Gayle Kasper - A Family Practice

Luke watched her go. He had no right to want her. He was hurting, and Mariah offered peace, if only a temporary peace. But he had nothing to offer her in return.

She deserved a man who could pluck down the moon for her, those cool, glittery stars. A man who could give her some of himself.

“Will you be comfortable for the night?” she asked, stepping out the cabin’s front door.

Comfortable? More than he had been on the seat of a motorcycle. More than he’d been the last six months—since his son’s death. “I’ll be fine,” he answered, hating the ragged sound to his voice.

“If you need anything, just let me know.”

“I won’t need anything.”

She stepped off the porch slowly, a little unsurely. “I’ll be getting back then,” she said and started to leave.

Luke stopped her.

“Mariah?”

She turned softly to gaze at him, and Luke knew he was lost, lost in those luminous green eyes, that prettily shaped mouth, her haunting femininity.

He’d only wanted to thank her for what she’d done, but she stood so close he could touch her, stroke her hair, smooth back the few rebellious strands that escaped her braid.

“Thank you,” he managed to get out. “For…everything.”

She smiled softly, and it was his undoing.

He brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek, then her lower lip, tracing its silken curve. She didn’t draw away, only gazed up at him with her own soft need.

His resolve melted completely. He had to taste her lips, just once. He leaned down and brushed them lightly with his own, finding something that surely had to be heaven.

His tongue traced them slowly, outlining their shape, memorizing it for the long, lonely night ahead of him. Still she didn’t pull away, and he tasted deeper, wanting what he shouldn’t have.

She kissed him back, thoroughly, sending his soul into the darker regions of hell. Her mouth was sweet and sinful, her breasts soft and full as they pushed gently against him. Mariah was delight and innocence, peace and treasure, all in one dangerous package.

She gave a slow sigh, then drew away. She was trembling and wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I—I…we shouldn’t…”

“I know,” he said, agreeing totally. He didn’t dare touch her again. “I’m sorry, Mariah.”

Her troubled eyes flickered and she met his gaze for one eternal moment, then she turned and fled, back up the path to the house.

Consigning him to a night of tortured want.

What had she done?

Mariah hurried along the path to the house, determined to escape inside and bar the door. Not to keep Luke out, but herself in. Safely in. She had just thrown herself at the man.

A perfect stranger.

Hadn’t she gotten herself in trouble just this way before, with Will? Except that at least Will hadn’t been a stranger. Will had been the first boy she’d known who lived off the Rez. And that had seemed exciting.

She’d seen him often, thought him special, older, though a little wild. She’d liked the wild part. He’d invited her to a party and she had gone. There’d been beer and the music was loud and electrifying; Mariah had felt she’d finally escaped the Rez. She could do what she wanted.

The party had been in an old, abandoned adobe out in the desert. Her new friends, Will’s friends, used the place to party, drink beer, get high on marijuana and sometimes peyote. She’d been afraid of the drinking and drugs, and told Will she’d thought they were going to dance.

Mariah loved to dance; she’d wanted to dance with Will. But he insisted she smoke the marijuana, then he’d dance with her. The stuff had made her nauseous, light-headed, but she’d wanted to fit in, wanted Will to like her. She’d gone along that night with anything Will had wanted—and her life had changed.

But Mariah was no longer a teenager. And that kiss she’d just shared with Luke had been the kiss of a man, not a young, still-wet-behind-the-ears boy.

And that made it twice as dangerous.

She’d felt Luke’s need, and her own, as if lightning had struck, searing her to the spot and her body to his. She could still feel the smoldering kiss, his mouth enticing, hauntingly sensual. She’d felt comfort in his arms, as if sheltered for the moment from all things bad.

Something she certainly had never felt with Will.

But Luke was temporary, fleeting. He’d be leaving as soon as his motorcycle was repaired, and her life would once again go back to the routine she was used to.

She needed to find her composure that had scattered like the wind with that kiss. She needed to find her sanity, too. She could not afford to lose herself around a man like Luke, a man who was headed out as soon as he could, a man with a painful past she shouldn’t be curious about. A man who didn’t belong here, didn’t understand this way of life.

Her life.

She leaned her shoulder against the door frame, willing the calm back into her body, forcing her mind to return to reality.

She didn’t know how long she’d stood there, how many minutes had passed, how many waves of temptation washed over her before she finally pushed away and embraced the reality of her world again.

A noisy raven had awakened Luke with its annoying call. It had been 3:35 the last time he’d pressed the lighted dial of his watch to note the time, and now it was 5:30—which meant he’d had only a couple hours of sleep.

And a fitful sleep at that.

Thoughts of Mariah had kept him tossing and turning, hoping for even the briefest respite from his troubled thoughts and perfect recall of her body.

Just holding her, touching her, had been madness, awakening every hormone he had, and weakening his defenses. He’d tasted those lips and was certain heaven couldn’t be any sweeter.

His hands had traced the column of her spine, feeling its curve, its strength and power. Mariah was a woman tough enough to take on whatever came her way, yet malleable to the needs of others, to bend down and help a child.

Or to meld against him.

He’d wanted to go on holding her, kissing her, but he knew the danger in that. He couldn’t take from her goodness, no matter how badly he wanted to.

He stared at the rough-planked ceiling over his bed, knowing sleep was hopeless now. The beginning shadows of daylight were already seeping into the cabin, through the tiny windows, through the chinks between the half logs that made up the cabin’s walls.

And then there was the raven.

The damn pesky bird had to be sitting on the pitch of the roof directly over his head, caterwauling like mad. He thought he remembered that the feathered creatures were considered sacred or something in this part of the country—and that it was bad luck to harm one of them.

But Luke had had enough.

If the bird didn’t stop with the crowing shrieks, reverberating through his brain like a fire bell on steroids, he might just forget about that sacredness and bad luck.

Especially if it gave him a few more minutes of shuteye.

Silence. There were three whole minutes of blessed silence. Luke hollowed out a spot for his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, hoping the noisy raven had developed a bad case of laryngitis.

Sleep. He needed sleep. He closed his eyes and attempted to shut down his mind, as well, shut out the crazy bird, shut out his haunting thoughts of Mariah and the glory of her kiss, her slender body pressed so innocently against his.

He rolled onto his stomach, hoping for even ten minutes of rest. The cot, though small, was amazingly comfortable, and the sheets Mariah had brought him carried her mesmerizing scent.

Luke had barely been able to make up the bed last night with the soft scent teasing at him, reminding him of her freshness, of the sunshine that seemed to surround her and her little corner of the world.