A Thrill To Remember. Lori Wilde

rhythm.

      Another step deeper into the gloaming. Another and then another.

      Twigs crunched beneath her feet. A fingered fern crept across her ankle. A bubble of fear caused her to jump, and then laugh at her own spooked state.

      Nothing to be afraid of. She was in control of the situation. She wasn’t little Red Riding Hood evading the Big, Bad Wolf. She could turn if she wished and go back to the party. Nothing was keeping her here except her own inquisitiveness and her escalating imagination.

      Walking up a slight embankment, she glanced left and then right, saw only the tall, thin thrust of tree trunks and the full orange moon rising over the horizon.

      Was it possible to breathe any faster and not faint from hyperventilation? Could her stomach possibly squeeze any tighter? Could her knees grow any weaker and not dissolve into noodle soup?

      He was enticing her, this man. And she wanted him to capture her, no matter how sinfully foolish her subterranean desires.

      Goose bumps pricked a warning, raising the hairs on her forearms and the nape of her neck.

      He was near. She could feel him.

      CALEB WAS IN HIS ELEMENT. The forest. The wilderness. Home.

      He inhaled her on the cool evening breeze. Sweet, ripe, glowing. Soap, perfume, saltiness. The luscious aroma stirred a pulsating pressure of impulsive hunger deep within his masculinity.

      Like predator to prey her scent drew him. His mouth watered and every fiber of his being grew taut, every male sense alerted to the wondrous female encroaching on his territory.

      Relentlessly, her womanly bouquet lured him. Silently her body entreated, Come to me. Pheromones. Natures mating call. As surely as any hapless male moth enticed to a flame, she ensnared him with her spinning scent song.

      He could not resist.

      Through the copse of trees he caught a flash of crimson, a glimmer of her auburn hair, the sound of her teasing laugh.

      “I see you,” he crooned in his heavy Spanish accent.

      “Come and get me,” she dared, and darted from his sight.

      He heard the sounds of her feet crashing through the woods. Grinning, he followed.

      The hunt was on.

      Every cell in his body strummed to life in a way he’d never experienced. Feverish heat punched through his system like a fist through a paper bag, tattering any shred of civilized behavior. A savage hunger dogged him, his feral passions mounting in shocking disregard for decorum.

      He wanted her—in a way he’d never wanted another. Not even Meggie in his teenage years.

      He moved with long, easy loping strides, knowing he could effortlessly outlast her.

      This was his every naughty fantasy come true.

      SHE’D CAUGHT A GLIMPSE of him back there. Silhouetted at the top of the embankment, with the fat full moon at his back, he’d been watching her with hooded eyes.

      Consumed by both thrill and trepidation, she slipped away the minute she realized he had spotted her, too. She had issued a challenge that reverberated in the silent air.

      Come and get me.

      She pushed through the undergrowth and then realized with a start that she was lost. It had been a long time since she’d visited the Tongass, and she had no idea which direction Bear Creek lay.

      Licking her lips, she furtively scanned the forest, every muscle in her body tense with anticipation. In the moonlight, she spotted a clearing just ahead of her.

      She moved toward the opening, not knowing if she should go there, risk exposing herself to him and foiling the fun, or stay secluded and draw out their play. But she needed to get her bearings and discover her location.

      Cautiously, she emerged and peeped through the trees to see a pond shimmering in the moon glow. Beside the pond squatted a small skaters’ cabin, meticulously maintained by the forest rangers. As kids she and Quinn, Caleb, Jake and Mack had shared many happy memories there. Ice skating on the frozen pond, laughing, joking, teasing each other, and then slipping inside the cabin to warm up with hot chocolate and marshmallows toasted over a fire in the black potbellied stove.

      Her heart gave a strange tug of nostalgia at the memory. As a young woman, she couldn’t wait to leave Bear Creek for big-city lights. She’d thought she would never miss anything about living in the isolated wilds of Alaska. But seeing that little cabin again reminded her that Bear Creek could provide her with something special that Seattle never could—cherished childhood memories.

      She heard the rustle of leaves and slipped back into the sheltering trees.

      Don Juan was behind her. Coming quickly but quietly, as if he knew every step of the path.

      Hide! a giddy, childish impulse urged her.

      Trying her best not to giggle and give away the game too soon, Meggie looked for a good hiding place. Trees trunks loomed on either side of her, tall and imposing but narrow and thin.

      She crawled behind a spruce, hoping that if she stood sideways and stayed as still as possible he wouldn’t immediately spot her in the gloom. Pulling herself tall, she pressed flat against the trunk, closed her eyes tight, strained to hear, and waited.

      Nothing. Except for the wind whispering faintly through the trees and her own blood roaring in her ears, there was only silence.

      She held her breath.

      Her heart lub-dubbed

      Had he gone? Given up already?

      Oh, no. Please don’t let that be so.

      She wanted to look, to move, to breathe, but hated to end the suspense. Not just yet.

      Sweat popped out on her brow despite the chill.

      An uneasy minute passed.

      Still nothing.

      Finally, unable to hold her breath any longer, she let out a soft whoosh of air and inhaled deeply.

      She waited, breathing hard.

      That’s when his viselike arms clamped around her waist.

      Meggie let out a shriek, the sound reverberating throughout the forest, and dropped her clutch purse. But he did not let her go. In fact, those ropy, muscled arms wrapped more tightly around her.

      “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.”