Page 14 of Winter Beginnings
We dug in wholeheartedly. The wine complemented every savory mouthful, and the tension from the day’s heavy lifting fell away. As the minutes passed, we relaxed more, sharing bits of conversation about tile colors, Bramble’s antics, and which salvage yards might have decent Victorian fixtures. She joked about the day she found Bramble outside, how he’d wormed his way into her heart as quickly as he did into mine.
Her laughter sent a pleasant buzz through me, as did the second glass of wine. I’m seeing her loosen up, I realized happily, recalling how guarded she’d been earlier. Now, the sparkle in her eyes lit the dim corners of the kitchen.
After we finished, I insisted on helping her wash up. We teamed up at the sink, passing plates back and forth under the tepid water. My arm occasionally brushed hers, every subtle contact stirring awareness in my chest. If either of us felt awkward about our near-intimate tension, we didn’t show it.
Dishes done, Rory grabbed the half-finished wine bottle and pointed to the living room, where the logs I’d brought in earlier lay waiting. “Let’s move this party by the fireplace,” she suggested, smiling.
Carrying our refilled glasses, I followed her out. The old living room, though still needing quite a bit of work, possessed a certain charm. I set our glasses on the coffee table and stooped to arrange kindling, striking a match until the flames caught. Over my shoulder, I sensed Rory watching me. My chest tightened, craving an excuse to close the distance between us.
When the fire roared, I turned to find found her seated on the couch, a blanket draped over her legs. She’d kicked off her shoes, toes curling in the soft fold of the couch cushion. I crossed over to join her.
We settled side by side, the wine bottle within reach on a small side table. Bramble snoozed in his bed near the hearth, lulled by the crackling fire. The low light cast dancing shadows across Rory’s features, making her look even more beautiful.
“So,” I ventured, swirling my glass. “I know you said you were ready for a change after your last relationship ended, but… how exactly did you end up buying this huge Victorian in Montana, coming all the way from Florida?”
She sighed, gaze drifting to the fire. “It’s a long story, but you deserve to hear it.” Setting her glass aside, she folded her hands in her lap. “Back in Miami, I was a realtor with my ex, Julian. We were partners in business…and I thought, in life.”
My chest constricted. I recalled the glimpses of her past she’d already shared with me, but I was curious to learn the full story. I listened intently as she recounted the whirlwind of closings, late work nights, and eventually stumbling upon the legal document that signaled Julian’s planned to buy her out—behind her back. Then her gut-punch realization that he was sleeping with a client.
Rory’s voice quavered slightly. “I found them in bed. I’d had no clue. After that, I was done, left the condo, spent the holidays alone. Bailey, my best friend, told me about this place when she was here representing Edna Twinkleberry in the dispute over the property. When Edna and the other party dropped their claims, Bailey suggested that I buy the estate using the money I’d received from Julian. What she said made sense, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a fresh start, so… here I am.”
Anger flared in me on her behalf. “I’m so sorry your ex did that to you, Rory.”
She smiled stiffly. “It’s over now. I just…I guess I still have trust issues. Hard not to, after that blindside.”
My gut knotted with guilt. She had every right to be wary.You’re a hypocrite, a voice scolded me. But I forced it aside for tonight. “I get it. I’d be cautious too.”
She exhaled, posture easing a fraction. “Thanks for listening.”
The conversation lulled. My eyes locked on hers, seeing a shimmer of unshed emotion. She swallowed, glancing at thequiet dog, then back at me. Something electric flickered in the space between us. I set my wineglass down, and she did the same. In the hush of the old living room, with the fire crackling and the soft light dancing over her features, the tension that had simmered for weeks rose like a tide.
Her breath hitched softly. I edged closer on the couch, the blanket rustling around us. She didn’t pull back. The look in her eyes tipped my balance. Gently, I cupped her cheek, skin warm beneath my palm. We hovered, the barest breath apart, and then, with a shared exhale, we collided—lips meeting in a slow, tentative kiss.
A low groan escaped me at the first taste of her, sweet and lightly spiced from the wine. Her lips parted, welcoming me deeper, setting my veins on fire. I poured weeks of pent-up longing into the kiss, half afraid she’d vanish if I hesitated. She responded with a needy whimper, clutching my shoulders, pulling me closer against her body.
Time hazed. We explored each other with careful fervor—my hand sliding to her waist, feeling the soft curve beneath her sweater. Her fingers tangled in my hair, urging me on, each tilt of her head granting me new angles to explore. My senses reeled at the press of her chest, the hammer of her heart against mine. It felt like eons since I’d been with a woman, and I was hungrier for the one in my arms than I’d ever been.
We broke for air, chests heaving. Her eyes were half-lidded with desire. My pulse hammered in my ears, lust swirling with emotion. “Rory,” I breathed, my voice husky. She answered by catching my mouth again, this time with a more insistent hunger. Everything about her—her warmth, the scent of her hair, the slight moan in the back of her throat—coaxed me further. The blanket fell aside, revealing her leggings hugging those hips I’d been noticing for days.
She tugged me down, shifting so we both reclined on the couch’s worn cushions. I settled half on top of her, bracing my weight so I wouldn’t crush her. But God, the feel of her body beneath mine, the friction of her legs tangling with mine, left my head spinning. My fingers slipped under her sweater, teasing the soft skin of her waist. She gasped, arching up, the swell of her breasts pressing against me.
Every nerve sang, desperate to get closer, to feel more of her. We kissed deeper, tongues meeting in a slow, heady dance. My free hand roamed over her thigh, the black fabric of her leggings smooth beneath my fingertips. She trembled, nails lightly scraping my shoulders as she encouraged me on. Each gasping breath mingled with the crackle of fire. I wanted her—more fiercely than anything in years. But a flicker of caution tugged at me. Is she sure? Are we ready for this? Gently, I pulled back enough to search her face. Her gaze burned with raw need, no hint of doubt there. “Yes,” she whispered, as if reading my thoughts. “I want this. I want you.”
That simple confession annihilated my last restraint. I kissed her again, deeper, letting my hand slip under the hem of her sweater, grazing upward until I felt the edge of her bra. She moaned into my mouth, shifting so I could peel the sweater off. My breath stuttered at the sight of her, the bra lacy and black, accentuating her curves. Hell, she’s stunning.
My kisses traced down her neck, nibbling the tender space beneath her jaw, relishing her gasps. She tugged my shirt off too, hands roaming my chest. I nearly lost it when her nails raked gently over my skin, each scrape igniting new sparks. My body burned with need, every muscle taut. We fumbled, pressed together on the narrow couch, but it wasn’t enough space.
“Bedroom,” she panted, tugging me up. I nodded, scooping her into my arms, blanket trailing behind. Bramble letout a drowsy huff but didn’t stir from his bed. Together, we made our way upstairs, stumbling with laughter and clumsy urgency, lips never fully parting.
In her bedroom we sank onto the bed. Shadows flickered, cast by the single lamp she’d left on. The moment our bodies met the mattress, everything turned more fevered, hands roaming hungrily, exploring undiscovered territory. She wriggled free of her leggings, and I shed my jeans, hearts hammering in tandem.
We came together in a rush, skin against skin, limbs tangling in white sheets. Her warmth enveloped me, every nerve hypersensitive. Our mouths crashed, breath ragged, as I trailed kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, lingering at the swell of her breasts. Her head fell back, a low moan vibrating in her throat.
I eased down her bra strap, tasting the newly exposed skin. She whispered my name, the sound fueling my desire. My hand slid along her torso, caressing the curve of her hip, marveling at her softness. I wanted to memorize every inch, carve each gasp and quiver into my mind. She pulled me closer, nails raking my back as she sought relief for her own yearning.
Time blurred as we lost ourselves in each other’s touch—savoring the slow, hypnotic dance of exploration, her fingers tangling in my hair, my lips pressed against every inch of her I could reach. When finally our bodies fused, she cried out softly, head tipping back in surrender. I groaned, feeling the world narrow to just us, the bed’s faint creaks, and the urgent rhythm guiding our movements.
We set a languid, unhurried pace at first, letting the tension coil sweetly. Her legs wrapped around me, urging me deeper, her breath stuttering in my ear. I murmured soothing words, unable to articulate how overwhelmed I felt by her acceptance, her trust in me, even as guilt prodded my chestabout the truth I still hid. But for that moment, pleasure and closeness overshadowed regret.