Heaven Beside You

by Christa Maurice

  “I was going to take a bath to warm up.” Jason stripped off his gloves, hoping they weren’t ruined. They didn’t look healthy, all shriveled with half the fingers turned inside out. He’d forgotten how it felt to be unsure of a woman’s reception. Most women fell all over themselves to please him.

  Now she looked at him with one eyebrow raised as if he were a bug in her garden. “You’ll burn yourself before you warm up enough to realize it. Come on. Get out of those wet things and come out here. I’ve got some blankets warming by the fire.” She disappeared from the end of the hall.

  Jason slunk into the bathroom, wondering how much trouble he was in. He’d treated her pretty badly, throwing her cards in the fire and stomping out. Even if she were trying to manipulate him, he didn’t have to act like a jerk. He leaned on the wall and tried to untie his sneakers, but his numb fingers couldn’t grasp the laces, so he sat down on the edge of the tub, hoping for a better grip.

  “Aren’t you out of those clothes yet?” Cass asked from the bathroom door.

  Jason looked up. The snow was melting down the back of his neck. An icy drop slid down his spine and made him shudder. As the temperature of his body registered with his brain, his teeth chattered.

  “Oh, look at you.” Cass sighed. “You’re hopeless.”

  She stepped forward, grabbed a towel from the rack, draped it over his head and rubbed his wet hair. Wanting to lean forward and let her minister to him, he closed his eyes. Quickly she dried his hair and tucked the towel around his neck. Then she knelt at his feet. “I’ll get the shoes. You get that coat off. Just toss it in the tub. I’ll hang it up in a minute. You should have taken a break to warm up. The snow will still be there.” She tossed his shoes in the corner and reached for his sweatshirt.

  “If I’m going to undress anyway, I know of something more fun we could do.” Jason tried to grin, but his teeth were chattering in earnest now.

  With a snort, she brushed his clumsy fingers away from his fly. “I don’t want your hands on me until they’re at least room temperature.”

  “Are you sure?” He reached for her and she leaned away.

  “I’m positive. I’ll take a rain check.” She pulled him to his feet and pushed his soaked jeans and underwear down to his ankles, ending up at eye level with his erection.

  “I think I like you there,” he said, and patted the top of her head.

  “I’ll bet. You can still forget it.” A pretty flush bloomed on her cheeks. Her breathing seemed a little shallow, too. Perhaps with a nudge in the right direction, she would change her plans.

  “I promise not to touch you with my cold hands. In fact, I won’t touch you with any of my cold parts.”

  “That’s almost impossible.” Cass stood up. “Every part of you is a cold part.”

  “Not all of them.”

  “Enough to make me not want you on top of me.”

  “That’ll make it more interesting.” Despite what she’d said, when he cupped his hand around her cheek and kissed her, she leaned against him, welcoming his cold lips on her warm, soft ones. Her sweater and jeans rubbed his cold flesh as her hands danced across his shoulders, and he eased a hand around her waist, under her sweater, on her hot bare skin.

  Yelping, she jumped away.

  “I thought you weren’t going to touch me with your cold hands.” She pressed herself against the bathroom wall.

  “I already was.”

  “Well, not under my clothes.”

  “It’s hard to resist touching you. What can I say?”

  She stepped away, and he felt colder than he had before. The shivering returned with a vengeance.

  “Come on, you need to get warmed up for real.”

  “I was getting warmed up for real,” he protested, but followed her down the hall. It felt good to be naked in her house. He didn’t like to leave his bedroom naked at home, but walking around her house seemed perfectly comfortable. There wasn’t any chance of paparazzi catching him and putting him in Playgirl between Sting doing yoga and Brett Michaels doing Pam Anderson. The house was warm and, even though his feet felt like half frozen hams and his hands had started to throb unpleasantly, he liked the touch of the air on his skin.

  “Here,” she said as she draped a soft, warm blanket across his shoulders. The heat coming from the fibers enclosed him in a cocoon of warmth. “I warmed it in front of the fire for you. You sit down here and I’ll wrap up your feet, and then I’ll get some hot chocolate for you.”

  “Such service, you provide here. I’ll have to tell all my friends,” Jason said settling on the couch. He thought she flinched, but decided he was wrong.

  “This service is special to you, my dear.” With another blanket from the hearth, she wrapped his feet. Whether from the chill on them or the warm blanket, his feet throbbed to life. He closed his eyes and let the skirl of sensation run through him.

  A beautiful woman tended to him without the usual demands for sex in return. Most women he met did things for him because they knew they would get some and could then go brag to their friends. Because she’d wanted to take care of him first, she’d turned down an invitation for sex. He’d have to add that to the list of things he wanted in a wife. Someone more interested in his well being than in getting the all-important notch on her bedpost.

  “Here, drink this.” Kneeling on the couch beside him, she cradled a steaming mug in her hands.

  “What is it?”

  “Hot chocolate.” She settled the warm cup in his hands and brushed her fingers through his damp hair. “I’ll have to remember to call you in when it gets cold outside. You’ve been living in California too long.”

  The hot chocolate tasted sweet and rich, and going down, was as comforting as the feel of her hand in his hair. “This isn’t the cocoa mother used to make.”

  “Depends on the mother.” Cass stood up. “Mine always put a shot of brandy in it when we got really cold.” She walked out and he heard her in the bathroom, hanging his clothes to dry.

  The fire on the hearth crackled, the flames leaping wildly around the log, pumping out heat. She’d built it up for him. Would she be interested in a mistress arrangement? He could come out here for a couple of weeks every year. Closer to the end of this trip he’d propose it and see how she took the idea. He leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

  * * * *

  Cass carried his shoes and mangled gloves to the living room. “Jason, these look like driving gloves.”

  Asleep. Setting the gloves and shoes on the hearth, she went over to rescue the half-empty mug from his lax fingers. She’d figured he would drift off, but hadn’t realized it would happen so fast. While settling the blanket more securely around his neck, her fingers strayed up his neck, and she stroked his cheek. He was going to wake up sore and hungry. Maybe cranky, too, which made her smile. Somehow, as nervous as she became when he got moody, it was still endearing to watch. Gretta was wrong. This was not simple lust, and Cass was knee-deep in “emotional horse shit.” Possibly deeper.

  She downed the rest of the hot chocolate in three large gulps then turned to the shoes and gloves. Thin, leather driving gloves. If she’d known, she’d have insisted he wear Dan’s work gloves. They would have been better suited to snow sculpting. These were for piloting a Ferrari with a good heating system. And the shoes. Canvas sneakers. Not that she could have done anything about his shoes other than force him to come inside and warm up every fifteen minutes. She arranged his things on the stone hearth where they would dry.

  As she walked behind the couch to her easel, she couldn’t resist running her fingers through his hair again. She’d have to keep the depth of her feelings under wraps until he left or he might leave before the two weeks were up. It was going to be a long enough winter after he left without hurrying that inevitability.

  Out the window, the storm had started, blocking her view of the valley. It didn’t matter. She could paint the s
cene from memory.

  * * * *

  The next morning they woke to another eighteen inches of snow sitting atop the two feet they’d had yesterday. The new snow covered Jason’s ziggurat, leaving it looking more like an Egyptian pyramid. Over breakfast, he announced he wanted to build a life size Olmec head.

  “Dan’s gloves are by the front door in the basket, and don’t forget to come in to warm up when you start to get cold,” she reminded him as she handed him a coffee table book on archeology.

  By the time Donny appeared in the plow, Jason had finished Olmec and three pyramids. He’d come in at lunch to warm up, eat and make love. As dusk shrouded the mountain in gray and purple, he came in for the day, eyes shining like a child’s.

  “Tomorrow, Easter Island heads,” he announced, setting the gloves and his shoes on the hearth.

  Cass laughed as she washed her brushes. She’d blocked in the background colors. Tomorrow she could start making the painting look more like a real scene and less like modern art. “There’s a blanket by the fire for you.”

  “I noticed. Thanks.” He stepped behind her and enveloped her in his arms, kissed her cheek. “I think I’ve done permanent damage to my coat. I’ll have to bring a more suitable one next time.” He released her and started out of the room. “And real boots.”

  Her fingers went lax and she nearly dropped her brushes. Next time? Would he come back...and could she cope if he did?

  She threw all those thoughts into a mental box labeled “emotional horse shit” and shoved it to the back of her mind. “Paul is dying to know if you’re going to be at the dance tonight.”

  His brows lowered in a wary, puzzled expression. “Why?”

  “I think he wants to dance with you.”

  Jason roared with laughter. “Really? Would that rattle the whole town? Would he let me lead?”

  “If you say please, I think he’ll let you wipe your shoes on his back.” Cass set her brush on the back splash to dry then stirred the spaghetti sauce she’d been simmering all afternoon. She must have been thinking of herself when that doormat analogy came to mind.

  Now he stood behind her, a wall of heat and man, wrapping a curl around his finger. “Are you asking me to the dance?” he asked in a low tone that made the hair on the back of her neck rise in a good way.

  “Technically, I think it was Paul who asked, but I’ll drive if you like.”

  “Do you want me to go to the dance with you?”

  “If you’d enjoy it.” She measured out the noodles with trembling fingers.

  “Do you want me to go to the dance?”

  She turned around and pressed her hands against the counter behind her back. “Only if you want to go. I just thought I’d mention it.”

  Searching her gaze, he grazed her cheeks with his knuckles. “I’d like to dance with you. In public, where people will see us, but I don’t want to cause problems.”

  Cass looked down, aware of Jason’s tense breathing. He’d continued his trip down her cheek, slid his hand around her throat and tangled it in the hair at the back of her neck. She wanted to dance with him in public, too. For the town to see the way he looked at her. Then they’d know her marriage hadn’t failed because she wasn’t desirable.

  But he was right. The town would spin a wild tale about her and her winter guest that would be entirely true, and she’d be the pathetic abandoned woman for the rest of her life.

  “Or,” he offered, “we could go to the dance and pretend to be nothing more than concierge and guest, and when we got home, we could dance together like we mean it.”

  Cass looked up. She doubted it hurt him half as much to make the offer as it had for her to accept it. “I think that’s the only way. We don’t have to go at all.”

  His grip tightened on the back of her neck, and he pursed his lips, frowning for an instant, then his smile lit his features. “I think it would disappoint the town if we didn’t go.”

  She smirked. “Can’t have that. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. And my dad said if you’d like to learn some of the old mountain songs, he’d teach you.”

  “Really? That would be great.”

  “Just bring your guitar.” Tears threatened, but she blinked them back. When she’d been with Michael, she’d gone to exactly one church dance, and felt like a giant wallflower. He’d flitted around the room charming everyone and left her to sit with her parents. Though she’d been comfortable at those dances, he’d made it such hell. Please let Jason not make the dance hell for her. “I guess I’ll have to get something out to wear.” The noodles needed at least seven minutes. Time enough, to check her closet.

  “Is this a dressy thing?” Jason followed her to the bedroom and sat on the foot of the bed to watch her search.

  “Only sort of. They won’t refuse to let you in if you don’t have a tie.” In the depths of her closet, she reached for the nicer clothes that didn’t suit her campground managing lifestyle, but she hadn’t been willing to give up. Along with a few things in her underwear drawer, they were the last vestiges of her New York life.

  “What’s that?”

  She turned toward him, holding a navy blue skirt. “What’s what?”

  Jason reached around her. His hand closed over a dry cleaning bag. He shook it free of the clinging clothes around it, pulled it out of the closet.

  “Oh, that,” she murmured. Heat rushed into her cheeks.

  Oh that was a floor length, strapless, brilliant yellow silk sheath dress. He held it up to her, studying her and let out a low whistle. “Why don’t you wear this?”

  “To the Baptist Church Saturday night dance? I think I’d be overdressed.”

  “Will you wear it for me? Not to the dance. Later.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to take it off you,” he said in that voice that did the most delicious things to her insides, grinning.

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Then maybe I should wear the coat with it.” She reached in the closet and pulled out another dry cleaning bag. This one held a long black velvet coat with wide lapels. The hem of the full skirt started at the knee in the front and curved to floor length in the back. A glittering brooch clasped the low neckline closed just below her breasts. “Or would you rather I wore this.” She drew out yet another dry cleaning bag. This one held a white satin bolero jacket with a high Mandarin collar.

  Jason pulled the bag off the dress, stroking the material as he dropped the gown on the bed. Then he took out the bolero jacket and laid it beside the dress. Last, he lifted the velvet coat from her fingers and removed the bag. He pressed the lapel to his cheek, breathing deeply. It had to smell like dry cleaning, but he didn’t seem to care. “This one. Wear this one for me.”

  The thought of wearing those clothes again made her skin crawl, and she turned away. Looking was one thing, having those clothes on her flesh again was quite another. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t left them behind in New York. He looked so excited. Why? He’d been on red carpets with women wearing much nicer things than this. If it made him that happy, though, she could bear to put them on again. “All right. I’ll put it on for you tomorrow.”

  “Tonight.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Why do you have these dresses?” he asked, sinking onto the bed beside them.

  “For Michael. We had to go to parties sometimes, and I needed formal wear. I didn’t want to buy a whole bunch of dresses I couldn’t afford, so I bought one dress and two jackets. Sasha called them The Dress, Bride of the Dress, and The Dress Strikes Back. I think the velvet was The Dress Strikes Back.” Cass scowled. “She thought it was tacky that I showed up for everything in the same dress.”

  “She probably thought it was tacky that you were married to her lover.”

  That about summed it up, but still, it made her flinch.

  Jason’s hands closed around her shoulders. She hadn’t even heard him sta
nd up. “I didn’t mean that.”

  She patted his hand. “It’s probably true.”

  Then she was turned, facing him, and he kissed her, sliding his hands down her back, urging her tight against him. Tasting the inside of her mouth with his tongue. Arms around his neck, she allowed him to lift her to her toes. Her pulse felt indistinguishable from his as he wove his fingers through the hair at her nape, sending a frisson of pleasure down her spine. He curved his hands around her buttocks, pulled her off her feet. With her legs wrapped around his waist, he carried her to the side of the bed and laid her down.

  “Dinner will burn,” she pointed out.

  “Not if we turn it off first.”

  * * * *

  The dance had been going for forty-five minutes when Cass parked the truck two blocks from the church. Based on the lack of spaces, the entire town had turned out. Holding the neck of her peacoat closed against the icy wind, she hurried to the doors with him. She hoped she didn’t look flushed. Her lips still felt swollen from Jason’s kisses. He’d sat on the bed watching her dress, disrupting any thoughts she’d had about last-minute instructions.

  She’d meant to tell him to keep his distance at the dance so nobody would pick up on them, that they should leave at different times so it would look like they drove there separately and to warn him that Kady and Cori would be in rare form.

  Jason opened the door of the fellowship hall. Faint Lawrence Welk wafted out into the night. She should have warned him about that, too.

  Betsy Partrager looked up from the little table outside the doors and grinned. Behind the rims of her glasses, her eyes sparkled like aquamarines. A rhinestone studded barrette held her snow white hair away from her face.

  “Well, now you’re here,” she said, “I suppose I can go inside and enjoy the fun myself.” Her January pin glinted in the low light, a snowman acquired from Avon many years ago and missing a few stones including one red eye. Next month it would be a cupid whose arrow had broken during the Regan administration.

  “What?” Cass asked.