A Thrill To Remember. Lori Wilde

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ