Razors Ice 04 - Hot Ice (16 page)

Chapter
Nine

Flowers and
Croissants

When she got up out of bed and went into the kitchen for coffee, Violet was surprised to find Phillip at the table. So surprised that, if she’d been holding anything, it would have dropped and shattered on the floor. Luckily, the only thing she’d been holding was her breath.

She skidded to a halt and nearly stubbed her big toe on the wood floor.
Could he tell that she’d been unfaithful? Could he read her mind and see all of the scandalous moments she’d shared with Jace?

“I brought croissants
,” he announced proudly and held up a white pastry bag.

Fantastic
, she thought to herself. French pastries for breakfast. All is forgiven. Let’s all make up and live happily ever after.

If
Phillip was looking for a Brownie badge, he was about to be severely disappointed.

Violet frowned and actually felt her lip curl up in disgust. “But I don’t like croissants.”

If Phillip thought that croissants were all it would take to get him out of this jam, then he had another thing coming. Oooh, speaking of jam, that would help make those croissants palatable. Or, better yet, forget the croissants all together. A real breakfast consisted of fluffy pancakes smothered in butter and maple syrup or an omelet stuffed with…

Violet’s stomach growled as she
padded toward the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee.

Phillip set the bag on the table. “I wasn’t aware
you didn’t like croissants.”

She
sighed and cupped her hands around the mug of steaming coffee. “You’d think that after all these years, you might have picked up on my food preferences, Phillip.”

His stiff posture slouched ever so slightly. “You’re right. That is something I should know about you. I apologize.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked and took a sip of her coffee. No matter how much sugar she added, everything always tasted bitter when he was around. Violet had jumped into the fire with Jace, survived, and now everything was ice cold in comparison.

The
abrupt question caught him off guard and she didn’t give him the chance to answer it anyway. “How was Sacramento?” she asked, setting the mug down on the counter. Spilling scalding hot coffee on herself wouldn’t do her confrontation any favors. “Or was it San Francisco? You know how easily I mix up the two.”

“Fine
,” he answered, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. “The details would probably bore you.”

“Oh
, would they?” she spat. In frustration, she tossed her arms in the air and her robe fell open.

“You’re robe is unfastened
,” Phillip pointed it out to her and looked away.

Violet
cinched the terry cloth tight, digging her nails into the plush fabric. “Well, I’m sorry if my body repulses you that much.”

The color drained from his pointy face, leaving him more pale than usual.
He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her. “It is inappropriate at the breakfast table.”

“Right.
And when
is
an appropriate time for sex, Phillip? Huh?” Her chest heaved and her blood started to boil.

She should have apologized for lashing out at him, but she didn’t. In fact, she wanted to argue with him. She wanted an all-out brawl.
A war of words, a passionate argument that ended with sweaty make-up sex. Not that she even wanted to have sex with him. But she wouldn’t get passion with Phillip. Not now. Not ever.

Phillip
didn’t even bat an eyelash. He just rose from the table and said, “I have to get to the office,” and walked away. Then all of a sudden, he spun back around to face her. “How has your father been feeling?” he asked, his voice bitter and tight with tension.

At the mention of her father, all fight disappeared from Violet’s body and left her feeling defeated. It was the one subject that
could stab her in the heart like a knife.

“He’s fine,” she
mumbled.

“We made an agreement
,” Phillip reminded her, his bony finger jabbing into the air. “You aren’t planning on going back on your word, are you?”

He looked as cold and calculating as ever. But there was something else in his eyes. Something tired and defeated. Exhaust
ion, like he was tired of fighting. What was he fighting so hard for? Why was he hanging on to their relationship so tightly? Violet could practically see his fingers clutching wildly to their engagement as if it might suddenly rip out from under his feet.

“
No, I won’t go back on my word. But I still want to talk about our engagement.”

“We made a deal, Violet. There’s nothing to discuss.”

“But I—”

Phillip glanced at his phone, the conversation already over according to him. “I have to go.”
He turned and reached for the door knob.

“Of course you do,” she told his back.

When the front door slammed shut, she let out a strangled sound of frustration, swung out her arms in anger and knocked the bag of croissants onto the floor.

* * *

Violet had just finished her appointment with Mr. Molinari—who still had yet to go to a waxer—when a young deliveryman walked into Healing Touch carrying a giant bouquet of colorful flowers. The arrangement was bursting with the bold reds, bright yellows and vibrant pinks of Gerbera daisies.

Maybe Patricia’s ex-husband, John, had come to his senses and was trying to woo her back. Violet had to admit it was a nice touch. The flowers were gorgeous.

“I have a delivery for James.” The teenager looked down and checked the name on his clipboard. “James Violet.”

Violet chuckled. “I’m Violet.”

The teenager looked confused and checked his paperwork again. “They’re for a James
comma
Violet.”

“That’s me,” she said again. “I’m Violet James. I dropped the comma years ago,” she joked.

“Whatever,” the teenager mumbled and handed her the bouquet. “Have a nice day.”

“Thanks.” Violet took the flowers, set them on the counter next to Patricia’s lucky bamboo plant and opened the card. Inside, there was no sentiment; the card was simply signed “JM.”

Wow, Jace had sent her flowers. What had compelled him to do such a wonderful thing? She smiled and tucked the card into her pocket.

What started out as a whirlwind of passion turned into a cabin rendezvous several times a
week. It wasn’t just sex, although there was a lot of it. On the sofa, in front of the fireplace, in the shower… But that wasn’t all it was. Violet genuinely liked being around Jace. He was funny and charming and she could see herself wanting to hang out with him even if sex wasn’t on the menu.

The more feelings Violet developed for Jace, the more she analyzed her relationship with Phillip. Did she really love Phillip? That was the million dollar question. The first answer that came to mind was a solid
no
. Had she
ever
loved him? She didn’t think so. Now that she knew how love could actually feel, she could answer that question the same way as the first. No. Violet James did not love Dr. Phillip Krandall. That much was for certain. Now, what was she supposed to do about it?

Patricia walked in from the office and gripped the front desk. Her face was whiter than the snow
covering Mt. August. She was so shaken up that she didn’t even notice the bouquet of flowers.

“What happened?”
Violet asked, panic rising up in her throat.             

“I just got a call from Dennie.”

“Oh, no, Pats. Did you call the police?”

“Yeah, but he’s using an untraceable phone and they’re having a hard time tracking him. Apparently he also moved
and
quit his job, so they have no idea where he is.”

“What’d he say this time?” Violet had spoken to him once, weeks ago when he called the office looking for Patricia. His creepiness had gripped her right through the phone.
She couldn’t believe the jerk was still so hung up on Pats.

Patricia signed.
“More of the same. He can’t live without me. He
won’t
live without me. He loves me and wants me to take him back. Like we were even together in the first place! I told him I filed a restraining order, but he doesn’t care.”

“Come into the office and sit down.”

Until the time she had to leave for Jace’s housecall, Violet sat in the office with Patricia and consoled her shaken up friend.

Love was a peculiar thing. It drove people to do things they never thought they’d do and made them say things they never thought they’d say. It brought great happiness and fueled bitter fights.

And it even flung some people into madness.

* * *

Jace tossed his head back and groaned. Was this how it was supposed to feel when things were “just sex”?

Who
in the hell had he become?

He
leaned against the sink and took a good look at the reflection in the mirror. He was buying flowers for someone he was having “just sex” with, thinking about her day and night. This wasn’t Post-Divorce Jace, this was…In-Love-With-Violet Jace.

Was this what love did to you? Made it impossible to think straight, eat or sleep.

Jace didn’t know. And he wasn’t ready to call it love yet either. All he knew was that he sure as hell hadn’t felt this way with Simone. Sure, there was a mutual attraction—he wouldn’t have put a ring on her finger otherwise—but nothing like what he was feeling for Violet. She was like a song he couldn’t stop singing. Just when he thought his mind could focus on something else, flashbacks from their nights together crept into his mind. It was turning out to be one helluva highlight reel.

Jace thought about how much he wanted her
. Since the first moment he saw her, he wanted his hands moving over her. He wanted to hear her laugh. He wanted his lips on hers. And most of all, he wanted to bury himself inside her until everything else faded away.

Jace hung his head and wondered when the world had become so topsy-turvy.

* * *

Violet knocked on the big, solid oak door
of Jace’s cabin.

“It’s open,”
he yelled from inside.

She let herself in and found him in the bathroom shaving. He was hunched over the bathroom counter in his tightie whities, razor in hand, squinting into the mirror. Damn, there was something incredibly sexy about a man when he was shaving.
She was half in love with him already and that was
before
she’d gotten a glimpse into his personal routines.

Without a word,
she went up to him and gave him a bear hug from behind.

“Hi,” he said, swishing the razor around in the sink full of water.

“Thanks for the flowers,” she said and rested her cheek on his smooth back.

He lifted his good shoulder and let it fall again in a half shrug. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled.

The flowers were a moment of weakness and he cursed himself for giving into it. If his teammates ever found out, oh, Jace could hear them now. Oh yeah. They’d have a field day with it and never let him live it down.

Before Jace met Violet, pigs would be flying over the interstate before macho Jace Make-Sure-She-Signs-A-Prenup McQuaid would ever send a woman flowers. What made
things even worse was the fact that there hadn’t even been a real reason for him to send them to her. It wasn’t Violet’s birthday or their anniversary—if they even had one—he just knew she would light up when she saw them and he liked to see her smile.

God, he sounded like a total ninny.

Violet squeezed her arms around Jace’s waist and didn’t say anything else about the flowers. Sure, her first instinct was to ramble on about how beautiful they were and how lovely they smelled and how thrilled she was to receive them, but she knew it must have taken a lot for him to send them and she didn’t want to press her luck. This whole relationship they’d started was already a risky gamble.

Violet
let go of his waist and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was shaving his chin and her gaze followed each stroke of the blade across his angled face. Their reflections in the mirror reminded her of their stark differences. Jace’s size was almost intimidating, his skin tan, hair black. Violet looked at herself peeking out from behind his large torso. She was dwarfed by his size, had pale ivory skin and long brown hair.

When she looked back up at his face, he was watching her. She smiled quickly and turned her focus on his back and started kneading his lower
lumbar region. Gradually, she slowed her hands and slid them under the elastic at his waist.

With a few flicks of his wrist, Jace finished shaving his chin and focused on the right side of his face. When he was done, he rinsed the razor, set it on the counter
and wiped his face on a towel.