A Thrill To Remember. Lori Wilde

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 upper lip was soft and smooth. She’d expected it to be bristly and uncomfortable. Their masks chafed together in a maddening way and she found herself wanting to rip away their disguises, but she was too afraid of what she might find. Too afraid he would no longer want her once the secrecy had been dispelled.

      When he took the kiss even deeper, Meggie responded with an enthusiasm that terrified her. Never had she experienced a passion this all-encompassing, spontaneous and fierce. She had never with such careless abandon wanted a man. Not even in her most untamed daydreams.

      What was happening to her, the woman who until tonight had never really cared that much about sex? Nothing had ever prepared her for this kind of concentrated, consuming hunger and desperate, painful need. She was flummoxed, stunned by the intensity of what was happening. Without even realizing it, she’d been searching for something to make her feel alive again, and now, here it was. With one explosive kiss Don Juan tapped into her secret yearnings and made her crave more. So very much more.

      What had he done?

      While her love-famished body wanted to find out where this irresistible delight might lead, her rational brain reminded her that she wasn’t the kind of woman who indulged in one-night stands. Neither a madam costume nor a single kiss, no matter how thrilling and mind-bendingly awesome, could change her into someone she wasn’t.

      Sensing the shift in her mood, Don Juan slowly dragged his lips from hers. He was breathing heavily, his forceful blue eyes locked on her gaze, his mouth glistening wet from her moisture.

      “You’ve stolen my control,” he murmured hoarsely into her ear. “And, I fear, my heart as well.”

      This was part of the game, she reminded herself. He didn’t really mean that she’d stolen his heart. Nor did she want him to mean those words. This was about animal attraction, pure and simple. She wasn’t prepared for anything else.

      To prove her point, she took his hand and lifted his index finger to her lips. In deliberate, measured increments, she slowly took his thick, round digit into the recesses of her mouth.

      He groaned. Loudly.

      The searing wet velvet of her tongue had him writhing. Oh, she was wickedly good. His cock bulged against his pants and he feared the seam was going to split right open. He couldn’t stand this torture a minute longer.

      She looked up at him. Caleb watched her irises grow dark as velvet emeralds and her pupils widen with stark, desperate desire. She wanted him. Savagely.

      And best of all, she didn’t know that he was the wealthy, unattached Bear Creek bachelor. She didn’t want him for his money or what he could buy her.

      A surge of fire sped through his veins. Her bare thigh brushed his leather-covered one and he heard her hitch in her throat.

      Unable to let the moment pass without indulging himself in one of his milder fantasies, he raised his hand and gently glided his rough fingers along the outline of her chin, relishing the soft smoothness of her feminine jaw, wondering what her cheekbones looked like beneath that sexy red-feathered mask.

      They were face-to-face and chest-to-chest. A shadowy expression of pent-up passion clouded