To Alaska, With Love: A Touch of Silk. Lori Wilde
Or what passed for love. But lately I’ve come to understand that I don’t even know what love is,” she said. “My parents like Lloyd. They think we’re great together. They’re the ones pushing for this marriage.”
“You let your parents tell you who to date?”
She took a deep breath, waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s not talk about them. Let’s not talk at all.” She angled him a coy glance that almost brought him to his knees.
She looked so damned appealing standing there with the wind whipping his mackinaw around her shoulders, her golden hair falling across one cheek, her full lips pursed in fervid anticipation of his acquiescence, her hands cocked on her slender hips.
Much as he wanted to say yes, as much as he knew he’d be kicking himself tonight in his lonely hotel room, Quinn knew he had to turn her down.
He heaved in a heavy lungful of chilled air and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Kay, but I’ve got to say no.”
OH GOD, SHE’D made a fool of herself. What had she been thinking? Freemont women did not throw themselves at perfect strangers, no matter how sexually appealing they were.
She tossed her head, averted her gaze.
“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m flattered. Very flattered. You’re one hell of a sexy woman.”
His comment, meant to soothe, only served to fluster her more. Was she that transparent?
“I’m not embarrassed,” she lied, and gave a casual shrug for good measure. “I asked—you weren’t interested. I can handle rejection.”
“Lady, you’re wrong about that. I’m extremely interested. But you’ve got something to settle with that boyfriend of yours, and hopping into the sack with me won’t solve your problems. I’m sorry.” He reached out to take her hand, but she stepped back and shook her head.
Don’t touch me. Please. If you do I’ll crumble into your arms.
She held only the most tenuous control over her libido. These unstoppable, blazing-hot fantasies, combined with her lack of sexual release, had compelled her to do something she normally would never have done in a million years. And she was ashamed of herself. Best to get away from this man ASAP.
Especially since the hot tingling between her legs had not abated one whit since he’d kissed her.
“Look,” she said with her usual crisp efficiency. “You’re right. Maybe we should call it a day.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, and pushed the elevator button. “That’d probably be best.”
Quinn gazed at her with such heated desire, with such greedy longing, Kay almost threw her arms around his neck and begged him to reconsider. But she didn’t, of course. She was at her core a Freemont, after all.
She drew herself up straight. “Yes. Well, it’s been an experience meeting you.”
“Will I see you again? Are you coming to Alaska?”
She shook her head.
“I was afraid of that.” He smiled wistfully. “Another time, another place.”
Her heart hung suspended in her throat, and for some idiotic reason tears hovered behind her eyelids. Kay blinked. The elevator door dinged open.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ll hail you a cab.”
She dropped him off at his hotel in Times Square, but asked the driver to linger a moment at the curb so she could watch him disappear through the revolving glass doors. She was too shaken to return to work. Besides, Judy had given her the rest of the afternoon off, and she’d be irritated to know Kay hadn’t spent it squiring Quinn around town.
And besides, there was another matter that demanded her attention. She couldn’t go forward with her life until she broke up with Lloyd. No more phone calls or emails. No more evading. This had to be face-to-face. She had a key to his place; she would go to his apartment and confront him. And if he wasn’t home, she’d pack up the few things she kept stashed there and wait for him to return.
It was a plan. Taking action made her feel better. She gave the cabby Lloyd’s address and leaned back.
Sighing, she wistfully trailed her fingers over the seat where Quinn had been sitting, the vinyl material warm from the heat of his body. She lowered her head, lifted her collar to her nose and breathed deeply of his scent, still clinging to her blouse.
What a masculine man.
Hair as thick and wavy as a Kansas cornfield. Eyes the color of a cold November sky. Warm, inviting lips that promised so much in that short but sizzling kiss they’d shared. Broad shoulders, honed waist, narrow hips.
Kay moaned under her breath, closed her eyes and pictured him with his shirt off.
He’s splitting logs with an ax, and he’s stripped bare to the waist. It’s summer. Midday. Hot for Alaska.
She’s watching him from a shelter of thick trees. The scent of pine fills her nostrils. Behind him in the distance rises snowcapped mountain peaks. He doesn’t see her. She knows he’s had trouble with hunters poaching his land, and he’s not friendly toward secretive visitors spying on him from the trees.
She shouldn’t be here, but she can’t look away. She can’t even move. Her eyes are transfixed on his exquisite, tanned torso.
His muscular biceps bunch as he swings the ax down in one long, smooth stroke.
Whack!
The ax strikes home with a metallic, hypnotic ring that echoes strangely in the still forest. Shivers of excitement run up her spine.
She licks her lips.
He pauses in his work. Rests one arm against the ax handle, swipes at his forehead with a blue bandanna pulled from the back pocket of his tight, denim jeans.
The sun glints seductively off the sweat beading his chest. A sultry heat settles low in her belly, then fans out like thick fingers, growing, clutching, pressing down on her, until every part of her body pulsates with awareness of his overt maleness.
She shifts her position, lifts her head higher, hoping for a better look. She startles a squirrel, which begins to chatter at her.
The woodsman jerks his head sharply in her direction.
“Who’s there?” he calls out.
Heart racing, she jumps to her feet. She can’t be discovered. No telling what he’ll do to her if he finds her encroaching on his land.
“Show yourself,” he demands.
She whirls around—must get away—and darts through the underbrush.
“Come back here, damn you.”
She hears him crashing through the forest as he thunders after her, but she doesn’t look behind her.
Something snags her blouse. The silky material splits wide open, exposing her bra. Her skirt, too, gets caught on something sharp. She hears the rip. Her clothes hang in tatters, flapping about her skin.
Thud, thud, thud.
He is coming.
Faster, run faster.
She tries, but it’s as if her feet are encased in cement. She’s moving in slow motion. She can hear his breathing as he gets closer.
Her hair streaks out behind her, and her legs churn through the thick carpet of pine needles. She zigzags around trees, leaps over downed logs like a doe fleeing a pursuing rutting buck. She’s heading for the clearing and freedom. Her pulse is pounding, thumping, thrashing madly in her ears.
He’s quick for a big man. So quick. And