Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(84)

He could’ve worked on one of the cabins, but he didn’t. He puttered. There weren’t even breakfast dishes to clean up—his mother had done that. He laundered the sheets and towels. He wandered from the house to the porch and back again. At one point he saw Art come back from the river. He waved at Luke and went into his cabin for a while, then back to the river. Lunch break? Luke thought about getting him a little more gear just to ring his chimes—maybe a canvas vest, a creel, a fancy fisherman’s hat.

Luke loved his mother so much. He held her in such high esteem, and he hated that he’d disappointed her. It wasn’t a question of what he wanted, it was a matter of survival—didn’t she get that?

She really annoyed him with her theories. He had to remind himself where she was coming from. She wasn’t like women of his generation. She’d been considering the convent, although he’d seen pictures of her and she was a beautiful young woman; boys and men must have been after her all the time. But, being the prude she was, she hadn’t slipped an inch. Although she wouldn’t speak of indelicate things, Luke’s father had said their mother was pure as the driven snow. Luke took that to mean a twenty-three-year-old virgin, a rarity in these days. Luke didn’t run into women like that.

Until lately.

But that was a whole different thing—Shelby. She wasn’t necessarily a virgin because she had been saving herself, but because she’d had no opportunities. That was what Shelby needed now—opportunities. Education, career, experience and, yes, a few more men so she could learn for herself what worked best for her. It wasn’t a good idea for a young woman of Shelby’s intelligence, curiosity and gratitude for the good things in life to get herself stuck. Just because Luke was the first didn’t make him the best. God, he was hardly the best….

Still, there was a part of him that wished his mother’s fantasy could be real—that you accidentally find this person, this one ideal person, and you dive in, not wasting a minute, and make her yours. And then everything for the next thirty or forty or fifty years is just one big lovefest. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just his bad experience he drew from. He’d been around a lot of men the last twenty years and too few of them had relationships that held strong; too many had been f**ked over by a woman. Being a big tough guy, he didn’t get into emotional conversations with men by habit, but as a matter of fact he’d held a few young, sobbing soldiers as they grieved lost love. The same men who could go into a bloody battle fearlessly could be brought to their knees by a woman who couldn’t keep her promises.

His mother didn’t know what she was talking about. His mother didn’t understand him, he groused. She meant well, wanted the best for him, but she was pie-in-the-sky delusional.

And then Shelby drove up to his house. It was early afternoon and Shelby had known his mother and brother were scheduled to leave in the morning. She came. He stood from his chair on the porch and watched her get out of her Jeep, her hair full and free as he liked it. She wore tight jeans and boots, a down vest over her turtleneck sweater, and she stood there beside her car, smiling at him. She could have waited for him to show up at Jack’s, or to call her and tell her the coast was clear. But she didn’t wait, she came.

“Where’s Art?” she asked.

“Fishing.”

“Good,” she said, grinning.

He forgot everything he’d been dwelling on. He smiled at her and never even felt all the tension drain from his face, his neck and shoulders. He laughed and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. She slammed her car door and ran up the porch steps; she lunged at him, her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, her lips on his lips. She laughed against his open mouth, but only for a moment.

He devoured that sweet mouth, holding her up. He couldn’t move from his spot on the porch. All that was important to him at the moment was having her in his arms, tasting her, smelling her, feeling his mouth on her mouth. “I’ll slow down,” he promised against her lips. “I’ll take some time.”

“It’s okay,” she said in her own breathless whisper. “You don’t have to slow down for me, because I’m in a big hurry.”

“Oh God,” he whispered, weak. “Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m dying for you, Luke.”

“God,” he said again. And he found his way into the house. He carried her like that straight to the bedroom and fell with her onto the bed.

“I couldn’t get away any sooner,” she said while pulling at his clothes. He began to peel away her clothes at the same time. The vest and sweater went first; his shirt was flung from the bed to the floor. “And I wasn’t exactly sure when—”

He stilled her with his mouth on hers, hungry and aching.

She wrestled free of his lips and said, “Boots, Luke. We have to get rid of the boots.”

He laughed a loud, lusty laugh. “Be interesting, doing it in only boots. Let’s take off the jeans and put the boots back on…”

“Someone could get hurt,” she said. “Hurry up.”

He thought he’d die, having her like this, rushing him, needing him. “This an emergency, honey?” he asked her.

“Oh, man,” she said, tugging at his lips. “Boots. Take care of the boots!”

He got an evil, amused glint in his eyes. He pulled off his boots, then hers, very slowly. It was fun, Shelby in a wild state. Holding her pleading eyes in his hot gaze, he grabbed her wrists, held them over her head and gently kissed her body, on top of her bra, on her belly, on her chin, on her neck. She laughed at him. “Will you please!”