Free Virgin River by Robyn Carr Page A

guess you could say she’s pretty. For seventy-six years old.”
    She laughed loudly. Charmaine had a big laugh. It was a good laugh that came from deep inside her. “Well, then, I guess I won’t bother being jealous. But do you think you can spare the time to walk me home?”
    “I can,” he said, draining his beer. “But I’m not coming in tonight.”
    “That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll get my coat.”
    When they were outside, she looped her arm through his and began to talk about her last couple of weeks, as she always did. He liked the sound of her voice, deep and a little raspy, what they called a whiskey voice though she wasn’t much of a drinker. She could go on and on about next to nothing but in a pleasant way, not an irritating way. She would talk about the bar, the people in the town, her kids, what she’d bought lately, what she’d read. News items fascinated her—she would spend the mornings before work watching CNN, and she liked to tell him her opinion of breaking stories. She always had some project going on in her little house—wallpaper or paint or new appliances. The house was paid for; an inheritance of some kind. So the money she made, she spent on herself and her kids.
    When they got to the door he said, “I’ll shove off, Charmaine. But I’ll see you before long.”
    “Okay, Jack,” she said. She tilted her head up for a kiss and he obliged. “That wasn’t much of a kiss,” she said.
    “I don’t want to come in tonight,” he said.
    “You must be awful tired,” she said. “Think you have enough energy to give me a kiss that I’ll remember for an hour or two?”
    He tried again. This time he covered her mouth with his, allowed his tongue to do a little exploring, held her close against him. And she grabbed his butt. Damn! he thought. She ground against him a little bit, sucked on his tongue. Then she hooked her hand into the front of his jeans and pulled him forward, letting her fingers drift lower against his belly.
    “Okay,” he said weakly, a little vulnerable, stirred up. “I’ll come in for a few minutes.”
    “That’s my boy,” she said, smiling at him. She pushed open the door and he followed her inside. “Just think of it as a little sleeping pill.”
    He dropped his jacket on the chair. Charmaine wasn’t even out of hers when he grabbed her around the waist, pulled her against him and devoured her with a kiss that was sudden, hot and needy. He pushed her jacket off her shoulders and walked her backwards toward the bedroom and dropped with her onto the bed. He pulled at her top and freed her breasts, filling his mouth with one and then the other. Then off came her pants, and down came his. He ran his hands over her lush body, down over her shoulders, hips, thighs. He reached over to the bedside table, retrieved one of the condoms kept there for him, and ripped the package open. He put it on and was inside her so quickly, it startled even him. He thrust and plunged and drove and she said, “Oh! Oh! Oh, my God!”
    He was ready to explode, but held himself back while her legs came around his waist and she bucked.Something happened to him—he went a little out of his mind. Didn’t know where he was or with whom. When she finally tightened around him, he let himself go with a loud groan. She panted beneath him, the sound that told him she was completely satisfied.
    “My God,” she said when she finally caught her breath. “What’s got you so hot?”
    “Huh?”
    “Jack, you don’t even have your boots off!”
    He was shocked for a moment, then rolled off of her. Jesus, he thought. You can’t treat a woman like that. He might not have been thinking, but at least he wasn’t thinking about anyone else, he consoled himself. He had no brain power involved in that at all—it was all visceral. His body, reaching out.
    “I’m sorry, Charmaine. You okay?”
    “I’m way more than okay. But please, take your boots off and hold me.”
    It was on his mind to