find him close behind her.

  “It does.” She tilted her head. “I still miss her.”

  “Of course you do. It was sudden, wasn’t it?”

  “Heart attack…in the kitchen.” Ephie couldn’t help her reaction. “I’m sorry about smiling. It’s just…” Looking into his eyes, she saw no censor, only resp
ectful interest. “It’s always been a comfort to me that she died in her favorite part of the house, doing what she loved best. She’d just taken a cake out of the oven. It was still cooling on the rack when they found her sitting at the table. They think she sat down to rest.” She shrugged. “And just like that, she was gone.”

  “There are worse ways to go.”

  Ephie nodded.

  “Much.” She shook off the memory. “This room’s the parlor, right?”

  The observation earned her another grin.

  “Well, at least I know one person is listening to what I read in class.”

  “I’m not the only one. Everyone enjoys your work.”

  “That’s very nice of you to say.”

  “Nice has nothing to do with it. It’s the truth.”

  The look was back on his face, like her frankness shocked him. She had the sense he’d said more than he’d meant to, and she, somehow, had told him more than he’d expected to hear. She also got the uncanny feeling she was seconds away from being politely, but firmly, shown the door. Things were not going as she’d hoped.

  So when he opened his mouth, she ducked around him in desperation, heading toward the second, larger cased doorway off the foyer. Ephie remembered the space well. It had been just a year since she’d been in it to pay her last respects to her employer’s husband. The room stood ready for another service. Neat rows of wooden folding chairs lined the floor beneath the impressive circular stained-glass window in the middle of the far wall. She looked around with careful attention, her head bobbing with understanding as she sought out the subtle details she remembered from David’s writing.

  “Mr. Bennett’s funeral was here.”

  “The great room.”

  “Yes. It’s very impressive. How did you put it, ‘An elegant hostess welcoming mourners into its lace-shrouded embrace’? One can only imagine…”