“This is magnificent,” she said in a breath. “I would give anything for such a house,” she said.
“I’ll build you whatever you want,” he said.
Paul set up the baby’s port-a-crib in the second bedroom while Vanni nursed him in the great room. He made a tray of snacks, poured Vanni a glass of wine and himself a beer. Then there was a little playtime before Mattie started to yawn. Paul took the baby to his bed to put him down for a nap and when he got back, he found Vanni in the kitchen, rinsing off their dishes.
He wanted to tell her things about how his life had changed in a day, but the words eluded him. It would be nice to explain that he’d been with women before, but never like this. He’d had sex. Good sex. In fact, the worst sex he’d ever had was pretty damn good. But no woman before her had taken him in with the kind of intimacy and intensity that Vanni had; he was sure he’d never been able to draw the kind of response from anyone that Vanessa had given back to him. The second his lips touched her neck or his hand glided over her soft body, she was in motion. Hotter than fire. The passion she unleashed was unbelievable. Unimaginable. The way her hips moved against him, it made him weak to even think about it. It gave him a kind of power and mastery he didn’t know he had. When she was in his arms he became the world’s greatest lover. There was nothing in the universe that could stroke a man’s pride more than lighting up a woman with such ease; to bring her complete, exhausting satisfaction like that, over and over. She was amazing and he felt as if his heart would explode. And clearly, the most remarkable and wondrous part was that she left him without a shred of doubt—she was his. Completely his.
But instead of trying to explain how she made him feel, he came up behind her, put his arms around her and kissed her neck. He shut off the running water and turned her around. He lifted her into his arms and whispered against her parted lips, “I can’t believe I can take you to my bed and love every piece of you.”
She trembled and answered, “I can’t believe you’re not getting me there faster.”
And then it began again…
Muriel St. Claire figured Sunday afternoon was a good time to check out the town of Virgin River. Everything was very quiet and she knew she could poke around without creating a huge stir. The house she’d recently bought was just outside of town and she’d never had time to do more than drive down the main street. The place was small and compact with what looked to be one very low-key restaurant and no other businesses on the main street.
The Open sign was on in the window of the restaurant, so she parked her truck and went inside. Muriel looked around appreciatively. This was a perfect little country bar and grill—everything polished to a high sheen, embers glittering in the hearth, two little old ladies sharing a table near the fire, fishing and hunting trophies on the walls. Behind the bar was a good-looking, grinning bartender polishing glasses.
She felt a little overdressed in her tailored pants, ostrich boots and fitted leather blazer over a cream-colored silk blouse. But, no worries, she’d know for next time.
The elderly women immediately started to whisper and twitter, glancing at her, then whispering some more. Well, that was quick; they might be senior citizens but they knew who she was. The bartender tilted his head and gave her a welcoming smile.
She walked up to the bar. “Nice little place,” she said.
“Thanks. We’re kind of proud of it. What can I get you?”
“How about a cola? Diet.”
“You got it.” He fixed her up with a drink and asked, “Passing through?”
“No, actually. I just moved here. Well—” she laughed “—I was born not far from here and always intended to come back.”
“You look kind of familiar,” Jack said. He shook his head. “I had a little déjà vu. You kind of reminded me of my wife for a second there. First time she walked in this place, I figured she was lost. Classy blonde in my bar? Couldn’t be happening.”
“I guess you did the right thing and married her.”
“What was I gonna do?” Jack asked with a laugh. He put out his hand. “Jack Sheridan.”
“Muriel,” she said, accepting the hand.
“You been around lately?” he asked.
“Not lately, no. I used to visit when my folks were still alive. But over the past few years I’ve just been up here on very quick trips to look at property. I’ve never been in this bar before.”
“I take it something worked out in terms of property?”