the view of his scantily clad body had disturbed her.
She grunted in response and punched her pillow a final time. She’d forgotten how potent Luke’s sexuality was, how overtly male he was. She hadn’t considered her own vulnerability, the fact that she had been without male companionship for too long, that her body remembered Luke’s caresses, his lovemaking far too keenly for sanity’s sake.
I just have to concentrate on all the things I don’t like about him, she thought. Aside from the failure of their marriage, she had to hang on to the little things that drove her crazy. He ate ketchup on his steak. He was tone-deaf and loved to sing. He popped his knuckles to see her squirm.
As she slowly drifted off to sleep, she remembered something else she hated about him. He snored.
Chapter Three
Luke awoke first. The dawn light illuminated the interior of the motor home with a golden glow, and outside a bird chirped softly, as if welcoming the coming morning light.
He knew he should get up, get the utilities unhooked so they would be ready to roll when Sherri and Danny awakened. But he didn’t move. Instead, he remained still, drinking in the sensations that surrounded him.
Although the bed was little more than a thin foam pad covering plywood, and the ceiling was suffocatingly close to his nose, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so comfortable, so content.
Danny’s warmth pressed sweetly against him and he could hear Sherri’s soft breaths as she slept soundly below. He’d forgotten what it was like to wake up and listen to the sounds of somebody else’s sleep. The women he’d dated, the ones he’d made love to since his divorce, had never been allowed to spend the night. That was an intimacy he shared with nobody.
He rolled over on his side and peeked into the bunk below, staring at the woman who’d once been his wife. A smile curved his lips as he saw her mouth hanging slightly open. It was a pretty mouth, eminently feminine and dainty. Her lashes were long and dark enough so she rarely wore mascara. Her hair was a dark spill of brown and gold against the pristine white of the pillowcase. She was curled up on her side, her hands clasped beneath her cheek. She looked soft and touchable.
His smile widened into a full-fledged grin as he rolled over onto his back, imagining how quickly soft and touchable would become prickly and hateful if he were to crawl into bed with her. And yet there was a certain appeal in the thought of making love to her again. Sex had always been terrific with Sherri. She was a giving lover, eager to please as well as be pleased. Had they managed to stay in bed twenty-four hours a day, then perhaps they’d never have divorced.
One more time for old times’ sake…he didn’t know why he had said that to her the night before. He’d known before the words had left his mouth that they would make her mad. Yet, she’d always managed to evoke in him a strange perverse need to shake her up, and sex had always been the way to do it.
When he’d seen her in that sleep shirt the night before, it had brought back memories…disturbing ones that instantly threatened. She’d always worn cotton nightshirts to bed. He could still remember the lemony sunshine scent of them, the way the cotton would warm with her body heat. He could remember the texture of the material stretched taut across her nipples as he caressed her breasts.
Yes, somehow he’d found her threatening, and he’d responded to the threat by saying things he knew would make her angry. The last thing they needed from each other was a casual, physical fling.
He released a small sigh and flung an arm over his eyes, thinking over their brief conversation from the night before. In truth, when they’d divorced, he had been surprised that she hadn’t fallen apart. There had been a small part of him that had expected it, anticipated it.
He’d been surprised at the strength and determination she’d shown in wanting to make it entirely on her own. She had wanted no alimony and only a small amount of child support. She’d insisted they sell the house and split the equity. The only thing she’d requested was that he help her obtain loans so she could go to college and get a teaching degree. Too bad that it had taken the divorce for her to show him the strength he’d desperately longed to see in her during their marriage.
Oh well, water under the bridge now. Shoving aside the past, Luke eased himself off the top bunk and to the floor, landing silently, with the grace of a large cat. Casting one last look at his sleeping son and ex-wife, he yanked on a pair of jeans and his bomber jacket, then went outside to get the motor home ready to travel once again.
Sherri was up and had coffee made when he came back in. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully, shrugging out of his jacket.
“’Mornin’,” she muttered, scratching the tip of her nose with two fingers. “Where’s your shirt?” she asked, frowning as she stared at his bare chest.
Uh-oh, Luke thought, remembering the warning signs. She apparently hadn’t slept as well as he had. “Hmm, that coffee smells terrific.” He was determined to remain cheerful. “You want me to pour you a cup?” he offered.
She nodded and sat down at the table, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. She once again scratched the tip of her nose as he set the cup of coffee before her. “I need about a pot of this to get me started this morning.”
“Didn’t sleep well?”
“Those beds aren’t meant for sleeping. They’re torture devices.” Her brown eyes raked him irritably. “And I’d forgotten all about your snoring.”
“Sorry,” he replied with a shrug. He grinned at her, knowing he was a fool, but enjoying it. “You know in the past what always stopped my snoring…”
He saw the blush of memory darken her cheeks and knew she was remembering that they used to laugh because the only nights Luke didn’t snore were on the nights they made love.
“Stuffing a sock in your mouth would have the same effect,” she said dryly, then took another sip of her coffee.
Luke laughed, reared back in his chair and studied her. She was so familiar…and yet so different from what he remembered. She was like an old song with new harmony, different pitches and notes. “Do you like teaching?” he asked suddenly, realizing he knew next to nothing about her life, her work. “What is it? Third grade?”
“Second, and I love it.” She smiled, her brown eyes softening to the color of melted caramels. “As far as I’m concerned, second-graders are the best. They’re old enough to be manageable, yet young enough to truly believe that the teacher knows everything.” She smiled her pleasure. Luke again noticed how pretty she looked. The morning sunshine was just beginning to streak into the window and caressed her delicate features. “It’s a wonderful job, teaching children. I love my work.”
She gazed at him, her eyes seeming to pierce through his skin, into his soul. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring your camera equipment with you. There was a time when I thought it was permanently mounted on your hand.”
Luke got up and poured himself another cup of coffee, unsure how to answer her, unsure himself why the thought of bringing the camera along on this particular trip had been abhorrent. “I just didn’t feel like it,” he finally replied. “I wanted this to be pure pleasure, not work.”
“I always thought for you they were one and the same,” she observed.
Although there
