Second Chance Pass (Virgin River #5)(97)

She answered by kissing him deeply, pressing her body up against his, and he was only further weakened. Or maybe he was further strengthened, because he was feeling more and more sure that he had to have this woman next to him, in his arms, in his life. There was some terrible curse on this place that turned fine, upstanding, confirmed bachelors into ridiculous, desperate men who tripped over a pretty girl and began to instantly think life would not go on if they didn’t have her forever. They hadn’t even been intimate and he already couldn’t imagine letting her go. He tried to tell himself that by morning that feeling, that compulsion would be gone, but he doubted it. He’d wanted before, but he couldn’t remember wanting like this. Like he was drugged. Like he was glazed over and totally out of his mind for this one person.

She pulled away. “I want to,” she said.

“Sure?”

“Sure.” She drew a ragged breath. “I’m really sure.”

He smiled down at her, took her hand in his, and they walked down the steps into the yard and around the house, stopping every few feet to embrace, to kiss and fondle. And then he opened the door to that funny little trailer.

It was a little awkward at first, stepping up into that tiny trailer, because Joe was tearing the place apart looking for a condom. And she asked him, hadn’t he brought any? And he told her he never expected something like this to come up while he was in Virgin River. “We usually just hunt. Play poker. Drink a little too much.” And then he found a box of condoms in the drawer under the microwave and said, “Ah! God bless Paul.”

After that discovery, the awkwardness passed as he began to seduce her and became seduced by her. There was nothing under that pink dress but Nikki, and she was exquisite—tiny, firm, beautiful, sensual. Despite his condition, which was one of being so worked up and turned on he was afraid he might embarrass himself, he managed to make a decent study of her body and make long, slow, delicious love to her. Love that he was sure was completely satisfying to her as well as him.

Then they lay in each other’s arms and talked for a while. “Don’t tell me about him, I don’t want to know. But tell me more about you. Where you came from, what you like to do, how you want to spend the rest of your life.”

He learned that she had grown up in the city, gone to private schools, disappointed her parents by choosing to fly as a cabin attendant rather than becoming a neurosurgeon or astronaut or something. She liked to travel, ride horses, read. She was a good cook. What she wanted was to have a family, which was why she ended up with this guy who finally made it clear he was completely opposed to that idea. She had no idea it was really going to come to that. “Whoops,” she said. “I think that might’ve been about him.”

“That’s okay,” he forgave. “Let’s put him away for now.” And he made love to her again.

There was something about loving her that surpassed the sex. He could easily move her around, she was so light, and as he did so, he forgot that he had been dying to experience her. The only important thing became her pleasure, giving her everything he had. Working her up, getting her so hot she was begging. Long, slow, deep strokes that made her sigh and moan. And when she let him know it was time, deep and strong thrusts that made her gasp and hold him tightly to her. When her orgasm came, he felt proud, as if he’d taken good care of her. Maybe it was her response to him, the way she was swept away, her release leaving her breathless and gasping. If he had anything to say about it, this would go on forever and she would never be disappointed in his arms, in his life.

What he hadn’t been prepared for was how loving and sexual she was toward him, acting as if his pleasure was the most important thing as well. Unwilling to lie back and receive his lovemaking, he felt her lips on every inch of his body; she pushed him back on that small bed and tortured him so beautifully it almost brought tears to his eyes. She was a woman who could give as good as she got and it filled him up with emotion so strong, he was sure he’d never felt that way before.

And again they talked—this time about Joe and his small town up north, the houses he designed, the Marine Corps and the friends for life he’d made. He told her all about his Virgin River experiences, including the first time Jack called on the boys to help him clear the woods of dangerous men, to the time they’d come together to help Paul lay his best friend to final rest.

Then more love. Deeply satisfying, wondrous, phenomenal love. Joe honestly didn’t know if he’d suddenly become better at making love than he realized or if this woman, Nikki, was simply so astonishing, she made him look good. So responsive, so sweet. It didn’t matter to him—he was sublimely grateful for every orgasm she had, and more grateful that he was able to give her more than he took for himself.

“Nikki,” he whispered. “I think finding you was the luckiest day of my life.”

Then they talked about the others. Not the one who was making her cry, because Joe didn’t want any more crying. Since stepping into that funky little trailer, there hadn’t been any tears. Soft laughter, whispers, deep sighs, no tears. They talked about the other ones that just didn’t work out, starting with his year-long marriage at the age of twenty-five. “She left you?” Nikki asked, as though stunned.

“Yeah,” he said. “It killed me.”

Joe told her he’d always been kind of prepped for marriage and family, given his parents’ long marriage, the successful marriages of two brothers and one sister. And maybe he was gun-shy, that he hadn’t fallen in love again after that. He was surprised to find himself this old and still unattached; he thought he’d be settled and have a couple of kids by now. Once he saw some of his buddies find it late, he had renewed hope that maybe it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility for him.