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

WHAT IN THE HELL had she just done?

Had she gone completely mental? Could the stress of the past six months have caused her to take leave of her senses and chase after the first man who showed her some attention? So what if Don Juan was sexy and handsome as Hades, and apparently more than willing to indulge in flirtatious games? None of this explained her uncharacteristic behavior.

Her brain squawked, telling her how foolish she was to take such a chance, but a tiny voice in the back of her head whispered, “Seize the moment. For once in your life, Megan Marie Scofield, live a little.”

Then again, maybe her real motivation was more of a compulsion than any sincere desire to take charge of her life. From the moment she’d spied him lounging so lawlessly against the wall, she’d felt…well, something special.

As she picked her way through the forest in the twilight, her condom-filled clutch purse tucked beneath her arm, Don Juan’s cape flapping about her shoulders, her heart rate thudded faster and faster, headed straight for the danger zone. Still, she couldn’t seem to make herself turn around and go back to the party.

She was like a songbird unaware it had been caged until one day the door was left open and the opportunity to fly presented itself. Should she take wing and explore the brave new world extending before her? Or stay safely hunched on her perch, watching life pass her by?

The answer wasn’t difficult, even to her conflicted brain. Don Juan was simply too exciting, and too good-looking, the prospect of making love with him far too sweet to be denied.

Besides, when was the last time she had been so sexually aroused? Never? Ever? Could he actually teach her to let go of her hang-ups in bed? She owed it to herself to find out.

Her shoes bogged in the mossy carpet of undergrowth beneath the towering hemlocks and swaying Sitka spruces. She was glad she’d taken the time to change into the sensible footwear she kept stashed in the trunk of her car.

A blueberry bush, devoid now of its berry harvest, grazed her leg, startling her. The air was heavy with moisture and she heard nothing beyond the gurgling creek and the faint hmm of voices and music from the party she’d left behind.

Oh dear. Where was Don Juan? She had expected him to stay close to the perimeters of the forest, where she could find him easily.

“Come.”

She heard the whisper, low and seductive. She wasn’t certain from which direction it originated.

He was concealing himself from her, ratcheting the game up a notch.

Meggie bit down on her bottom lip, tasted the opulent flavor of her own lust. She was nervous, confused, curious and extremely turned on.

What was going to happen next?

“Don Juan?” She heard a faint rustling in the trees, then nothing more.

In the phantom of rapidly dwindling daylight, she walked through the forest, pushing back vegetation, stepping gingerly over tree roots, eager not to fall and sprain her ankle. A sprained ankle would definitely blow the moment.

And the last thing she wanted was a dose of reality. She wanted to escape, as she had of late in the pages of fantasy romance novels. What she longed for was to disappear in this dreamy netherworld. She could easily envisage unicorns and fairies, woodland sprites playing flutes and dancing around magic toadstools. She ached for a pretend world of virginal maidens, stalwart knights and deep, undying passion.

Her friends had regaled her with their own tales of acute throbbing desire. Of lust at first sight. Of being drawn helplessly into earthly pleasures beyond emotional control. She’d never really believed those stories, even though she had desperately wanted to. Hadn’t known such intensity of physical feeling was possible.

Until now.

She stopped walking.

He’d been here. On this path. Right where she was standing. She could smell him. As individual as a fingerprint, his scent hung in her nostrils like a primal memory.

A faint fear, tinged with escalating anticipation, pinched her solar plexus in a dazzling heat that hastened her footsteps and sent her heart staggering headlong into a restless, thrashing rhythm.

Another step deeper into the gloaming. Another and then another.

Twigs crunched beneath her feet. A fingered fern crept across her ankle. A bubble of fear caused her to jump, and then laugh at her own spooked state.

Nothing to be afraid of. She was in control of the situation. She wasn’t little Red Riding Hood evading the Big, Bad Wolf. She could turn if she wished and go back to the party. Nothing was keeping her here except her own inquisitiveness and her escalating imagination.

Walking up a slight embankment, she glanced left and then right, saw only the tall, thin thrust of tree trunks and the full orange moon rising over the horizon.

Was it possible to breathe any faster and not faint from hyperventilation? Could her stomach possibly squeeze any tighter? Could her knees grow any weaker and not dissolve into noodle soup?

He was enticing her, this man. And she wanted him to capture her, no matter how sinfully foolish her subterranean desires.

Goose bumps pricked a warning, raising the hairs on her forearms and the nape of her neck.

He was near. She could feel him.

CALEB WAS IN HIS ELEMENT. The forest. The wilderness. Home.

He inhaled her on the cool evening breeze. Sweet, ripe, glowing. Soap, perfume, saltiness. The luscious aroma stirred a pulsating pressure of impulsive hunger deep within his masculinity.

Like predator to prey her scent drew him. His mouth watered and every fiber of his being grew taut, every male sense alerted to the wondrous female encroaching on his territory.

Relentlessly, her womanly bouquet lured him. Silently her body entreated, Come to me. Pheromones. Natures mating call. As surely as any hapless male moth enticed to a flame, she ensnared him with her spinning scent song.

He could not resist.

Through the copse of trees he caught a flash of crimson, a glimmer of her auburn hair, the sound of her teasing laugh.

“I see you,” he crooned in his heavy Spanish accent.

“Come and get me,” she dared, and darted from his sight.

He heard the sounds of her feet crashing through the woods. Grinning, he followed.

The hunt was on.

Every cell in his body strummed to life in a way he’d never experienced. Feverish heat punched through his system like a fist through a paper bag, tattering any shred of civilized behavior. A savage hunger dogged him, his feral passions mounting in shocking disregard for decorum.

He wanted her—in a way he’d never wanted another. Not even Meggie in his teenage years.

He moved with long, easy loping strides, knowing he could effortlessly outlast her.

This was his every naughty fantasy come true.

SHE’D CAUGHT A GLIMPSE of him back there. Silhouetted at the top of the embankment, with the fat full moon at his back, he’d been watching her with hooded eyes.

Consumed by both thrill and trepidation, she slipped away the minute she realized he had spotted her, too. She had issued a challenge that reverberated in the silent air.

Come and get me.

She pushed through the undergrowth and then realized with a start that she was lost. It had been a long time since she’d visited the Tongass, and she had no idea which direction Bear Creek lay.

Licking her lips, she furtively scanned the forest, every muscle in her body tense with anticipation. In the moonlight, she spotted a clearing just ahead of her.

She moved toward the opening, not knowing if she should go there, risk exposing herself to him and foiling the fun, or stay secluded and draw out their play. But she needed to get her bearings and discover her location.

Cautiously, she emerged and peeped through the trees to see a pond shimmering in the moon glow. Beside the pond squatted a small skaters’ cabin, meticulously maintained by the forest rangers. As kids she and Quinn, Caleb, Jake and Mack had shared many happy memories there. Ice skating on the frozen pond, laughing, joking, teasing each other, and then slipping inside the cabin to warm up with hot chocolate and marshmallows toasted over a fire in the black potbellied stove.

Her heart gave a strange tug of nostalgia at the memory. As a young woman, she couldn’t wait to leave Bear Creek for big-city lights. She’d thought she would never miss anything about living in the isolated wilds of Alaska. But seeing that little cabin again reminded her that Bear Creek could provide her with something special that Seattle never could—cherished childhood memories.

She heard the rustle of leaves and slipped back into the sheltering trees.

Don Juan was behind her. Coming quickly but quietly, as if he knew every step of the path.

Hide! a giddy, childish impulse urged her.

Trying her best not to giggle and give away the game too soon, Meggie looked for a good hiding place. Trees trunks loomed on either side of her, tall and imposing but narrow and thin.

She crawled behind a spruce, hoping that if she stood sideways and stayed as still as possible he wouldn’t immediately spot her in the gloom. Pulling herself tall, she pressed flat against the trunk, closed her eyes tight, strained to hear, and waited.

Nothing. Except for the wind whispering faintly through the trees and her own blood roaring in her ears, there was only silence.

She held her breath.

Her heart lub-dubbed

Had he gone? Given up already?

Oh, no. Please don’t let that be so.

She wanted to look, to move, to breathe, but hated to end the suspense. Not just yet.

Sweat popped out on her brow despite the chill.

An uneasy minute passed.

Still nothing.

Finally, unable to hold her breath any longer, she let out a soft whoosh of air and inhaled deeply.

She waited, breathing hard.

That’s when his viselike arms clamped around her waist.

Meggie let out a shriek, the sound reverberating throughout the forest, and dropped her clutch purse. But he did not let her go. In fact, those ropy, muscled arms wrapped more tightly around her.

“You are mine now, slippery minx.” His lyrical Spanish accent stroked her ears, transporting her deeper into the magical dream.

He was standing behind her, securely holding her bottom pressed flush against his groin. She could feel the heat and hardness of his throbbing erection through the inconsequential restriction of his leather pants. His hand came perilously close to her womanhood, cloaked so thinly by the satiny tap pants. Her flesh felt seared, achy, desperate.

She wanted to see his face. To read the expression of the eyes beneath that mask. As if intercepting her thoughts, he spun her around, clasping her wrists in his hands, and held her restrained.

“You make my blood race,” he said.

God, she loved the way he’d been masterfully setting the tone from the moment he’d approached her at the buffet table. He seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear.

Two could play this game. Meggie swallowed hard, valiantly tilted her chin and met his gaze. “You make my body ache.”

“And you bring me to my knees.”

She saw sexual hunger in his eyes, yes, but tenderness as well. He caressed her with his gaze, as if he knew precisely where to touch and how to torment her with sweet, exquisite pleasure.

“You’re feeding into my most taboo fantasies,” she told him.

“I know.”

“I want to feed yours as well. What are your most wicked desires, Don Juan?” Meggie thrilled to her own bravery. “How can I captivate you?”

He pulled her flush against his strong, solid chest and she inhaled the arousing scent of a man in his prime. They generated so much body heat, pressed together, that Meggie could almost feel the steam rising from their contact.

“Can’t you guess? I like to play games.”

Anonymity had all sorts of benefits, she decided, nuzzling his neck. She was catching the early morning flight to Seattle. The whole population of Bear Creek was inside the community center. No one would ever know she had slipped into the forest with Don Juan. It was just their little secret.

“But we must make sure neither of us does anything to truly scare the other,” he said. “Agreed? Nothing too freaky.”

“So you’re kinky, but not freaky.”

“Exactly.”

“No S and M.”

“No.”

“Bondage?”

“Not unless you want it.”

Meggie licked her lips. “Maybe just a little.”

He chuckled. “We need a word. Or a sign. In case things go too far.”

“You’re right.”

“How about something simple, like ‘enough’?”

“All right. Things get out of hand and if either one of us cries ‘enough,’ the other backs off.”

“Agreed.”

“Okay, the ground rules are set. What next?”

What next indeed?

His lips were so near, his warm wafting across her mouth.

She wanted to ask him what he was going to do next, but the words would not come. If her very life had been threatened she could not have spoken. She could do nothing but wait in suspended animation for the abracadabra magic that would break his spell.

And then he kissed her.

His lips were warm, soft and perfect. Damn, but the man could kiss. She moaned wantonly into his mouth. Not in a thousand years could Meggie have predicted the earth-cracking impact of Don Juan’s kiss or her body’s out-of-control response to him.

The excitement of pretending to be an accomplished seductress, the scintillating ego boost from Don Juan’s admiration, the titillating secrecy of their masks, the sexy hide and seek, the frank discussion of their sexual limits had dissolved into something much more primal than mere play-acting the very moment his lips brushed hers.

The friction of his kiss unraveled every firm lecture she’d given herself about protecting her heart and staying far away from bad boys. Because none of that mattered at this wondrous moment, when the baddest of bad boys was sweetly, tenderly cajoling her with the silky slide of his mouth across hers, taking time and care to draw her deeper, ever deeper into dangerous territory. Meggie had no defenses against his special brand of languid seduction and beguiling charm. And when he carefully eased her back against the trunk of the tall Sitka spruce and slanted her lips more firmly beneath his, she came utterly undone.

No way out. Absolutely none.

For support, she gripped his corded forearms, which were covered only by his thin shirtsleeves, and held on for dear life. Even though their masks rubbed together as they kissed, Meggie had no desire to remove the barricade and reveal herself.

She liked this experience—anonymous, provocative, daring.

This secrecy was what she craved. As Klondike Kate she was a bold, brash, seductive woman who knew lots of sexy tricks. As Meggie, she was an ordinary twenty-nine-year-old nurse who’d been dumped for a younger woman. She wanted to live this fantasy if only for a short while. Wanted to feel feminine and desirable again.

His eager tongue dipped inside to taste her, tormenting her with silken assaults that liquefied her knees and set her nerve endings tingling. Brazenly, she hunted for a more in-depth sampling of him. At the delicious flavor of man and shrimp and red wine, she shivered.

Ah, sweet lover, thy name is Don Juan.

She shouldn’t have been so surprised to find he was a man who took his time and did a thorough job. He kissed her with a scrumptious sleepiness, as if he possessed all the time in the universe captured in the flat of his hand. He seemed intent on exploring every indulgence her mouth had to offer, as if he was memorizing every nuance of taste and texture.

And perhaps he was, for Meggie was doing the same, committing every flavor, every smell, every touch to memory. In the days ahead, whenever she felt lonely or dowdy or depressed, she would take out this moment like a treasured photograph and mentally review it over and over and over again.

He pressed his hips closer, making her all too aware of his burgeoning erection, pinning her hard against the tree trunk. The smell of tree and man combined into an earthy, sprucy scent that sent voluptuous flourishes of sensation coursing throughout her eager body.

With his thumb, he traced her jaw, and her skin caught fire. His wide chest was pressed firmly against hers. Beneath the bustier, her breasts swelled and her nipples tightened and ached. His masculine thigh insinuated itself between her trembling legs and she felt his penis, covered by that tight stretch of black leather, grow even harder against the curve of her hip. Heated desire uncoiled deep within her parts most feminine.

She had never kissed a man with a mustache, and the hair on his upper lip was soft and smooth. She’d expected it to be bristly and uncomfortable. Their masks chafed together in a maddening way and she found herself wanting to rip away their disguises, but she was too afraid of what she might find. Too afraid he would no longer want her once the secrecy had been dispelled.

When he took the kiss even deeper, Meggie responded with an enthusiasm that terrified her. Never had she experienced a passion this all-encompassing, spontaneous and fierce. She had never with such careless abandon wanted a man. Not even in her most untamed daydreams.

What was happening to her, the woman who until tonight had never really cared that much about sex? Nothing had ever prepared her for this kind of concentrated, consuming hunger and desperate, painful need. She was flummoxed, stunned by the intensity of what was happening. Without even realizing it, she’d been searching for something to make her feel alive again, and now, here it was. With one explosive kiss Don Juan tapped into her secret yearnings and made her crave more. So very much more.

What had he done?

While her love-famished body wanted to find out where this irresistible delight might lead, her rational brain reminded her that she wasn’t the kind of woman who indulged in one-night stands. Neither a madam costume nor a single kiss, no matter how thrilling and mind-bendingly awesome, could change her into someone she wasn’t.

Sensing the shift in her mood, Don Juan slowly dragged his lips from hers. He was breathing heavily, his forceful blue eyes locked on her gaze, his mouth glistening wet from her moisture.

“You’ve stolen my control,” he murmured hoarsely into her ear. “And, I fear, my heart as well.”

This was part of the game, she reminded herself. He didn’t really mean that she’d stolen his heart. Nor did she want him to mean those words. This was about animal attraction, pure and simple. She wasn’t prepared for anything else.

To prove her point, she took his hand and lifted his index finger to her lips. In deliberate, measured increments, she slowly took his thick, round digit into the recesses of her mouth.

He groaned. Loudly.

The searing wet velvet of her tongue had him writhing. Oh, she was wickedly good. His cock bulged against his pants and he feared the seam was going to split right open. He couldn’t stand this torture a minute longer.

She looked up at him. Caleb watched her irises grow dark as velvet emeralds and her pupils widen with stark, desperate desire. She wanted him. Savagely.

And best of all, she didn’t know that he was the wealthy, unattached Bear Creek bachelor. She didn’t want him for his money or what he could buy her.

A surge of fire sped through his veins. Her bare thigh brushed his leather-covered one and he heard her hitch in her throat.

Unable to let the moment pass without indulging himself in one of his milder fantasies, he raised his hand and gently glided his rough fingers along the outline of her chin, relishing the soft smoothness of her feminine jaw, wondering what her cheekbones looked like beneath that sexy red-feathered mask.

They were face-to-face and chest-to-chest. A shadowy expression of pent-up passion clouded her gray-green eyes.

He reached up to touch her hair, his fingers almost trembling from the tension that was building layer upon layer, but she blocked his hand with hers.

“No. Don’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“It’s a wig.”

“What color is your real hair?” he asked, aching to dispose of the wig and plunge his fingers through her sleek locks.

“Let’s not ruin the fantasy.”

“All right.”

He cradled her in his arms, all the while plumbing her ripe, rich mouth. She responded in kind, sending the flames of his libido higher and higher with each flick of her fiendish tongue. Her fingers traced enticing circles over his face and along the edge of his mask. He could feel the steady drubbing of her heart. He stared down into her eyes and felt himself falling, falling, falling.

Playfully, Klondike Kate bit his bottom lip and growled low in her throat, sending his control shattering into a million pieces.

“I need….” she whispered, and that was all she said. It was all she needed to say because he understood her perfectly.

“I know.”

His arousal matched hers. Their intrepid game had generated a craving in him he feared might never be sated, and he knew without words that she felt the same way.

Her lips parted and her eyes remained transfixed on his as if she were mesmerized. Slowly, she lifted her hands and softly traced her fingertips along his mouth. Her feathered touch triggered a reaction in him so potent he was ready to explode. As the real Don Juan most assuredly would have, Caleb took advantage of the situation and surrendered to his basic male instincts.

He kissed her again.

Soft, slow and sweet. Gently, tenderly. He knew if he didn’t approach this with care, his control would be shot.

Easy. Take it easy.

But what an almost impossible task it was not to slake their desire with rough, spontaneous pleasure.

“The skaters’ cabin,” she whispered.

“What?”

She nodded toward the clearing. “I saw a skaters’ cabin near the pond. This time of year it’s sure to be empty, and far more comfortable than the forest floor.”

He stared at her, incredulous. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Bending down, she retrieved her fallen purse, tucked it under her arm, then raised her head to meet his gaze.

“Take me,” she said.