Page 18 of Mistletoe and Magic

In that fleeting exchange, Jace Winterborne, once the master of emotional evasion, allowed himself to be vulnerable. With every doubt shelved and every fear silenced, he stood at the precipice of possibility, gazing into the depths of what might be. It was a leap he never thought he'd take again, yet here, under the watchful eye of the winter's eve, he found himself ready to jump.

The festive laughter began to ebb as the night deepened, the crisp air nipping at exposed skin and whispering of the need for warmth. Jace's gaze lingered on Felicity, the blue of her eyes darkening like twilight skies. He watched the vapor of her breath mingle with the cool night. Something primal within him responded to that sight, an unspoken command that urged him forward.

With a resolve that surprised even himself, he reached for her, his fingers grazing hers in a tentative yet deliberate touch. Her hand felt small and cold in his, her skin soft against the callouses of his own—a juxtaposition as stark as it was fitting. Without a word, he led her away from the dissipating crowd,away from the twinkling lights and the shadowy outlines of the town’s decorations.

Their footsteps crunched in the snow, creating a rhythmic cadence to match the racing of Jace's heart. The lodge loomed before them, grand and imposing, yet it promised sanctuary and seclusion. As they crossed the threshold, its warmth enveloped them, a stark contrast to the chill of the outside world.

He didn’t speak; words were superfluous in the face of what they both desired. With a shared urgency, they shed their winter layers, leaving a trail of clothing that spoke of heated impatience. Their lips met, and the kiss was an unleashing—a storm that had been brewing beneath the surface of every stolen glance and half-breath.

In the dimly lit room, Jace explored the contours of Felicity's body with a reverence that bordered on worship. His hands traced the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, committing to memory the feel of her beneath him. He marveled at the way she responded, arching into his touch, her soft moans a siren song that guided him further into the depths of their passion.

Felicity painted a vivid narrative upon his skin with every gasp and shiver, her movements writing chapters that spoke of longing and fulfillment. Their bodies moved together as if they had been lovers for many years, each thrust a punctuation mark in the sentence they were crafting through the language of flesh and desire.

It was a dance as intimate as it was intense, a confluence of need and want that culminated in a crescendo of shared ecstasy. In the afterglow, they lay entwined, a tangle of limbs and sheets, the silence speaking volumes of the connection that had been forged between them.

Eventually, the reality of time’s passage nudged at them, reluctant as they were to part. With gentle reluctance, Jace dressed and drove Felicity back to her flat, the streets empty andhushed, the lodge’s troubles a distant thought. As he watched her enter the building, a profound sense of contentment settled over him—a feeling he had not known he was capable of experiencing again. And in that moment, he recognized that whatever the future held, it would be irrevocably intertwined with the woman who had reignited the fire in his soul.

12

FELICITY

The days leading up to the county's annual holiday baking contest were a whirlwind of planning and baking.My plot wasn’t nearly this complex or rich, how is all of this happening? And why does it feel so real?Each morning, as the sun rose over Christmas Valley, she would already be in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up and hands deep in flour. Her mind raced with recipes and combinations, each one a tiny adventure that sent shivers of anticipation down her spine.

"More cinnamon," she murmured to herself one frosty morning, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration.

She sprinkled the spice with a practiced hand, the scent mingling with the warm butter and vanilla, a heady perfume that made her heart quicken—a delicious, tight coil in her belly that thrummed with every whisk and stir. The bakery had become her sanctuary, where the clink of measuring spoons and the thud of the mixer beat a steady rhythm that mirrored the pulse of her own desire.

"Is this enough chocolate?" she asked the empty room, her voice absorbed by the warmth of the oven. But the question lingered, a silent plea for perfection in an endeavor where thestakes were more than just a blue ribbon—this was her proving ground, the place where the magic of her creativity met the heat of her ambition.

Felicity lost track of time as she moved from batter to frosting, the soft scrape of the spatula against the bowl a sensual cadence. The taste of sweet cocoa on her lips was a promise of the ecstasy to come—the same ecstasy she found in Jace's arms when night fell, and her apron came off.

"Perfect," she whispered to the rows of pastries lined up like soldiers ready for inspection. Her gaze roamed over her creations, each one a testament to the hours spent dreaming and daring in equal measure.

"Will they love it?" she wondered aloud, casting a critical eye over the delicate swirls atop her cupcakes, each one a miniature masterpiece. "Will it be enough?"

But Felicity knew, deep in the marrow of her bones, that she baked not just for accolades but for the fierce joy of creation, the rush that came with every challenge met and conquered. She stood before her array of treats, a queen surveying her realm, ready to share the passion and pleasure that had poured from her soul into every bite. The bakery, usually a haven of sweet aromas and flour-dusted counters, felt like a crucible, each passing day bringing the holiday baking contest in Christmas Valley closer. The warmth from the ovens couldn't keep the chill of anticipation from creeping up Felicity's spine as she piped rosettes onto a chocolate torte with mechanical precision.

"Steady now," she murmured to herself, her breath catching with every precise movement—a coil that seemed to wind tighter with each tick of the clock hanging above the prep station that counted down to the day of judgment. Day of judgment? It’s a baking contest, she reminded herself, not the doomsday clock!

The scent of spices mixed with butter and sugar lingered like an intoxicating perfume, weaving through the air andwrapping around her, a heady reminder of the stakes at hand. Although the cash prize wasn’t all that much, the bragging rights were. Besides it would be embarrassing to lose the year the competition was held in her own village. With each batch of pastries, each blend of exotic spices, her confidence increased, but so did the haunting fear of not rising to the occasion.

"Come on, Felicity," she coaxed herself, her voice a soft chant lost amidst the sound of mixers and timers. "You've got this."

"Ah, you're talking to yourself again," she chided, a private joke between her and the walls that had witnessed her moments of doubt and bursts of inspiration.

Each day bled into the next, a montage of sugar-dusted dreams and creamy concoctions that left her hands sticky and her heart racing. The rhythm of her routine became a dance, her body moving with a grace born of necessity and desire intertwined.

"Almost there," she sighed, the end now just a whisper away, a promise that hung heavy in the bustling bakery.

And then, with the last tray nestled in the oven's warm embrace, she stepped back, her eyes tracing the fruits of her labor. Her pulse thrummed like the beat of distant drums, a wild tempo that matched the fluttering in her chest.

Felicity's fingers danced over the contours of room-temperature butter, her knuckles white as she folded it into the flour with practiced ease. She needed to keep up on the regular things for her bakery, including the artisan bread she sold. The bakery hummed with quiet energy whispering of sugar and spice, a prelude to the contest that loomed like an ever-growing shadow in her mind

"Another batch, Felicity?" Jace's voice rolled over her like a soothing balm, his presence both a comfort and a welcome distraction.

She glanced up, meeting his vibrant eyes that never failed to spark a fire within her. "I need to nail this recipe," she murmured, her focus sharpening as she wiped a stray lock of hair from her forehead with the back of her wrist. "It has to be perfect."

Jace shook his head. "I can attest to the fact that your hands work magic." He was teasing her as he moved to stand behind her, his hands skimming the edge of the counter. "Trust them—and yourself."

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