To Alaska, With Love: A Touch of Silk. Lori Wilde

Life vests, oars and wading boots for river rafting. There were fire extinguishers and first-aid kits, a citizens band radio and a huge stash of flashlights. Obviously this was his office.

      But what grabbed her attention and held her transfixed was the plate-glass window running along one wall overlooking the bay and the incredible display on view.

      Kay’s hand rose to her throat as she stared at the brilliant curtain of shimmering green, red and white that fluttered ghostlike across the sky. She had never seen anything so awe-inspiring as those radiant spectral waves.

      The shimmers danced and twirled, gauzy curtains of brilliant brightness changing shapes, billowing out like a green genie from a bottle in those old cartoons she had been banned from watching as a child.

      “The northern lights,” she whispered.

      “Yeah.” His voice was as husky with awe and respect as her own.

      “It’s incredible. Resplendent. Superlative. Words can’t began to describe it.”

      “Nature’s light show. We see the aurora up to two hundred times a year from early spring to late fall. This year promises to be particularly vibrant because of increased sunspot activity.”

      “What causes this spectacle?”

      “Scientifically speaking,” Quinn said, “the northern lights are electrical discharges resulting from the interaction between wind and the earth’s magnetic field.”

      “Oh.”

      “But the Native Alaskans believe the lights were torches carried by old souls to guide the new souls into the next world.”

      A carpet of gooseflesh covered her arms, despite her long-handled underwear. She felt shivery inside and not just from the eerie legend, but from her closeness to Quinn.

      He’d brought her up here to see this breathtaking display, not to make love to her. She was simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

      Kiss me, she thought. Kiss me now, kiss me hard, kiss me long.

      But she didn’t say those things. Instead, she turned to him and smiled softly, belying the inner turmoil raging through her mind. “Thank you, Quinn, for showing this to me.”

      “You’re welcome. Hang on, I’ll get us some champagne and we’ll toast your arrival and the appearance of the sometimes temperamental aurora. I’d hoped she would come out to play tonight, but you never know for certain.”

      “She?”

      “The aurora is most definitely a feminine force,” he said. “Watch the sky. See how the lights flicker and tease? She’s fickle. Coming on hot, then shying away. Coyly fading one minute, flaring boldly the next. Cool yet strangely hot. Oh, Aurora is a woman all right. She’s got many moods.”

      “You’re quite the romantic,” Kay said.

      “So I’ve been told.”

      “I still don’t understand why you’re not married.” She shook her head.

      “Hopefully your article and our ad will help rectify that.”

      But I don’t want you to get married, a selfish little voice inside her cried. If you get married, you can’t be my boy-toy.

      She watched him amble to the champagne bucket positioned next to the stereo system. He turned on the radio, and the sound of Wilson Pickett’s “Midnight Hour” spun out into the room.

      “Oh,” she said, “I love this song.”

      “That’s KCRK,” Quinn told her. “I put together the play list for tonight.”

      He wrangled with the champagne bottle. She heard the cork pop, watched him fill two flutes with fizzy champagne.

      “You went to a lot of trouble for me.”

      His eyes met hers as he handed her a flute. “You’re worth it.”

      Blinking up at his handsome face, Kay noticed things she hadn’t paid attention to before—the way his brown hair, shot through with golden strands, curled slightly over his forehead, the way his eyes went soft and seemed to caress her, the tiny mole an inch above the left side of his mouth.

      He raised his glass. “To the moment,” he murmured.

      She clinked the lip of hers against the lip of his. “To the moment.”

      They sipped their champagne, eyed each other over the rim of their glasses. Kay felt at once heavy and yet extremely light, like a helium balloon tied to a child’s wrist. Weighted but yearning to fly.

      Suddenly she burped.

      “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed, and slapped a hand over her mouth. In her family burping aloud was a sin akin to indecent exposure. “I’m so embarrassed. Please forgive me.”

      “Lighten up, sweetheart. What’s to forgive? So you burped. Actually it makes me feel better. I was beginning to think you were too perfect.”

      “I’m not perfect. Not by a long shot.”

      “Well, if burping on champagne is your biggest fault, I won’t kick you out of my bed.”

      Their eyes met, held for a long moment.

      “Come sit.” He eased down on the couch, patted the cushion next to him.

      She sat down beside him. He stretched his arm out over the back of the couch. She was acutely aware of it resting there. She imagined his fingers tangling in her hair, his mouth devouring hers. Briefly she closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she focused on the dancing lights beyond the window.

      Quinn studied Kay as she watched the northern lights. Her profile mesmerized him. Her nose was refined, her cheekbones sculpted. Just looking at her made his heart feel crooked, as if it had slipped in his chest.

      Her scent teased his nostrils. Warm and rich and compelling, it smelled of something foreign and exotic. Was that what attracted him to her? She was like no other woman of his acquaintance.

      Her hair brushed lightly across his skin. He noticed her perfectly manicured fingernails, the delicate shape of her hands, her narrow wrist decorated with a gold tennis bracelet. Even though she was right beside him, she still seemed detached somehow. Her detachment intrigued him just as it had on the airplane.

      Her aloofness roused him, made him want to do something drastic to bring her into the fold. She had lived in New York too long, spent too much time disconnected from people, too often kept her feelings to herself. Her two-week stay in Bear Creek would do her a world of good. Help her open up to herself and the world around her. He wondered if he should tell her about his urge to rattle her cage, ruffle her feathers, crack her facade. He ached to tell her exactly how he hoped to liberate her. But Quinn feared that if he spoke these words, it would be a mistake from which he could never recover.

      And yet he felt driven, nervous. His heart began a fretful pounding. There were no words for what he wanted to say, and his tongue lay paralyzed on the floor of his mouth. A knot of pressure built inside him. Pressure that urged him to haul her into his arms and show her everything he simply could not say.

      He wasn’t good with flowery sentiment. He was a man of action, and only action could quiet his restlessness. His body tensed and he leaned in close.

      She looked at him then, her pale hair gleaming in the firelight, rivaling the natural phenomena flickering outside the window. Her breathing was shallow, and her brown eyes shone with a fevered effervescence. He’d never seen anything so lovely.

      Kay felt his body shift toward her, pressing her deeper into the plush leather couch. His left side was crushed against her right, and he placed a hand on her thigh. Then his mouth was on hers—oh, how she had dreamed of kissing him again—urgent and insistent. She was concurrently both hot and cold. His body was tense, hard, but his lips were soft, inviting.

      And his tongue.

      Dear