Daniel awoke to the smell of pancakes. It took a moment for him to place where he was. It always did. His dreams were sometimes more vivid than reality, whether of smoke-filled battle fields or limp, lifeless blondes. This morning in particular the confusion hung over him. He ran a hand across his face as if to clear the cob webs from his brain.
Pancakes? His mother had not made pancakes since he was in kindergarten. Eggs, bacon, toast; sure, but not pancakes.
Then he remembered. The woman. Jill was her name. The events of the previous day came flooding back like lahar flow after a volcanic eruption. The woman had flown thousands of miles to marry him based upon emails he had not even written. The idea seemed ridiculous, but what little he had seen of the woman, she seemed anything but the flighty type of feminine creature he would expect to do something so...crazy.
Rolling over he looked at the digital clock on the nightstand next to his bed. Nine thirty-eight.
"What the fuck?" he spat. He never slept past oh-six-hundred. Not in years. Not even on vacation. It was programmed into his mind and body. His alarm clock was more for show than functionality.
The girls. What about them? Where were they? Worse yet, what had they gotten into? Even if she was up and cooking pancakes, the girls did not know Jill. How could she manage three children under the age of six and make breakfast?
Daniel's senses were immediately at attention, his mind racing with horrific images of disasters, each worse than the last. Three girls could cause more trouble than a terrorist cell.
He threw back the blankets and raced down the hall towards the kitchen, not even considering his attire.
***
Jill flipped another of the sweet breakfast treats in the small pan. This morning she had opted for the thicker American style batter that rose in the pan, a golden delight visually as well as its smell and taste.
Her brows creased in thought. It was amazing that two countries, which shared the same language and were in fact close relations, could have so many differences. She had barely been back in the United States for twelve hours and already she had run across at least a dozen different words or customs. Pancakes that were so thin you could see right through them seemed inconsequential in the grander scheme of things, especially in the bright morning light.
The mess that she had made of her life by hopping on the first plane available and coming three thousand miles to marry a stranger that was consequential.
"Bel, you ready for another?" She asked the little girl playing quietly at the table with a Barbie doll.
Turning around with another pancake poised on the spatula, she almost dropped the frying pan. The sight that greeted her gaze sent her heart into overdrive and pushed the air from her lungs.
Six foot plus of lean, muscular male filled the doorway between the kitchen and living room. His soft chocolate hair looked as if someone had just run their fingers through it. His matching beard was in disarray. His blue eyes held a sleepy, dream-like look that invited her mind to go places it should not.
Most disconcerting of all, he wore nothing more than a pair of basic military issue white boxer shorts. Jill's throat tightened further at the sight.
The man was beautiful. She knew that was not the correct word to use to describe this tough, macho-type men, but no other word fit. She thought of the Greek gods that she had read about in high school.
Ares, the god of war. The man before her was the modern day reincarnation of Ares.
She tried to ignore the rush of heat that coursed through her blood and pooled distinctly between her thighs, a wetness that begged to be relieved. She was a woman after all. Any woman would feel the same, she assured herself. She almost jumped from her skin at the girlish giggles which echoed off the kitchen walls.
"Daddy," Bel squealed. The twins, sitting in matching Winnie the Pooh high chairs, simply hit their messy hands against the white plastic trays that surrounded them.
"I hope the girls didn't wake you," he said in a deep husky voice that caressed her skin and sent electric shock waves skittering along her spine.
"I hope you don't mind," she fumbled waving her hands towards the counter top where eggs, flour, sugar and milk sat among drips of yellowish batter and white powder. "I suppose my body clock is still a bit off," she smiled by way of explanation.
"Mind? Lady, I woke to the smell of pancakes. Why the hell would I mind?" He paused and with a conspiratorial wink to Bel adding, "As long as there are some for me."
"Yes, Daddy. Jill saved you some. She said not to wake you up," the child explained through the gap where her front teeth had once been.
"I'll put some more on while you get dressed," Jill hinted as she turned back towards the low flame on the stove. The idea of sharing an intimate breakfast with him wearing nothing more than boxers might be appealing, but it was also more than a bit daunting given the misunderstanding that had resulted it her current uncertain future.
Still she doubted that the sight of this man in his bare feet and boxer shorts would quickly fade from her mind, if ever. More than likely her brain would file it away and bring it forth to haunt her erotic dreams in an empty bed for months and years to come.
"If you're sure the girls aren't bothering you," he questioned once more.
Jill giggled as she thought, 'It's not the girls that are bothering me, commander.' Over the last quarter century British politeness had taught her to keep such thoughts to herself. "We have everything under control, commander." She assured, careful to keep her back towards him and her eyes straight ahead. "You should go get dressed. Your pancakes will be ready in a couple of minutes." She would need that time to try and wipe his mostly naked form from her mind if she were to continue with polite indifference.
***
Daniel sat at the oval table that dominated the small kitchen with its yellowish walls. His fork was laden with thick layers of pancake. The rich, brown maple syrup dripped to his plate below. The truth was that the smell had not done justice to the woman's cooking. The pancakes were perhaps the best he had ever tasted.
"Want more?" the woman asked as she cleared Bel's plate from the table.
He shook his head. "I really shouldn't." He had already consumed at least half a dozen. Anymore and he would have to add an extra mile to his daily run.
He watched as she used a damp cloth to wipe Britney's hand. Ashley was content to shovel another bite-size piece of pancake into her mouth. Bel had run off to her room her Barbie doll in tow.
His eyes came to rest on the generous curves of the woman. Her jeans clung tightly to round hips. He stared in fascination. Where this woman was soft and generous, Rachel had always been more angular. Even during her three pregnancies, she had carefully watched each thing she ate, afraid to gain too much weight. After the births, she had spent hours in the gym. Her need to lose it all quickly was almost obsessional. Hell, Rachel had always been so small that some part of him had been almost afraid of breaking her. As a result, their lovemaking had never been especially good, tame by most standards in fact.
