Chapter 14

W hen Joy awoke, her lashes fluttered against the brightness of the sun as it peered between the curtains of Moses' bedchamber. The sheets caressed her skin with a whisper, stirring within her a sweet blend of satiety and yearning. She inhaled deeply, the lingering scent of sex and paint infusing the air, a sensory tether to his absent form.

The room around her was a tableau of the man himself—sparingly furnished, yet each piece bore the mark of thoughtful craftsmanship. There were no soft touches, no decorative items on display. The sole table, nestled beside the bed, held only a candlestick and flint. The coverlet was plain white, the curtains faded red.

She couldn't believe she'd slept so late, until she stretched and noticed how sore her thighs were. They'd made love until the wee hours, even waking once and enjoying a slow, sensual romp. With a sigh, Joy slipped from the comfort of the bed. Her feet touched the cool wooden floor, sending a shiver through her. Where had she left her clothes?

Finding her gown draped across the chaise, she dressed with hurried anticipation. An entire day loomed before her with the only necessity being finding a place to unpack her bag. She had no schedule, no list of tasks she must accomplish by the end of day. What would she do with herself?

Joy crossed the small house toward the room where scents and warmth ought to have greeted her. The kitchen, normally a sanctuary of comfort, stood strangely silent in the morning light that filtered through the small paneled window. The stove was cold, as was the kettle sitting on top.

She lit the stove and filled the kettle from the bucket near the sink, and turned to the cupboards to find tea.

Yet, as Joy opened cupboard after cupboard, a barren larder met her eyes. Where there should have been sacks of flour and sugar, jars of preserves, and pots of honey, there was naught but the echo of emptiness. Well, there was the small tin of tea leaves the innkeeper had sent home with them on the first day of her stay. Was there anything left in it?

"Moses," she said under her breath, the name rolling off her tongue with an intimacy that was still new, thrilling. "What shall we survive on?"

A soft chuckle escaped her as she imagined the tall, muscular artist, lost in his work, forgetting the mundanities of daily sustenance. She recalled him saying he didn't cook, but surely he didn't think to continue to take all his meals at the inn? Now here she was, with a belly gently protesting its neglect.

With resolve firming her features, Joy decided she would request Moses' company on a trip to the market. It would be an adventure of sorts, trying to recall all the little things she'd had in her own kitchen. She should start a list. Paper and pencils were something he had in abundance.

Finding the utensils she needed, Joy settled into the oversized armchair set between the window and fireplace and began her list. She tucked her feet beneath her, the warmth from the blaze kissing her cheeks, and let her thoughts drift, weaving through memories and possibilities. She considered the quiet of Moses' home, a striking contrast to the lively bustle of the Peasemore family. She much preferred the peace, she had to admit.

From outside, she heard the sound of footsteps, firm and assured, approaching the door. Joy straightened, her pulse quickening. She felt a stirring in her belly, the excitement of knowing Moses was home. How many years had it been since she'd felt such anticipation over seeing someone? She'd been with Mr. Sinclair for eleven years when he died, and she couldn't recall a time of excitement in their marriage. He'd been a good provider, with a fair temperament, recommended by her mother as a sensible choice.

Not romantic. Never passionate. But sensible.

She rose, setting aside the pencil and paper, smoothing the fabric of her gown, her movements mirroring the flutter within her chest. The door swung open, and Moses entered, his arms cradling a large box. A warm smile graced his face, the kind that reached his eyes and softened the short beard framing his jaw.

Joy's heart danced at the site of him, her grateful smile blooming like roses in the first blush of summer. "Good morning."

"Morning, Joy," Moses said, shutting the door behind him with his boot.

"Let me help you with that," Joy offered, taking a bundle from his arm.

As he settled the box upon the kitchen table, Joy peered inside. The contents were simple yet essential, and she felt a surge of relief for the consideration behind their selection. Had he asked the shopkeeper for help in his choices? The mundane task of unpacking groceries became a shared endeavor, turning the ordinary into something quietly intimate.

"It seems I've returned just in time to save you from the perils of an empty larder," Moses joked, playfulness threading through his voice, while his hands busied themselves with arranging the goods on the shelves.

"Indeed, a knight in shining armor bearing sustenance."

As she set the small brick of yeast next to the flour sack, she wondered if Moses owned a peel suitable for taking the bread out of the oven. She assumed not, and made a mental note to go shopping herself, soon.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of the door closing, and she glanced up to see Moses returning, his arms laden with greenery that seemed to capture the very essence of the Yuletide season. Boughs of juniper heavy with blue-tinged berries, sprigs of holly brandishing their prickly leaves and bold red berries, and a single sprig of mistletoe, its pale berries almost otherworldly, were placed ceremoniously upon the table.

"Preparing for a midwinter feast?" Joy inquired, an eyebrow arching playfully as she took in the rustic decorations.

"Christmas is a mere three days away," Moses stated, the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile. "I thought you might enjoy decorating."

Joy's heart swelled with an unexpected sense of tenderness. "Oh, Moses, I'm quite overtaken by all this. Forgive me for not rising earlier to assist you. You should have wakened me."

He regarded her with his enigmatic eyes, which seemed to twinkle with delight. "There's nothing to forgive, Joy. A house ought to be a sanctuary of rest for its inhabitants, and it pleases me well to see you so refreshed."

A warm flush spread across her cheeks. She was a widow in her thirties, yes, but in moments like these, she felt as if life was granting her a second spring. "Nevertheless, I should have liked to have helped," she insisted, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

"Help can be offered in many forms," he said with a trace of mischief. Before she could question his cryptic words, Moses reached for the sprig of mistletoe, holding it aloft as he stepped closer to her.

The room seemed to still, the crackling fire in the other room the only sound accompanying the thud of Joy's own heartbeat. The scent of juniper and holly mingled in the air, creating a heady aroma that underscored the palpable tension between them.

"Tradition dictates," he teased, "that one mustn't ignore the mistletoe."

Her lips parted in a silent gasp, mixed with a smile that betrayed her inner delight at the ruse. The devilish glint in his eyes promised a sweetness beyond that of any confectioner's craft.

With the mistletoe poised just above, he leaned toward her, his intent clear. Anticipation fluttered within her chest. Their breaths mingled, and as his lips met hers in a kiss that was all at once tender and daring, the world outside the warmth of his embrace ceased to exist. Joy found herself surrendering to the allure of his touch, and she hadn't even broken her fast yet.

The sweetness of their initial kiss deepened, its innocence giving way to an insistent yearning that pulsed through Joy's veins with a fervor she hadn't known herself capable of. The tender brush of his lips against hers promised unrestrained passion to come, his muscular arms encircling her in an embrace that melded strength with a gentle touch. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, feeling the coarse bristles of his beard.

His kiss, gentle at first, grew into a tempestuous storm. His restraint waned as he responded to her exploratory caresses, and the intensity of their connection ignited a flame that threatened to consume them both.

As heat suffused her skin and her senses were ensnared by the intoxicating blend of his scent and the smoldering embers from the stove, a growl, low and insistent, emanated not from the throat of her companion, but rather from the pit of her stomach. The sound, incongruous amidst their blossoming desire, caused her to draw back, the spell of their intimacy broken.

"Forgive me," she said, her cheeks flushed with a heat that could be attributed as much to embarrassment as to the ardor of their kiss. "It seems my appetite is as eager to make its presence known as... well, as I was to return your kisses."

Moses, apparently taken aback by the sudden retreat, regarded her with eyes still clouded with longing, yet glinting with amusement at the whimsical turn of events. "Indeed, it appears I am a poor provider. Let's remedy that."

Joy's laughter cascaded through the kitchen like a stream of sunlight breaking through morning clouds. He watched her with an affectionate twinkle in his eye, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards into a smile.

"Shall we?" he suggested, gesturing towards the larder with a broad-shouldered shrug. "Perhaps our combined efforts will appease the ravenous beast that evidently dwells within you."

"Combined efforts?" she echoed, arching a playful brow as she stepped toward the stove. "I wasn't aware you had such culinary inclinations."

"I might not have experience, but I follow directions well." He bent to another cupboard where he took out a skillet. "I fear this is my only pan."

"It's perfect."

Side by side they stood, Joy cracking eggs while Moses sliced some of the sausage he'd bought.

"Look at that," she mused, observing his technique. "You wield a knife with such grace. Is there no end to your talents?"

"Endless, I'm confess. But for now, let us tame that ferocious appetite of yours."

Their banter continued, light and teasing, as they navigated the small space with a grace Joy found surprising. One would think they'd worked together for a number of years.

"Careful," she cautioned as he reached for the hot pan handle without a cloth. "We wouldn't want the artist's hands damaged."

"Your concern for my well-being is touching," he said.

"Someone has to look after you," she retorted, then looked away quickly as she heard how intimate that sounded. Yet that's what she'd agreed to, wasn't it? Watching over him as he did her? Sharing all the tasks of a day.

It was all so sudden. She didn't even know his full name. He knew nothing of her husband, or her marriage. And none of that mattered. Being there with him felt right.

As they moved about, their arms brushed occasionally, sending shivers of awareness down her spine. When she caught him watching her with an intense gaze, heat coiled inside her and her nipples tightened. He had such a profound effect on her, body and soul.

Finally, with plates filled and the table set modestly yet invitingly, they sat down to partake in the fruits of their labor. The repast was simple but made sumptuous by the company and the shared laughter that continued to spill forth as naturally as their breaths.

After they'd eaten, Joy stood at the sink, the sleeves of her gown delicately pushed up to her elbows, revealing the fair skin beneath. She scraped the fat from the frying pan into a jar, and wiped it clean.

Moses moved quietly about the room, bending to retrieve dishes from the table and carry them to the sink. As he gathered the last of the silverware, he caught sight of something green sitting on the sideboard—the sprig of mistletoe, forgotten in the bustle of their cooking. He smiled. With purpose, he picked up the small branch.

"Where are you going to hang it?" Joy asked, turning her head slightly to regard him over her shoulder.

He crossed the small space to where she stood, the air seeming to hum with something unspoken as he approached. He held the mistletoe aloft, not answering immediately, letting the moment stretch out like a well-spun yarn. He chuckled, a low rumble from his chest, as he looked at the sprig. "I think I'll just hold it where I wish to kiss," he announced, lifting his arm.

Joy's breath hitched, a flush coloring her cheeks. She stood still as a statue, the water sloshing gently in the basin forgotten. With deliberate slowness, Moses raised the mistletoe above her head.

She tilted her face upward, watching him expectantly.

He leaned in, and his lips met hers, a light brush, gentle yet insistent, that left her grasping for support against the edge of the sink. Pulling back, he said, "Like that. Or this." He lowered the mistletoe, his gaze trailing down to linger on the rise and fall of her breasts. The fabric of her gown did little to hide her body's response to his proximity, her flesh beckoning him closer like a siren's call.

Holding the green sprig above the soft mounds, his fingers brushed against the delicate skin exposed at the neckline of her gown. The touch elicited from Joy a gasp that mingled shock with pleasure, a sound that fluttered into the air between them. He growled and nipped at one breast, teasing the nipple beneath the fabric.

He suddenly hardened, his breeches becoming unbearably tight. This playfulness was pleasant, but he needed more. So much more of Joy.

Tossing aside the mistletoe, he wrapped his hands around her slender waist. In one fluid motion, he lifted her onto the worn oak table. The wood groaned beneath her weight.

"Careful," she teased. "We wouldn't want to break anything."

"I've never been more careful in my life," he said, meeting her gaze in all seriousness.

Quickly bunching her skirts in his hand, he lifted them, urging her to lie back. The sight of her bare thighs struck a hunger he doubted he could sate. He lowered his head, and his lips found the tender expanse of flesh at the top of her thigh. She gave an involuntary squeal, a sound of pure delight. Something unfurled within his core, his body tightening, a visceral acknowledgment of the feast before him.

Joy's breath hitched as his tongue began to trace patterns on her sensitive skin, his beard brushing against her soft flesh with every movement. A moan escaped her lips, a deep and throaty sound that filled the kitchen with an unspoken yearning. She arched her back instinctively, granting him better access to her most intimate places, her hands clutching at the edges of the table for support.

Her scent was intoxicating, a heady mix of lavender and vanilla that he inhaled deeply, feeling it lodge in his nostrils like the sweetest of perfumes. He moved upwards, kissing and licking his way higher along her thigh, stopping just short of her curls. The anticipation was palpable, they both knew what was coming next.

He opened her to his tongue. The tangy sweetness of her juices made him moan. She was so wet, clearly needing him as badly as he did her.

He slid two fingers inside her wet heat. Her gasp echoed around the room as he began to move them in and out, finding her sensitive spot with practiced ease. Her hips buckled beneath him, urging him on as she ground herself against his hand. The sound of their combined rhythm filled the air, wet slapping noises accompanying every thrust of his fingers into her soaking heat.

His other hand pushed her gown higher and found its way to her rosy pink nipples. He rolled and tugged them gently between his thumb and index finger, eliciting a moan from her that vibrated against his lips. The sensation was surreal, like nothing he had ever experienced.

As he continued to tease her with his fingers, her body began to shudder and convulse in waves of pleasure. Her hips bucked violently against his hand, her mouth open in a silent scream. The taste of her passion was intoxicating. Her wetness coated his fingers, making them slippery against her sensitive folds.

He leaned in closer, breathing against her curls as he whispered words of encouragement. The sound of her labored breathing filled his ears. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she arched back, writhing under his touch. He could feel her muscles tightening around his fingers, signaling her impending climax. With one final thrust of his hand, he pressed his lips to her hard nub, eliciting a sharp cry from her mouth. Her walls gripped him tightly as she rode out her orgasm, pulsing around his fingers in rhythmic waves.

Moses helped her up into a sitting position as they both caught their breaths again. His heart raced wildly in his chest, the blood pounding hard enough to drown out any other noise in the room. Joy's face was flushed with arousal, her hair falling around her shoulders in a soft curtain that danced with each breath she took. Their gazes met, locked in a moment of magnetic intensity.

"Joy, you are so beautiful." His words were a whisper against her forehead as he leaned closer, his lips brushing over her earlobe before moving down to trace gentle kisses along her jawline and neck.

She leaned into him, and he became aware of the clothes he still wore that separated them. Joy must have noticed the same thing, as her trembling hands reached down to unfasten his breeches and drawers and draw out his thick shaft, throbbing for her touch.

Taking him in hand, she guided him towards her slick folds, the heat between her legs burning against his length. Her eyes fluttered shut as she thrust her pussy onto him, drawing him inside. His desire to go slow and savor her heat was quickly muffled by another wave of pleasure as he began to thrust into her with steady rhythm.

Each little noise she made stirred him to a fervor he thought would break him. As the pressure mounted within him, building toward a pinnacle of pleasure he could no longer hold at bay, her body tensed. She cried out, a sound that resonated within the confines of his chest, urging him to abandon all restraint.

He pumped into her, rhythm relentless in its pursuit of release. Once, twice, thrice more he drove into her heated flesh, and then, with a final thrust, he let go, surrendering to the exquisite torment of ecstasy. It coursed through him, leaving nothing in its wake but the tremulous aftershocks of passion fulfilled.

His muscles gave way to the inevitable collapse, his body melding with Joy's in a tangle of sated limbs as he lay her back upon the sturdy kitchen table. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, and he was unable to move.

Beneath him, Joy's chest heaved, and he forced himself up onto his elbows. A sheen of perspiration glistened on her skin, and she seemed to glow. He saw not just the woman who had captured his soul, but a divine muse who had sparked life into his once monochrome existence.

He brushed a damp lock of hair from her forehead, his fingertips tracing the delicate contour of her brow. She smiled up at him, that enigmatic curve of her lips that both teased and comforted. The air between them was heavy with the musk of their spent desire, which smelled like heaven to him.

"Joy," he whispered, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile magic of the moment. "I am..." His words trailed off. Emotions were not his forte, yet in this instance, they clamored for release.

She placed a finger upon his lips, silencing him with a tenderness that spoke volumes. "Hush, Moses. No words are needed." Her eyes, those pools of liquid warmth, held his gaze, conveying understanding beyond the realm of speech.

In the silence, Moses acknowledged the miracle of her presence. She had breached the walls of his solitary world, not with the fanfare of a conquering hero, but with the gentle persistence of spring's first bloom.

If he spent every minute of every day trying to please her, it would never be enough for what she made him feel.