Whispering Rock (Virgin River #3)(64)

Since being back in Sacramento Brie had seen Mike only twice in several weeks—Santa Rosa lunches, holding hands across the table. There were long, deep, wonderful kisses at parting. She talked to him almost every evening, taking the call in her room, and for about an hour they would share the events of the day. He caught her up on all the news, from the video conference at the general’s to who’d been at Jack’s for dinner. She was amazed by how hungry she was for every tiny piece of information about that little town.

Then as the conversation would draw near its end, their voices would grow lower and softer and their words more intense. “I miss you, mija,” he would say, his voice husky. “I can’t wait until you threaten me with a broken heart again. I think you’re all talk and you’ve lost interest in my heart.”

And she would say, “Not at all—breaking your heart is still a huge priority with me. I’ll be back.”

“Not soon enough.”

“I miss your kisses,” she told him.

And he said, “Te tengo en mis brazos.” I will hold you in my arms. “Te querido más te de lo tu hubieras.” I have wanted you for longer than you know. “I will kiss you as much as you allow,” he translated incorrectly. It sent shivers through her.

November arrived, bringing crisp days and cold nights to the Sacramento valley, and she heard on the news that snow had fallen in the mountains. The pass from Red Bluff through the Trinity Alps to Virgin River could be closed now and any trip made to that part of the country would have to go from Sacramento to Ukiah and up the Mendocino valley. Just as well—highway 36 was treacherous and slow even in the best weather, but it was spectacular. Brie spent a lot of time thinking about which route she would take when she eventually decided it was time to return to Virgin River.

She told her sisters about him, but only one at a time, and sometimes in hushed tones that she knew became a little breathless. “He speaks to me in Spanish, in low, sexy Spanish, and then he lies about what he’s said, thinking I don’t know.”

“What does he say?” Jeannie asked her.

“He’ll say something like, ‘I want to hold you and make love to you,’ and pretends he has said he would like to kiss me.”

“Do you think you can have this in your life again? Intimacy of that kind? Are you ready for that?”

“I’m very nervous, but I long for it,” she said. “I want him.”

“You trust him enough?”

“When I’m with him, I feel completely safe. Nurtured. Protected. He doesn’t hurry me—he’s very kind. Very cautious. He’s the only kind of man I could deal with right now, and he knows that.” She shivered and said in a low breath, “But there’s a fire in him. I can feel it.” She took a deep breath.

She’d been home from Virgin River for a month and was beginning to think in terms of going back after the holidays. But then Brad came to see her with an agenda that turned her world upside down again. It was afternoon and Brie had been thinking about what to prepare for dinner when she heard her father go to the door. It always gave her a little tremor when the doorbell rang, even in broad daylight, afraid of who it would be standing there, and that Sam would forget to check through the peephole.

Sam came into the kitchen and said, somberly, “It’s Brad.”

She dried her hands on a dish towel. “Here?”

Sam nodded. “I’ll go to my office.”

When she went into the family room, he was standing there, still wearing his leather jacket, the one she had given him two Christmases ago. His hands were in his pockets, his head down. He was as tall as Jack; as broad shouldered with a wide, hard chest. Looking at his back, she realized it could almost be Jack, and for a split second she wondered if she had married him because he resembled her brother in so many ways. That sandy-brown hair, square jaw, long legs, powerful physique.

Mike wasn’t anything like the Sheridan men—he was six feet, quite tall to her five foot three, but not towering like her brother and father, like Brad. His shoulders and arms were strong, but he was lean. There was that soft, coal-black hair, high cheekbones, black eyes, tan skin, his teeth so white they were almost startling. His hands were soft and his fingers long and graceful. She hadn’t seen him without a shirt, but she knew his chest and belly were muscled and hard, almost hairless. She found herself imagining that below his waist was more of that black hair, swirling downward. His legs were the strong, sculpted legs of a runner—she remembered the feel of his thighs as she lay across his lap to be kissed.

She had to shake herself, focus on the moment.

“Brad, what are you doing here?”

He lifted his head and turned, smiling when he saw her. He reached for her as an old friend might, his arms open. She allowed these brief hugs, but then extricated herself quickly. “I have to talk to you, Brie. Is this a good time?”

“It’s fine. Here, sit,” she said, indicating the couch. When he had taken a seat, she chose the love seat, not beside him but facing him at an angle.

“This is hard,” he said, dropping his chin, looking down. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to do this for months.” He stared at the floor for a moment.

“What is it, Brad?” she asked impatiently.

He took a breath. “Me and Christine,” he said. “We’re not together anymore. We split up. A few months ago. Not long after your… The incident.”