Chapter 9

9

JACE

T he warmth from her touch lingered even as Evelyn departed, leaving Jace alone with his thoughts and the fading daylight. A new resolve settled within him as he locked the massive front door of the lodge, the click echoing in the quiet. He made his way up the grand staircase, the wood creaking beneath his boots, to the third floor.

His owner’s suite awaited, untouched potential lying within its spacious confines. The room hummed with possibilities, and Jace could almost hear the laughter and stories that these walls yearned to witness once again. He crossed to the panoramic window, taking in the breathtaking view of snow-capped mountains and the sleepy town below, bathed in the golden hues of sunset.

Turning away from the window, Jace pulled out a notepad and pen from the pocket of his flannel shirt. His mind buzzed with ideas as he imagined transforming the space. At the top of the list, he penned 'Chef’s Kitchen' in bold letters. That same need was listed for the lodge below. It wasn’t just about feeding guests; it was about crafting experiences, warming hearts with more than just the flicker of the fireplace. The lodge needed to become not only a haven for out-of-town guests, but a dining destination for locals.

Concentrating on his personal space first, he wrote, "Professional-class appliances, a large island with seating for four to six, maybe an herb garden out on the balcony." He muttered to himself as he sketched rough designs and jotted down notes. This would be his sanctuary, a place where he could create and reignite the spark that had brought him to Christmas Valley in the first place.

As the sky melted into purples and blues, Jace felt a connection to the lodge, to the town, and to the generations before him who had protected this place. There was an allure here, woven through every wooden beam and whispered by the wind against the glass.

He leaned back in the chair, the list growing longer, each item a promise to breathe life back into Northwind Lodge. With every stroke of the pen, Jace vowed to honor his uncle's legacy and Evelyn's trust. This wasn't just a building; it was a testament to history, to love, to community. And he would fight to keep it alive, whatever it took.

As the afternoon drew to a close, Jace returned to his room on the main floor and stepped into the shower. The water cascaded over his skin, washing away the residue of stress from his meeting with the bank manager and the significance of Evelyn's emotional revelations. Steam fogged the glass enclosure of the shower as he lathered soap across his broad shoulders, muscles relaxing under the hot stream. He tilted his head back, letting the water stream through his hair and down his taut back, tracing the lines of a body honed by adventure and toil.

The steam rose around Jace in a ghostly dance, shrouding the bathroom in a mist as thick as the secrets of Christmas Valley. The shower's heat seeped into his skin, muscles relaxing under the persistent cascade of warm water that pattered against his broad shoulders. He leaned his palm against the cool tiles, head bowed as he tried to focus on the sensation of water sluicing down his back.

But the physical comfort provided by the shower did nothing to soothe the raw, pulsing need that tightened in his loins. It was a hunger, primal and demanding, one that echoed with every throb of his heart. His cock, unabashed in its urgency, betrayed him with its insistent hardness—a testament to the fact that it yearned for one thing alone: the warm, welcoming embrace of her .

Jace's mind, relentless in its pursuit, conjured images of Felicity—the curve of her smile, the spark of mischief in her eyes, the way she moved with an effortless grace that belied the strength within. Her laughter, a melody that resonated with his soul, played in his ears, stirring a longing deep within him.

His eyes, usually so alive with adventure, now darkened with desire. They closed briefly as he inhaled the steam, letting it fill his lungs like a promise yet to be fulfilled. He could almost taste the sweetness of her kiss on his lips—better yet, the feel of those luscious lips wrapped around his cock—feel the press of her body against his own. Yet when he reached out, his hands found only the chill of tile and emptiness.

The echo of solitude mocked him, and Jace knew that no amount of water, regardless of the temperature, would extinguish what burned inside. For beneath the flannel and denim that clothed his everyday existence lay a yearning that no mountain air or scenic vista could appease. It was a yearning not just for flesh, but for connection—for the intimacy that could only be found in the intertwining of souls.

As the water continued to pour over him, his decision crystallized with the clarity of ice on a pine bough. Allowing the water to race over his body, he realized the pulsing in his loins was relentless—a taunting echo of her name. Felicity. His mind whispered the word like a sacred mantra. He knew what he needed to do, and it didn't involve cold showers or distractions.

Closing his eyes, he summoned her image. Felicity, with her curly blonde locks that framed her face like an aureole, her eyes deep as the winter sky at dusk. He imagined those eyes looking up at him, filled with the same hunger that now clawed at his insides.

His hand wrapped around his length, a shiver of pleasure rippling through his body. With each stroke, he saw her more clearly—Felicity, in an oversized sweater, the kind that slipped off one shoulder to reveal the creamy skin beneath. He pictured himself peeling it away, exposing her inch by delicious inch.

The fantasy built within him, a crescendo of longing and lust. In his mind's theater, he tasted her lips, sweet and yielding, heard her gentle yet hesitant voice urging him on with whispered literary references that spiraled their passion to new heights. He felt the softness of her curves pressed against his hard body, her empathy wrapping around him even as he drove into her with a fervor borne of pent-up desire.

"Ah, Felicity," he groaned into the quiet room, her name spilling from his lips like a fervent prayer. His movements became more urgent, his grip tightening as he imagined her beneath him, around him, enveloping him in her warmth and creativity. He saw her eyes widen with pleasure, felt her body quiver under his touch, heard her breath catch as they moved together toward the edge of ecstasy.

With a final surge, Jace succumbed to the vision, his body tensing then shuddering as release washed over him, waves of heat that pulsed in time with the throbbing memory of her name. For a moment, he stood there, spent and gasping as his cum washed down the drain, the ghost of her presence lingering like a promise in the charged air.

As his breathing slowed and the afterglow settled upon him, Jace opened his eyes to the bath, silent save for the sound of cascading water. The fantasy of Felicity faded, leaving a potent mix of satisfaction and yearning. But fantasies alone wouldn't suffice—he craved the true connection, the intertwining of souls that could only be found in her arms.

Resolved and still tingling with the remnants of his desire, Jace realized his purpose was clear; he would pursue the real thing, the communion of hearts and bodies entwined. And he knew just where to find it.

Jace turned off the water, a faint musky scent still clinging to his skin, a testament to the raw need that Felicity Hart evoked within him. Stepping out onto the cool tile, Jace wrapped a towel around his waist, beads of moisture trickling down his chest. The steamy mirror held a misty reflection of a man changed—not just by the water's embrace, but by the call of legacy and the unexpected pull of a small-town life that was beginning to feel like home.

As he dried off, his thoughts drifted unbidden to Felicity—the way her laughter seemed to dapple the air like sunlight through leaves, how her eyes sparkled with wit and hidden depths. She was an enigma, a story waiting to be read, and he found himself yearning to turn her pages. The impulsive desire to cook for her took root in his chest, unfurling like the first green shoots of spring.

Determined, Jace decided it was time to take matters into his own hands, so to speak. He looked down at the hands that had just provided him with release and vowed that it wouldn’t be too long before they would be devoted to two things: cooking and providing Felicity with a maximum amount of pleasure. There was a warmth he sought, a flavor he craved—and it wasn't something to be found in solitude. He made the decision: he would not let Felicity slip through his hands simply because Heather had proved unfaithful.

No, he would gather the necessary ingredients for a meal that would entice not just the palate but the heart. He dressed methodically, pulling on his flannel shirt, denim jeans, and sturdy boots, each movement a step towards reclaiming control over his desires. His eyes, usually full of mischief and warmth, now burned with determination. He combed his fingers through his still-damp hair, leaving it artfully tousled. His reflection now showed a man not defeated by financial woes but inspired by the prospect of an evening spent with someone who had ignited a flame that burned not only in his chest, but in regions far to the south.

His boots echoed on the wooden floor as he strode toward the door of the lodge, each step a testament to his resolve. The lodge's walls whispered encouragement, infused with generations of hope and resilience. He paused at the door, hand resting on the knob, feeling the heartbeat of the building sync with his own.

"Let's see if I can't cook up something more than just a meal," he murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The crisp mountain air kissed his cheeks as he stepped outside, determination and desire lighting his path to Felicity's door.

Jace drove into town and parked outside the local organic/artisan market. Heading inside, he navigated through the narrow aisles, his hands deftly selecting the ripest tomatoes, plucking the freshest basil, and choosing a block of the finest Parmesan cheese. The ingredients for homemade pasta sauce—a comfort dish with the promise of intimacy—filled his basket. He paused before the wines, some of which were from nearby, smaller vineyards, considering, then selected a bottle of red wine, one rich and full-bodied, much like the woman who seemed to have taken up residence in his every thought.

He’d seen what appeared to be a set of steps leading up from the alleyway to a door that he was fairly sure led into the flat where she lived. It was practical and made sense that she would use the same building for her business and residence.

Leaving his car at the market, he walked towards her place, the evening air cooling his heated skin. Jace's mind raced as he rehearsed conversations, discarded lines that felt too contrived, and settled on the truth that needed to be shared. The hum of the Silver Bells Tavern, gearing up for what passed as Christmas Valley’s nightlife, faded into the background as he approached the bakery, the scent of fresh bread wafting down from the warm light spilling out of Felicity's apartment window.

His knock on her door was firm, an echo of the resolve pulsating through his veins. When she answered, her hair framed her face, her eyes reflecting surprise, Jace didn't hesitate. "I brought dinner," he said simply, holding up the bags of ingredients and the wine, an offering laid bare.

"Jace?" Felicity's voice was a gentle melody that wrapped around him, soothing the edges of his urgency.

"Let me cook for you, Felicity," he continued, stepping into her space, feeling the pull between them like gravity. "There's something I want to tell you, and I can't wait another moment."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, sealing them both in a world where the paranormal could touch the edges of reality, where desire and tenderness could meld into one. Tonight, he would feed more than just the hunger of the flesh. Tonight, he would tell her of his plans and invite her to see a small glimpse of his soul.