Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(14)

He lifted one black bushy brow. “But am I?”

“That’s so irrelevant! Chasing a good-looking thirty-year-old was never beneath me!”

She made him laugh. That was the linchpin—she always made him laugh. “That doesn’t surprise me. Not that there are many of those, either.”

“Walt, for God’s sake, I have my own transportation if Virgin River isn’t amusing enough for me.” She stalked over to him, put her arms on his shoulders, got up on her toes and laid a lip-lock on him that shocked his eyebrows up high and his eyes round. But she kept at him until he finally put his big arms around her slim body, pulled her hard against him, let his lips open, opened hers and experienced, for the first time since they met almost three months ago, a wholly passionate, wet, deep kiss. It was fantastic. Delicious. And long. When he finally relaxed his arms a bit, she pulled back and gave him a whack in the chest. “Now stop being a fool or you’re going to mess this up. I’ll come to dinner Friday night. You cook. I’ll bring wine.”

“Okay, fine,” he said a little breathlessly. “Dinner. With the family.”

“Not because I’m getting ready to propose, but because I’d like to know your family. And more to the point, they’d like to know me, to be sure you’re in no danger.” She went to the sack and began removing cartons, placing them on the table.

“Do you suppose we’ll be doing that again?” he asked. “That kind of kissing?”

“Beats the hell out of those little pecks and pats, don’t you think?” she asked.

“I have to agree with that, yes,” he answered. Leave it to some aging starlet to bring a tough old general to his knees. In fact, he thought he felt his knees wobbling and a slight vibration under his skin. Given a little more time, he was going to feel something else; something he didn’t feel all that often, but often enough to know it still worked.

“Maybe after brisket. I’m a little annoyed with you at the moment.”

“Shame,” he said. “I’m completely happy with you.”

“I shouldn’t have to make the first move,” she complained. “Jesus. Men. They’re either too ambitious or not ambitious enough.” Her phone rang and she said, “Excuse me one second.”

He listened to her side of the conversation. “Hmm…Well, much as I appreciate you keeping me in mind, it would take something monumental to pull me back into films…. A year from now? We’ll see what you have a year from now, Mason. But really, I’m not going back to Los Angeles for some shitty little supporting role in a B movie—I’m having too much fun. And I have horses and dogs—they don’t transport all that easily. No, it’s not about the horses and dogs, it’s about being retired from acting, and not convinced you have a worthwhile project where I’m concerned. Fine, fine—send the script and I’ll look at it, but I highly doubt it’s going to change my mind, so be prepared for that. Yes, Mason—you, too.” She hung up.

Walt had an unpleasant look on his face. “You mind if I ask…”

“Mason. My agent.”

“And ex-husband? Fifteen years older than you? Isn’t he getting close to retirement himself…at seventy-one?”

“You’d never know it. The man’s going to be dancing on my grave.”

“Trying to get you to come back?” Walt asked.

“Trying to get me to work. And I’m not inclined to do that….” She looked at Walt and for just a second frowned at his frown. Then she laughed. “Oh, Walt, are you worried? Relax. He calls almost every day. He sends scripts sometimes—nothing but junk. But Mason has always been one to throw everything he has at the wall to see what sticks.” She walked up against him and rubbed her hands over his chest. “Really, he’d have to come at me with something as good as Cat on a Hot Tin Roof or Gone with the Wind to even get my attention.” She smiled at him. “Now, can we please have some of Preacher’s brisket? You’ve been a little high maintenance tonight. Not like you. And I’m starving!”

He ran his big rough hands through her soft blond hair. “You’re starving? When we met, you didn’t eat anything but celery and hummus.”

“Yeah, I know. And hanging out with you is starting to show on my rump.”

“Looks damn fine to me, Muriel. Light the candle and load up your plate.” And he smiled.



A few days later, Vanessa and Shelby were in a fever of excitement as they tidied the house for their famous dinner guest. They would have her captive, to ask all the movie-star questions they were kicking around, trying them out on each other. They wanted the scoop, but didn’t want to be a tabloidlike invasive. Of course, they wanted to know things like, who was the sexiest man you ever slept with?

“You can’t ask that!” Shelby said with a gasp.

“Of course not,” Vanessa agreed. “Try to think if there’s a way to ask her which big Hollywood hunk turned out to be the biggest dud?”

Giggles erupted from both of them.

Walt listened to a lot of this from the kitchen. He had insisted he was cooking—it was what he had promised Muriel. And he found himself wondering about the answer to those questions, himself. Vanessa and Shelby shouldn’t ask, but given time, he might.