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

told him you’d think about it?”

      “It didn’t happen that way. Listen, I really don’t feel comfortable discussing my personal life with you.”

      “Okay.” He gave an easy shrug, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he wanted to dig deeper. What she didn’t know was why, but she certainly wasn’t going to open up and spill her guts to a stranger.

      Not even her closest friends knew what was in her heart. She’d been taught by her father, the cutthroat businessman, that the more people knew about you, the more they could use against you. Once, when she was a little girl, her father took her to work with him. When his secretary asked her if she’d rather be playing in the park, instead of touring a stuffy old building, Kay had responded with an enthusiastic yes. Her father then jerked her into his office and lectured her until her ears burned about expressing her true feelings to underlings. She never forgot that lesson.

      Quinn cleared his throat. The waiter refilled their coffee cups.

      “I’m sorry about what I said,” Kay said. “That sounded bitchy.”

      “No need to apologize. You’re right. It’s none of my business. It’s just that if I was dating a woman like you, I wouldn’t have waited four years to ask you to marry me.”

      “Which raises the question, if you’re not commitment-phobic yourself, how come you’ve stayed single so long?”

      “Not a lot of women to choose from in Bear Creek. And most of the tourists that come to town are looking for a summer fling. And who’s to say I’ve never been married?”

      “Have you?” Kay lifted an eyebrow. Although she hated answering personal questions herself, she had no compunction against asking them. Enjoyed it, in fact. Perhaps that’s what attracted her to journalism. The opportunity to discover the intimate details of others’ lives without revealing any information about her own.

      “Came close once.”

      “What happened?”

      “Now I’m the one who’s uncomfortable discussing my private life.”

      “Whoever writes the feature article on you is going to want to know the answer to these questions.”

      “Then I’ll save the interview for that reporter.”

      Silence.

      “So in general, what qualities do you look for in a woman?” She spoke lightly, but every cell in her body stood at attention as she waited for his answer.

      “I don’t really want a career woman. I know it sounds old-fashioned, but I see myself with a woman who’s mainly interested in making a home. I want kids. And I like the idea of providing for the woman in my life.”

      “Oh, I see. The caveman mentality. Keep ’em barefoot and pregnant.”

      “I don’t mind if she wants to work,” he expounded. “But the children and I should be her priority. Just as she and the kids will be my top priority, not work, not a job. Family and friends. That’s what counts. Don’t look so disapproving. I’m being honest here.”

      “I’m not disapproving. You’re misconstruing my expression. Besides, does it matter what I think?”

      The truth was, she’d been thinking that she’d never heard a New York male express such a sentiment or, for that matter, even admit to wanting children. She found it oddly refreshing, even though one side of her wanted to argue that women could have both prosperous careers and happy, well-adjusted children if they learned how to juggle.

      His gaze was on her face. He was running his index finger around and around the rim of his coffee mug in a slow, languid motion that made her feel dizzy with desire. “My ideal woman has to be tough. She’s got to be hardy enough to brave winters in Alaska.”

      “What about beauty?”

      “Beauty’s good, but not really important. I mean, there’s got to be sexual chemistry between us, but I’m not looking for perfection. On the contrary, I think a little sass, a little attitude spices things up.”

      “Really?”

      “And even though I’m ready to settle down, I’m not willing to settle. When I get married, it’ll be forever. Until then—” he grinned “—I’m up for whatever adventures come my way.”

      “Oh.” At this, Kay took heart. Perhaps he might provide that illicit affair she was yearning for, after all.

      “So what do you look for in a man, Kay Freemont?”

      She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

      “You don’t know? Then how do you know if Mr. Practically Engaged is the right one for you?”

      She winced. “Please, I—”

      “Oh, right, no personal questions.”

      “How long are you in town?” She changed the subject and wondered what she was going to do with the information. Wondered why her heart was pounding.

      “I fly out at seven-thirty on Wednesday morning. Tomorrow I’ve got an all-day thing with my friend from Adventure Gear. I’m thinking of switching over to their climbing harnesses, and he’s taking me on a climb upstate.”

      “Ah.” Her hopes plummeted. No time for a wild fling.

      He reached across the table and lightly grazed her hand with the tips of his fingers. It shouldn’t have been an erotic gesture, but it was.

      “You could come to Alaska,” he said, reading her thoughts as clearly as if they’d been etched on her face. His habit of expressing exactly what was on her mind was uncanny and, frankly, a little disturbing. “Write that article for your editor. We could have a lot of fun together, you and I. Why not consider it?”

      Astounded by the sensations that surged through her at his touch, she slipped her hand away. She never did answer his question.

      After lunch he wanted to see the Empire State Building, so off they went. Quinn moved through the crowd like a redwood among matchsticks. On more than one occasion, she noticed women’s heads turn as they shot him appreciative glances. She felt oddly jealous.

      And strangely aroused.

      More aroused, in fact, than she’d ever been.

      While Quinn admired the view from the top of the Empire State Building, Kay admired Quinn.

      She couldn’t seem to draw her gaze from the ripple of muscle in his forearm where he’d rolled back the sleeves of his mackinaw. It was as if he knew how much she loved sexy forearms and was simply taunting her with a view of his.

      She studied his strong profile, raked her gaze down his shoulders to his back before stopping to blatantly admire his delectable fanny so prominently displayed in snug-fitting blue jeans.

      Raising a hand to her throat, she inhaled deeply, hauling in an unsteady breath. Quinn turned from the railing, a wide, boyish grin on his face. Kay smiled back.

      “Wow. So many people. So many buildings. So many yellow-checkered cabs.”

      She nodded.

      The wind gusted. Shivering, Kay used a pillar as a windbreak. She crossed her arms over her chest and danced from foot to foot.

      “You’re cold,” he said, and she found it touching that he’d noticed. He stripped off his mackinaw.

      “I can’t take your jacket. It’s freezing up here.”

      “Honey,” he said, and she did not take offense at his easy endearment; rather, she found it kind of charming. “Where I’m from this would be considered a heat wave.”

      He stepped closer and settled his mackinaw around her shoulders, wrapping her as tenderly as a mother swaddles her baby.

      “Thank you.” Her voice