Dream by the Fire: Winter Magic

by Editor: Michelle Puffer

  Chapter Two

  At six-thirty John pulled up the drive to the detached four bedroom Malahide home he shared with Grace. The evening was black as the darkest night, storm clouds covering all trace of the moon and stars. The hallway lamp glowed from inside the house and provided the only light. He ran from the car to the front door and pushed it open. Though only a short distance, he was soaked.

  In the warmth of the hallway he shed his jacket and shoes, letting his bare feet sink into the plush carpet. Nothing like home to warm the soul.

  “Hello!” he shouted up the stairs to see if Grace had made it home yet. In all likelihood, he’d be waiting another half-hour because of the goddamned weather.

  After grabbing a towel from the kitchen to dry his hair, he pushed open the doors into the living room. The tree, lit up with multi-colored lights and drowning under homemade decorations, brought a smile to his face. They’d only set it up the previous night, a little later than usual this year. John was sure the only reason for the delay was the tension between him and Grace. The guilt it summoned inside him was unbearable. Their girls shouldn’t suffer because of their stupid problems.

  That’s why he’d made such an effort the night before. And that was why he was going to make an effort tonight.

  On a whim, he’d suggested a sleepover to Lou, in an effort to spend some alone time with Grace. Now, in the empty house, waiting for Grace to arrive home, he wasn’t sure it had been the right move. But seeing her last night, so relaxed and happy as she stood on tip-toe to wrap tinsel around the apex of the tree, had hit him straight in the gut. With the light of the chandelier reflecting in her blue eyes and her chocolate-colored curls bouncing around her shoulders, he’d had to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her.

  Ridiculous really. She was his wife. But after six months of keeping his hands to himself, he hadn’t known how she would react.

  John sank onto the cream two-seater, glancing out the window to check for headlights. He’d find out tonight how she’d react. That thought had him breaking out in a sweat.

  While he waited, he remembered his gift. Digging into his pocket he pulled out the small package. He glanced at the tree, his hand tightening around the gift. Did he have the nerve to put it under the tree with the rest of the Christmas presents?

  At the sound of the front door opening, his entire body tensed, and he threw the package beneath the tree as if it were on fire. He pictured her stepping inside and shaking the droplets of rain out of her hair. As she placed the umbrella beside the door she’d notice his shoes and wet jacket, and she’d realize he was here.

  Would she be disappointed to find him here? Angry even? Or just disinterested. The latter would be like a punch in the face.

  The thunder of rain on the ground outside lessened as he heard the front door close. He stayed put, unsure whether or not to greet her. So few words had passed between them these past few months. Every-day greetings had been tossed out the window.

  The swish of her coat met his ears as she walked past the living room, her heels connecting with the tiled floor of the kitchen. He rubbed a hand over his face; his gaze darted toward the kitchen door. He had to go in, had to get the ball rolling. Otherwise all was lost.

  Ignoring his apprehension, he got to his feet and strode into the kitchen. Grace stood with her back to him, her fingers sifting through the mail. She didn’t turn to greet him, though he knew by the straightening of her shoulders that she sensed his presence.

  Without meaning to, he let himself admire her body, from the top of her head where her dark curls had been grasped in a clip to the bottom of her high heels. His gaze rested on her slender calves, the firm cheeks of her ass, and her tiny waist. His groin tightened. They hadn’t made love in over six months. She’d been out of reach, never allowing their bodies to touch in bed. But, he’d never stopped wanting her.

  “Grace.” Her name slipped from his tongue, a slip which hadn’t happened in a long time. How could he have forgotten how good it felt to say her name?

  Her head turned, but her concentration remained on the envelopes. “Yeah?”

  “Are you hungry?”

  Her eyes lifted, surprise flashing through their blue depths. “Um…”

  Fists clenched at his sides, he watched her, sure she was searching for an excuse to say no.

  “I think there are a few things we need to discuss.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “There are?”

  He didn’t reply, assuming her feigned ignorance to be a delaying tactic.

  Finally she sighed, her shoulders drooping forward. “Fine. What do you want to eat?”

  “I’ll make us some spaghetti.”

  Nodding, she moved out of his way as he walked to the cabinets to find something for a sauce.

  “How was your day?” John asked.

  She didn’t answer immediately, and he was pretty sure she was unnerved by his sudden interest in spending time with her. Well, she’d just have to get used to it.

  “Good,” she said eventually, settling into a chair. “I closed a deal on a property in the Southside.”

  “Congratulations.” He switched the water for the spaghetti on to boil and began to chop some peppers. “When do you finish for the holidays?”

  “The day before Christmas Eve. I think that’s…Tuesday.”

  “Yeah.” After pouring a tin of chopped tomatoes into a pot, he turned to the fridge. “Want a glass of wine?”

  “Uh…sure.”

  If it had been any other situation, he would have smirked at the uncertainty in her tone. Grace Evans, estate agent extraordinaire, didn’t do uncertainty. He poured two glasses of Rosé and placed one in front of her. Her fingers immediately began to play with the stem, delicately twirling around the glass, her manicured nails tapping against it. He swallowed, forcing himself to move away again. Despite spending months trying to ignore everything about her, he still picked up on her every move.

  “How was your day?” she asked.

  His head jerked in her direction. Coming from him, the question was odd, but coming from her it was unheard of. “Good. We always do well this time of year.” He owned a small chain of electrical goods stores around the city and through the East coast.

  “Good.”

  They sank into silence for a few minutes as she sipped her wine and he cooked their meal. Surprisingly, the silence wasn’t as tense as it usually was. He didn’t feel the same desperate need to escape her company.

  It must be the conversation, he mused. Though general and almost embarrassingly formal, it was the longest conversation they’d had in a while.

  While he drained the spaghetti, she removed a couple of plates from the cabinet. He ladled tomato sauce onto the pasta and let her carry their meals to the table. They ate quietly, occasionally pausing to take a drink. He didn’t taste the tomato sauce or the parmesan cheese. He was too aware of her presence. Over his fork he watched her, the distance between them so obvious without the kids around to deflect from the tension.

  Unable to bear the silence any longer, he cleared his throat. “Carrie made another angel for the top of the tree today.”

  “Oh, Christ.” Grace laughed, putting her fork down. “We’re going to have to get another tree.”

  “We’re going to have to get another five trees at the rate they’re producing decorations.”

  She nodded, leaning back to peer into the living room. The move exposed her long neck and one of her white bra straps. He blinked, taking a gulp of wine. A man knew he’d gone too long without sex when the sight of a bra strap turned him on this much.

  “Maybe we should get a small tree for the playroom,” she said, seemingly unaware of the bolt of lust her lingerie had sent surging through his body. “Or for in here. I love having them around the place.”

  “They’d love that.”

  “Yeah.” She ran a hand through her curls, the corner of her sumptuous red mouth quirking upward. “So, tell me. What�
�s this all about?”

  He took a deep breath, pleasantly surprised that her gaze met his and stayed there. “I don’t think I have to tell you what this is about, Grace.”

  The hint of a smile faded from her face, and a look of anxiety entered her eyes. “You want a divorce.”

  It took a few seconds for him to absorb her quiet words. “No. I don’t. The opposite, actually.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “We’re already married, John.”

  His name on her lips made him ache to grab her by the arms and kiss her hard. “I mean, I want us to work on it.” He swallowed, and his palms became sweaty.

  Grace didn’t answer. Tension had stiffened her shoulders again, and he could almost see how much effort it took for her not to chew on her lip, a sure sign of her anxiety.

  He ordered himself to hold her gaze, to wait it out. But with each second of silence that ticked by, a wave of doom approached, threatening to drown him and his marriage.

  Fuck this. Pushing his chair back, he got to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower. You think about it and let me know.” He dumped his plate in the sink and stormed out of the kitchen, forcing himself not to slam the door behind him.

  Her reluctance to give him an answer had anger firing his blood. But heck, what had he expected her to say? Of course I want to work on it, John. I love you so much. Was that what he wanted to hear? Yes. But it was hardly reasonable to expect that of her.

  His steps slowed as he reached the top of the stairs, tired fear slipping over his body. What if she said no? What if she decided it was best to get a divorce and move on?

  He walked through their bedroom to the connected bathroom and twisted the shower knob. He didn’t want Grace to be unhappy, but the very idea of her walking out of his life was like a knife through the gut. Despite the torture of the past six months, he couldn’t see a future without Grace at his side. He’d just have to figure out how to mend the wounds of their marriage. He had to convince her that they could work this out.

  Chapter Three

  What the hell is going on?

  Grace leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. The fact that she’d just eaten a meal and engaged in a conversation with her husband refused to sink into her brain. And his last question had sent her reeling. He wanted to try again? The overwhelming relief she’d experienced when he’d said the words aloud had stolen the breath from her body, leaving her speechless. Lord, how long she’d waited.

  She got up from the table and walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors which opened out to the patio. With the glass of wine in her hand, she watched the rain pelt down, soaking the vast lawn. A sudden urge to run outside and scream up at the sky filled her body. He wanted to try. He wanted to make their marriage work.

  She blinked back tears, turning to face the kitchen door. His anger at her lack of an answer had been clear, his brown eyes darkening as he waited. What was he thinking now? Did he assume that she disagreed with him, that she actually wanted a divorce?

  No. She couldn’t let him think that. Slamming the wine glass down on the counter, she strode into the hall and raced up the stairs. From their bedroom, the sound of the shower reached her ears. Images of water trailing down his naked body immediately assaulted her mind. She swallowed, her hand shaking as it grasped the doorknob. It had been a long time since she’d seen him naked. Intimacy between them had died as soon as she’d seen the blood, as soon as she’d lost their baby.

  She swallowed again, finding it hard to breathe around the lump in her throat. After that awful day in June, she hadn’t let him near, hadn’t let him touch her. She’d denied him so much, completely ignoring his pain and selfishly focusing on her own. It was time to say ‘sorry’.

  She slipped into the bathroom, her vision immediately full of his body, barely visible through the steamy glass doors of the shower stall. Digging her nails into her palms, she moved closer, the contours of his body becoming clearer. He stood with his back to her, his arms raised as he washed his hair.

  Her gaze traveled from his black hair, down his hard back, to his firm buttocks. She stood still, ran her tongue over her lips and took in the delicious sight of him. So tall and broad and masculine. Keeping her eyes trained on him, she began to unbutton her blouse. The heated air of bathroom wrapped around her body, relaxing her muscles, easing the tension from her shoulders. She slipped the blouse from her shoulders and unhooked her bra, letting her breasts fall free. Then, stepping out of her skirt and panties, she pulled open the stall door.

  The sponge in his hand stilled, his shoulders stiffening. For a split second it crossed her mind that he might reject her. But she quickly dismissed it. He was the one who’d suggested they try.

  She stepped closer until her nipples brushed the smooth skin of his back. His head moved forward, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Taking encouragement from the fact that he hadn’t told her to get the hell out, she brought her lips to his left shoulder and pressed a kiss on the patch of skin. He murmured something barely audible over the sound of the shower. His hands grasped her wrists, bringing them forward until her arms circled his waist and her breasts flattened against his back. With water raining between them, she inhaled the scent of his skin, dropping light kisses along the top of his back.

  They stayed like that for what seemed like forever. With her eyes shut tight and her arms embracing his waist, she let their beautiful closeness engulf her like the softest velvet. She could hear the thumping of his heartbeat, rapid and alive, matching the beat of her own. So relaxed and consumed by him, she felt like she could drift asleep.

  But then he twisted in her arms, his dark gaze seeking hers through the water, his lips hovering over hers. Her breath hitched as his erection pressed against her hip. So unashamedly male, its long thickness throbbing incessantly, evidence of his need for her. But as much as she wanted to touch him, to make love to him, it wasn’t time yet.

  Instead, she reached for the sponge and poured a blob of shower gel onto it, creating a lather. She dragged the sponge from his neck to his torso, suds clinging to the black whorls of chest hair. She massaged his arms and his thighs, trying desperately to ignore the heat between her legs, a reaction to the way his shaft jerked toward her.

  Seeming to sense her distress, John took the sponge from her hand. She held her breath as he rubbed it over the delicate skin of her neck and her collarbone. His focus stayed on her breasts while he gently caressed them with the sponge. Her nipples throbbed, distended to the point of bursting. But he didn’t touch them, instead dragging the sponge over the curve of her belly.

  As he brought the sponge to her thighs, she reached out to hold his shoulders. Every nerve in her body tingled, as if her body had erupted in flames. Every square inch of her skin burned under his touch, sensitized to just the brush of his fingers.

  She pressed her lips together, striving to remain still. But her legs refused to stop shaking when he ran the sponge over the backs of her calves.

  And then he straightened, his head lifting so she could see into his eyes. Black as sin, intense with emotions she hadn’t felt from him in so long. His anger and sadness had dampened, replaced by need and love. Clinging to him, she felt herself sink into him. He surrounded her, occupying all of her senses, leaving her unaware of anything else except the water roaring in her ears.

  She was glad he was holding her when his lips came down on hers. Otherwise she would have fallen. She closed her eyes, savoring the soft pressure of his mouth, the heat of his tongue when it slipped between her lips. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed her like that, with a passion so great it turned her limbs to jelly.

  With her fingers running into his thick hair, her tongue twined with his. His taste and texture were so familiar, so deliciously John. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, the hot velvet of his tongue stroking her mouth. The hair on his chest grazed her nipples, and she groaned into the back of his throat. Their bodies molded together, hi
s large hands splayed across her lower back, holding her to him. The throbbing heat of his erection pressed insistently into her belly; its pulsing echoed deep between her legs.

  And then he pulled away. Abruptly. She gasped for breath, reaching for the wall to steady herself. She watched in silence as he stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel. Standing beneath the showerhead with the water washing every trace of him from her skin, she waited for him to say something. The tension had returned full-throttle, and she fought back more tears. A knot formed in her stomach, twisting with his continued refusal to meet her eyes. When he exited the bathroom without saying a word, it snapped, releasing a surge of frustrated adrenaline.

  Not bothering to grab a towel, she stormed into their bedroom and grabbed his arm.

  He turned, his eyes giving nothing away. As he continued to say nothing, she became painfully aware that she was naked and that he was not, albeit he was only wearing a towel. Glancing around, she spotted a robe on the bed and reached for it.

  “Don’t.” John grabbed her wrist, and his quiet tone made her pause. His eyes had softened, the confusion in his face clear to see.

  She snatched her arm away, throwing the robe over her shoulders. “Are you trying to be an asshole here? One minute you’re kissing me, the next I might as well not exist?”

  “Aw, come on, Grace.” He stepped back, his face strained with aggravation. “You haven’t shown any interest in sex for months, and then you just throw yourself at me in the shower. How am I supposed to handle that?”

  “I wasn’t throwing myself at you. Don’t make me sound like a slut.”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  She opened her mouth to argue then stopped. Yeah. She did know that.

  Sighing, she sat down on the bed. “I just wanted to…I mean, I thought that this is what you wanted.”