A Thrill To Remember
And lost herself.
With that warm smile and lusty expression in his eyes, Don Juan made her feel womanly, wanted and appreciated. Cherished. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a very, very long time.
Entranced, she felt ensnared in a provocative reverie. A dreamy vagueness settled over her, wrapping her in a warm envelope of altered perception. She didn’t know if it was the masks or the wine or Don Juan’s solicitous smile, but she experienced a drowsy sense of peace.
Something about him seemed comfortingly familiar, as if she’d met him in another life. Except Meggie didn’t believe in that stuff. Even though she couldn’t exactly explain why, she felt safe in his presence.
Don Juan was the tonic she needed. The physical vehicle for her emotional healing. This magnetic man could be the cure for the psychic malaise that had dogged her for years.
In that instant, Meggie knew she was going to sleep with him.
MAGIC.
His costume was magic. It had to be. Caleb could think of no other explanation for his miraculous ease with the beautiful mystery woman. Wearing the mask and fake mustache was a liberating experience. He could be anyone. He could say and do anything.
Hell’s bells, he felt as if he were channeling Don Juan himself.
He was breathing hard, and roughly, the shrimp still dangling from his outstretched fork as he waited for Klondike Kate’s sweet, crimson lips to part and sheathe the tender morsel.
Their gazes locked. Who was she really?
She was breathing as hard as he, the gentle swell of her chest rising and falling in a mesmerizing rhythm. Holding him enthralled.
She reminded him vaguely of someone. But who? His mind probed the question but arrived at no answer.
Kate’s green eyes were lively and intelligent, the top half of her face hidden by the red-feathered mask. She wielded her tongue like an instrument of torture, touching it lightly against her upper lip as if purposely trying to make him lose control.
The visual impact slugged him. Hard.
His blood flowed hot and viscous through his veins. The way she gazed at him, like a curious innocent intent on exploring a brave new world, clutched something deep inside him and refused to turn it loose.
In that brief endless moment, as they faced off across the buffet table, the wet, pink shrimp as the prize, Caleb memorized everything about her not swaddled by the mask. The way she smelled of fresh summer rain, making him ache to bury his face in the curve of her neck. The fine brown freckles that lightly decorated her upper chest, exposed so engagingly by that red bustier. The irregular pounding of her pulse at her jawline. The sweet ruby bow of her lips.
And the completely gut-scorching realization that beneath the satin and lace of her flimsy undergarment, her nipples were standing at erect attention.
He almost groaned aloud.
“Excuse me,” Genghis Kahn interrupted, leaning across the table between them, tortilla chip in hand. “Could I get at that crab dip?”
Flustered, Caleb moved aside at the same time Klondike Kate blushed prettily, smiled and turned away.
Damn. The moment was lost.
Or was it?
Caleb ate the shrimp himself, hurried around to her side of the buffet table and boldly took her elbow. Instantly, his fingers tingled at the warmth of her soft skin. He pressed his mouth next to her delicate ear and murmured in a muffled growl, “What is your name?”
She lowered lashes so dark and long they brushed against her mask with a whispery rasp. “Now, now, that’s not part of the game.”
“And what is the game?” he asked, his voice thick with feeling.
“Secrecy. Anonymity. Mystery. That’s the fun.”
“You’re not going to tell me your name?”
“My name is Klondike Kate. Don Juan, I presume?”
He took the hand she offered him and pressed the back of it to his lips, as if he’d performed the courtly gesture a million times. He clicked his heels and bowed.
“At your service.”
“I am flattered. The famous lothario gracing the halls of my brothel. Perhaps, Señor Juan, we can teach each other a few tricks.”
Ah, but she was extraordinary. One minute blushing shyly, the next sassily playing at being a brothel madam in that whispery tone that obviously wasn’t her real voice. Just like him, she was playing a part. Her words hung between them like a physical entity, their meaning sinking into his brain one vivid movie-reel image at a time.
She wanted to teach him a few tricks.
Holy macaroni!
He was going to combust right there on the spot. What a game. Suddenly, he knew he had to get her alone.
“Wrap up your plate,” he said, barely remembering to keep up his Spanish accent. “Take it to go. We’ll have a picnic in the forest.”
“The forest?” Her eyes widened and for a moment he thought he’d panicked her and she was going to back out of their little masquerade.
“Twenty yards right outside this door, and you’re in the Tongass National Forest.”
“You don’t say.”
He waited. “Well?”
“I don’t think I’m really in the mood for food,” she murmured.
“No?”
“My appetite is of a different nature.”
Caleb thought he was going to break out in a sweat right then and there. “Mine as well.”
“You go on ahead.” She cast a surreptitious glance around the room and settled her plate on an empty table. “And I will follow. One can never be too careful. There might be spies.”
“Spies?” He knew this was just part of her charade, but damn if he wasn’t turned on by the thought of being observed. “Who is watching us?”
“Why, any number of your women, or my men.” She winked. “We must keep our clandestine affair secret. No sense making our other lovers jealous.”
Caleb gulped.
Potential scenarios tumbled through his head, each more stimulating than the next. He was cast iron hard, and the leather pants did nothing to arrest his arousal. All she had to do was glance down and she would know his every illicit thought.
“Go,” she urged in an imperative whisper that charged his libido. “Hurry, before we are spotted. I will meet you in the forest. Wait for me.”
She pressed her hand to his forearm, setting off monster ripples of sensation straight up his shoulder and into his chest, to his belly and beyond—a tautness, an electrical impulse, a dynamic combustion that made it difficult to string two words together.
“Don’t stand me up,” he growled.
“I won’t. Now just go.” She pushed him toward the front door.
Then, before he could respond, she turned and disappeared out the side exit adjacent to the stage.
Caleb had never done anything like this before—scheduled an amorous rendezvous with a woman he did not know and might never meet again. He was by nature a quiet, solitary man guided more by his brains than his body or his heart. But ever since putting on that Don Juan costume, he’d been transformed.
Tonight he was different.
And so was she.
Caleb sensed this was as much an erotic adventure for the mysterious Klondike Kate as it was for him, and he was bound and determined to make it a night neither of them would ever forget.
3
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.