Читать книгу A Thrill To Remember - Lori Wilde - Страница 11

HE SCOOPED HER into his arms, carried her through the forest and into the clearing.

It felt like a dream, a fantasy, a fairy-tale romance.

Without the happily ever after ending, of course. But that was okay. She didn’t believe in happily ever after anymore. What she believed in now was living in the moment.

She wanted wild, mind-blowing sex and lots of it. She wanted to prove once and for all that she was not a lousy lay. She wanted to explore, experiment and enjoy. She wanted to reach for and achieve her maximum potential as a woman.

His boots clattered on the wooden steps to the cabin. Giggling, she reached out to open the door and he carried her over the threshold like a virgin bride—cherished, treasured, prized.

The cabin, which would have no electricity until the pond froze over for the winter and Caleb or one of the other naturalists brought over a generator from the ranger’s station, was awash in darkness.

Don Juan set her on her feet and put out a hand to steady her. Even with moonlight slanting across the wooden floor, she could barely make out the shape of a sofa pushed against the wall. Then he closed the door behind them, smothering all light and plunging them into blackness so thick Meggie caught her breath. The utter darkness disoriented her. It was too dense, too absolute.

His heady masculine scent enveloped her, drowning out the musty, stale cabin smell. Leather, oranges, cinnamon, licorice and a bracing woodsy aroma. His large hand tightened around hers and he slowly waltzed her toward the sofa. They knew they’d arrived at their destination when their shins brushed against the vinyl material. He eased her down on the seat, then let go of her hand and stepped away.

“Don Juan?” Fear and excitement in an invigorating combination charged through her.

Nothing.

She inhaled shakily. The vinyl was cool and slick against her barely clothed bottom. Meggie strained to hear sounds of him moving. A whispered breath, a creaky floorboard.

“Are you still there?”

Nothing.

Then from out of the ether, a heavy hand settled on her right knee.

She jerked.

Because she could neither see nor hear anything, the hand seemed disconnected, detached, the touch of a phantom lover straight from some erotic hallucination. Warm fingers crept up her knee to her inner thigh.