Luann McLane - Moonlight Kiss

She mentally ticked off things she needed to get done tomorrow and for the grand opening, but then her thoughts drifted to Reid. What would it be like to make love to him? She closed her eyes and imagined having him sharing the big tub with her . . . washing her back, massaging her neck and then caressing her breasts with his big work-roughened hands. He’d look so masculine with bubbles clinging to his bare chest. . . . God, it would feel amazing to slide her wet soapy body against his.

Addison swallowed hard. What if she called him? Invited him over? Did she have the nerve?

“No,” Addison grumbled out loud. Unless . . . she could come up with a really good reason for Reid to come over. Addison racked her brain but everything she came up with sounded flimsy, and so she sighed and gave up on the whole idea.

But later, when she slid beneath the cool sheets and fluffy comforter, Reid drifted back into her thoughts and stubbornly stayed there.

Addison sighed and closed her eyes. She imagined Reid’s hands caressing her body, his mouth tasting her skin. Maybe she’d get lucky, if only in her dreams. . . .

RICK TOOK THE FORK IN THE TRAIL LEADING UP A HILL, pushing his body even harder than the day before. After nearly two weeks of living in the cabin he felt physically and mentally better, stronger and fresher than he had in too many years to count. Inhaling the river-scented air, he ran down the well-worn path through the woods, most likely used by kids riding four-wheelers and dirt bikes. With summer just around the corner, he would soon get up earlier to avoid the heat. Breathing hard, he paused to take his shirt off and mop the sweat from his brow and then slowed to a jog for his cool-down.

With his two weeks nearly up Rick reminded himself to head up into town to extend the lease for the rest of the summer months. Although his initial reason to come to Cricket Creek had been to apologize to Addison, living in the log cabin was bringing him a sense of peace that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He had first option but he didn’t want to risk losing the cabin to someone else. He’d even considered buying the place but wasn’t quite sure, so he planned on talking to Maggie McMillan about the possibility. And he would take the opportunity to finally face Addison Monroe. He’d pulled into the parking lot of Wedding Row a couple of times but he’d been hesitant to get out, worried that he might be recognized and not wanting to blow his cover or bring unwanted attention to Addison, who was also avoiding the spotlight. He certainly didn’t want to do anything to put a damper on the grand opening of her lovely shop. The irony didn’t escape him that Addison was opening a bridal boutique, of all things. She had spunk and a sense of humor. He’d always liked Addison and the news of the breakup saddened Rick in too many ways to count.

Hours, no, make that days of soul-searching revealed more than Rick wanted to see and a lot in his lifestyle that he planned on changing. Becca, his ex-wife, had moved on a long time ago, remarried, and had two more children but often had a hard time raising rebellious Garret. She’d complained that Garret was a chip off of the old block, self-centered, refusing to grow up. Rick knew he’d been a “Cat’s in the Cradle” father and he now felt such loss. And, in truth, he was ashamed. Garret was a damned good musician, given a hard time simply for being Rick’s son. But what had Rick done about it?

Nothing . . . telling himself at the time that Garret needed to find his own way in life and not ride on Rick’s coattails, when in fact being his son had resulted in the opposite, robbing Garret of the chance to follow his dream. What would have happened if Rick had taken Garret under his wing and helped launch his son’s career? Then again, Rick wondered if deep down he’d wanted Garret to fail rather than be sucked into a lifestyle that many couldn’t handle. Maybe even including himself. He loved his son and longed to have him back in his life.

Rick scrubbed a hand down his sweaty face and sighed. This past week he’d poured his sorrow into songwriting, bringing himself back to his bluegrass and blues roots. He’d always wanted his music to have more heart and soul and less head banging, but even in recent years introducing new material while on tour was met with the disapproval of fans who only wanted the old stuff, and so Rick eventually stopped trying.

During the past few days he’d downloaded several self-help, inspirational books and read each one. The sad but darkly funny truth was that he didn’t need to change, but to go back to who he was before fame consumed his life.

Rick paused to look out over the river, letting the peace of the water wash over him. In all fairness, he’d tried to put the songs he loved on his early albums but his record label refused. He’d had success as a rock star and he was stuck. In addition, he soon became a franchise, with dozens of employees depending on continued success to put food on the table, and in order to do that he’d had to spend most of the time touring . . . away from Becca and Garret. Everyone saw the glitz and glamour but didn’t know the pressure, the grueling hours, and the loneliness of being on the road. Tour buses and hotel rooms were a poor substitute for being home. He wasn’t quite as selfish as Becca liked to believe when she went after a huge divorce settlement, not that Rick cared about the damned money.

“Enough about the past,” Rick muttered as he skipped a rock across the water. All of the books preached to move on, go forward, and forgive people, including himself. He planned on doing all of those things. It just wasn’t easy facing that he’d recently been on the fast road to becoming an old, faded version of his youth, clinging to something that was long gone and he’d never really wanted in the first place. But regret caused bitterness and the last thing he wanted to become was a bitter old man.

When his stomach rumbled, Rick tossed his damp shirt over his shoulder and headed back toward the cabin. When he spotted an SUV parked in front his pulse raced, thinking he’d been found. Then he spotted Maggie McMillan stepping out of the driver’s side, and he smiled.

Maggie wore navy blue slacks and a matching blazer, typical business attire for a real estate agent, but when she leaned back onto the SUV the blazer hiked upward, revealing a very nice butt. He found the straitlaced attire covering womanly curves damned sexy, and for a moment stood there and fantasized about what kind of lacy lingerie she wore beneath the suit. Rick shook his head, wondering if his reaction stemmed from the fact that this was the longest he’d gone without being with a woman in as far back as he could remember.

In truth, keeping up with Caitlyn had been like participating in a triathlon, often leaving Rick more worn-out than satisfied. What would it be like to be with a warm and willing woman who wanted to make love slow and easy instead of hard and fast? Someone who was more into touching than toys?

Someone who cared?

Instead of a hot-spot restaurant and a loud nightclub, what would it be like to stay in and make dinner together, share a bottle of excellent wine, and watch a movie while cuddling together on the sofa with a big bowl of popcorn? What would it be like to have a real, meaningful conversation about a subject that mattered?

Rick longed to find out.

With that thought in mind, Rick walked over to where Maggie looked down at some paperwork. She had her back to him and when she tilted her head, her hair slid to the side, revealing a delicate slice of her neck. There wasn’t anything sexy about the movement, just sweetly feminine. “Good morning, Maggie.”

“Oh!” When Maggie whipped around papers went flying in the breeze. “Oh no!” She chased after them but a sudden stiff gust of wind sent the papers skyward. They started fluttering downward, but just when Maggie got close the wind did its thing and sent the papers away just out of her reach, as if playing a teasing game of tag.

Rick decided he should help but when she started laughing he joined her in the fruitless effort. She finally pounced on one sheet and he jumped up to catch another, but another gust of wind sent the rest floating toward the river. “Here,” Rick said with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I get startled easy. My son used to laugh that I’d jump when he’d walk into the room. I tend to get into a zone or something. Not your fault.”

Rick reached up and shoved his damp hair off of his forehead. “How’s the ankle?”

“Um . . . I . . .” Maggie blinked at him for a minute. Her cheeks were flushed, he guessed from the chase, but then he remembered he was standing in front of her shirtless and in damp, clinging jogging shorts. “Fine. Th-thank you for the fl-flowers. I tried to contact you but the number I have wasn’t yours.”

“Oh, no problem. I’m just glad that you’re okay.” Rick shrugged.

Maggie nodded as if at a loss for words but then her eyes widened. “Oh, I came out here with papers for you to extend your lease”—she winced—“but, well, except for these two, they’re gone with the wind. When would be a good time to come back?”

“For dinner,” came out of his mouth without really thinking. “I was going to the grocery store later and I’d planned on grilling some steaks or chicken. Would you care to join me? I ask only that you help me with the side dishes. Grilling is about as far as my cooking skills go—well, unless you count breakfast,” he added, but then realized that his comment sounded suggestive. “Not that I expect you to stay for breakfast,” he added quickly, and for the first time that he could remember Rick Ruleman, rock star, blushed. “Sorry. I guess I’m . . . so rusty that I creak.”