Deserving of Luke. Tracy Wolff
ection>
Logan’s eyes turned electric
Paige felt shimmery shocks of electricity that skated along her nerve endings until she ached. All she wanted was to feel—one more time—what it was like to be held by Logan, kissed by Logan, loved by Logan.
The heat in his own eyes convinced her that Logan was feeling the same way. “Paige.” His voice was so low and rough. “Tell me to go.”
Her heartbeat was a crazy, mixed-up symphony inside her. She knew she should send him away, but her mouth wouldn’t form the words.
He stepped forward until his body was only inches from hers. She could feel the heat coming off him.
Paige gasped as his lips brushed against her own. Her hands slid up his chest, vaguely cataloging the hard muscles there before she slipped them into the shaggy hair at the base of his neck and tried to tug him closer. If this moment was the only one she would have with him, she would grab it with both hands and say to hell with the consequences—at least for the duration of this one, perfect kiss.
Dear Reader,
I think the best romance is a combination of reality and fairy tale. A damsel or prince in distress, a damsel or prince to do the rescuing and a big, ugly dragon that needs slaying. In Deserving of Luke, I have all that and more, although the ugly dragon is not a tangible thing. Instead it is the very painful past the characters share, a past that they must slay together if they have any hope of finding their happily-ever-after.
Paige is a tough cookie who has been on her own—with her child—since she was seventeen years old. She’s not only survived, but flourished, without much help. But she can’t live that way forever, and watching as she learns to rely on Logan has been a wonderful journey—though it is one fraught with anger, perceived betrayal and hurt. It does have friendship, laughter and, eventually, love, though.
Logan, on the other hand, has pretty much had things easy. Seeing him learn to fight for what he wants—and for those who need him—was amazing. He has a long journey to finally be Deserving of Luke, his only son.
Speaking of Luke, I had so much fun creating his character. Some of my readers have noticed that when I create children they are almost all boys, and that is because, in this case, I really do write what I know. With three adorable and exasperating boys of my own to draw from, it’s always easy for me to come up with a quip or an antic or a sweet little story that springs directly from my own life.
I really enjoyed writing Deserving of Luke, and hope you enjoy reading it, as well. Thank you so much for letting me—and my stories—into your hearts and lives. I love to hear from my readers via my website, www.tracywolff.com, or on my blog, www.tracywolff.blogspot.com. I wish each of you a wonderful, joy-filled spring!
Love,
Tracy Wolff
Deserving of Luke
Tracy Wolff
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great novel. At six she wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a prince—and at seven she forayed into the wonderful world of girls’ lit, reading her first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d read everything in the young adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d found her lifelong love. Deserving of Luke, her sixth novel for Harlequin Superromance, takes place on the gorgeous Oregon coast she loves to visit.
For my boys
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
PANIC SET IN ABOUT FIVE minutes after Paige Matthews realized her son was gone.
At first, she told herself it was no big deal. He was probably two rows over in the toy aisle, checking to see if the selection was up to snuff.
When he wasn’t there, poring over the surprisingly extensive collection of miniature cars, she figured he’d simply wandered over to the ice cream case— Luke was a sucker for strawberry ice cream.
And when he wasn’t there either, when the small kernel of concern that had formed the moment she realized he was not at the end of the aisle as she’d thought he was, started to grow, she still told herself she was overreacting. This mom-and-pop grocery store in the small Oregon town she’d grown up in was a far cry from the huge supermarkets of Los Angeles, where Luke had been born and raised. Even at eight, he knew how to take care of himself, knew not to talk to strangers and to stay in one place if, for some reason, he did get separated from her—though it had never happened before.
So what could possibly happen to him here?
The reassuring thoughts didn’t keep her from walking faster any more than they kept her from remembering her childhood here in Prospect and all the trouble she had managed to get into. While the fact that they weren’t in the big city made her feel a little better, the feeling didn’t last long—especially when she got to the candy aisle and realized Luke hadn’t wandered over there, either. Worse, the store’s display of gummy animals and body parts was completely undisturbed, a sure sign that he had not stopped here at all. And that was so unlike him that concern turned to terror.
“Luke!” she called, racing past the deserted candy section to the front of the store. “Luke, where are you?”
There was no answer and in those moments every terrible thing that could happen to an unaccompanied eight-year-old boy flashed through her mind, small town be damned. Sure, this was Prospect, but Eugene really wasn’t that far away. Salem. Portland. All reasonably sized cities with rising crime rates.
“Luke!” She was running now, from one end of the store to the other, looking down each row that sprouted from the perimeter of the store.
Other shoppers stared at her, whispered, but she didn’t acknowledge them. They’d whispered about her for the first seventeen years of her life—right up until she’d left town, broke and alone, save for the unborn baby she carried. The fact that they started talking about her so readily, even after all this time, came as no surprise. She might have been back for only a day and a half, but she knew how this town worked.
Some things never changed.
This time at least there was something real to talk about. Sure, she was running around like a crazy woman, but if they knew she was looking for her son, maybe someone else would start to look. Maybe someone else would spot him. Finding Luke, making sure he was safe, was the only thing that mattered.
But—surprise, surprise—no