A Touch of Silk (10 page)

He sat beside her, stared into her eyes. “You don’t need hairspray and makeup and fancy creams to look beautiful, Kay.”

“Ha! Tell that to my mother. She’d be appalled if she could see me now. Appalled on so many levels.”

“You’ve spent your life trying to please your parents.”

“Well, that’s part of why I’m here. To start untying those apron strings.”

“I’m your bit of rebellion.”

“Kind of,” she admitted.

He’d suspected as much, and he shouldn’t have been surprised or even disappointed by the knowledge. But he couldn’t help but wish that she’d come to Alaska because she liked him, not to piss off her parents or learn how to exceed her sexual speed limit.

Still, she was here and he wanted her, and he certainly wasn’t going to send her away. She would be a sweet memory. His time with Kay was teaching him more and more what it was he wanted from a wife. Maybe that was the whole cosmic reason of their meeting in the first place.

He realized he needed someone more like him. Someone with the same traditional family values, the same kind of experiences, the same love of the land, the same frank ability to speak her mind. He tried to imagine Kay living in Alaska and failed completely. She would survive here about as well as a hothouse orchid.

“So what happens next?” she asked.

“Clean up,” he said as they moved to the bathroom. “You’re gonna love this.”

“Should I take off my underwear?”

She was glad to have the blindfold removed, glad to be able to see him. He was wearing a pair of jogging shorts, but there was no hiding the imposing package that bulged beneath the constricting material.

“Get in the shower.” He tested the temperature with his forearm. “Just as you are.”

“Aren’t you getting in, too?”

“Right behind you, sweetheart.”

Giddily she stepped into the warm shower. He climbed in beside her and pulled the glass shower door closed. He took her in his arms and smothered her giggles with kisses. She felt as if she was eighteen again and experiencing sexual pleasure for the very first time.

Ah, this was what she wanted. This was why she had come to Alaska. To wipe her sexual slate clean and start fresh.

He reached around her for the bath gel and squirted a dollop into the palm of his hand. The almost empty bottle made a wheezing noise that had her giggling again. He began lathering her up, scrubbing her through her saturated underclothes.

The sensation of his warm, slippery skin massaging her through wet lace was intensely erotic. His hand slid over her smooth mound, and her slick, soapy panties pulled against the curve of her buttocks and plucked tightly over her most feminine and sensitive flesh.

Kay closed her eyes and clung to him. With one hand, he stroked a swollen breast through her bra.

He was a master of exquisite torture.

The steam, the sensuous spray of warm water, the stimulation of his wet fingers were more than she could tolerate. He deserved to get a healthy serving of what he was dishing up.

She smiled devilishly and reached for him.

Quinn gulped. The woman was turning the tables on him. Didn’t she realize how truly dangerous that was? If she wanted her longed-for orgasm, she’d better stop rubbing him down there.

Leaning into him, she nuzzled up hard against his chest. Right then and there he knew he wasn’t as in charge of the situation as he wanted to be. She kissed him then, sinking her fingers into his shoulders to hold him still.

The force of her kiss surprised him and stoked his own internal furnace higher and hotter. She made sweet mewling sounds deep in her throat.

He felt like a fallen mountain climber, dangling precariously from the end of a taut rescue line. Every muscle in his body tensed. His erection was so damned hard he feared he’d turned to granite, and he yearned for her with a desperate urgency that scared the hell out of him.

Ah, he was lost!

“Don’t stop,” she whimpered. “More, more.”

He clutched her hips and ground himself against her far more roughly than he’d intended. The thin material of her thong rubbed provocatively against his nylon jogging shorts, and he about flipped.

“Yes, Quinn, now!” she cried, and pressed her breasts so tightly to his chest that the whistle around her neck made an indention in his skin. The whistle he’d given her to blow if things got too out of hand. “Make love to me right here in the shower. I’m ready.”

He was startled to discover she welcomed his aggressiveness. His lack of control hadn’t scared her one bit.

But it scared him.

Desperately Quinn reached for the whistle, took it from around her neck, pressed the wet metal tightly against his lips and blew.

WHEN HE ARRIVED on Friday evening to escort Kay to his parents’ dinner party, Quinn didn’t say a word about what had happened between them. But he did take her arm possessively. He angled her a glance that made her feel all woman. She was ready to skip the party and head back to his place for another love lesson.

Since Wednesday night, she had been unable to think of anything but Quinn. To hell with the article. To hell with work. She caught herself lying on the bed at the bed-and-breakfast staring at the ceiling and recalling ever nuance of what they’d shared. And she imagined what other wicked treats he had up his sleeve.

The Scofields’ large, homey kitchen was crowded with Quinn’s laughing family and friends. The decor was an eclectic hodgepodge. Nothing looked as if it fit. Just like at Quinn’s place, his parents had rafter ceilings and leather furniture.

A stenciled border featuring moose and bear and salmon ran along the kitchen wall. A carved totem pole in the corner did double duty as a coatrack. Numerous knickknacks graced shelves and corner nooks. Photographs of Quinn and Meggie as children graced the walls. Gingham curtains hung in the kitchen window. Slightly bawdy cartoons were stuck with magnets to the refrigerator. A pot of plastic flowers on the window ledge sang “Let the Sunshine In” and twirled wildly in opposite directions when anyone approached.

Honoria would have blanched at the sight and proclaimed the house “irreparably tacky.” Kay found the place both charming and comfortable. It was a real home, not a museum showcase like her parents’ penthouse apartment in Manhattan or their summer retreat in the Hamptons.

The smell of sourdough bread and beef stew permeated the room. Everyone was milling around, talking at once, balancing hearty bowls of stew and slabs of buttered bread in their hands. Raucous classic rock music underscored the gathering. Jim Scofield filled his guests’ mugs full of frothy ale from a tapped keg. In the next room a lively group of poker players yelled good-natured insults at one another.

Kay had never witnessed anything like this jolly free-for-all at her parents’ parties, where guests nibbled exotic tidbits from silver trays and sedate classical music poured through the piped-in system.

At first she had been taken aback by the exuberant rowdiness. But when she thought about how her mother would have turned up her nose at such a party, she began to relax and enjoy the camaraderie. She was here to experience Alaska as it was—sprawling, unruly, wildly independent—not to resort to prejudices against what Honoria would call “common folk.”

Even though she had become unhappy with things of late, Kay had never really realized how much she’d lived in an ivory tower or how cruelly snobbish her family was. This new knowledge reinforced her desire to become more open, more accepting, more forgiving of others.

All four bachelors were in attendance at the party. In fact, the house was crowded with men. Kay and Meggie were the only single women under thirty-five. In fact, they were the only women under thirty-five except for six-months-pregnant Candy Kilstrom, wife of KCRK disk jockey, Liam.

Quickly enough Kay learned that Jake was the life of the party, cracking jokes and telling stories. He possessed a keen wit and grinned ninety percent of the time.

Mack, the shortest of the bachelors but by no means small, never seemed to stop moving. He was quick and industrious, the first to volunteer when Quinn’s father had asked for help unloading the keg.

Caleb was hard to figure. His calm nature drew her, but he didn’t say much and preferred to stay perched in the corner watching the others with a sage smile. She did notice that whenever he glanced at Meggie, his smile disappeared and his dark eyes turned moody and restless. Kay wondered if he disliked the young woman for some reason.

If that was the case, she didn’t know why. Kay really liked the straightforward woman, who seemed to have the courage to say all the things Kay thought but wasn’t candid enough to express.

But she did wonder where Meggie’s husband was. No one had commented on his absence. Meggie seemed in high spirits, however, laughing, joking, cutting up with all the men who looked at her with covetous expressions. At one point Meggie herded Kay and the four bachelors in front of the fireplace for a group photo. And Kay loved it when Quinn leaned over to kiss her cheek just as the flash went off.

Glancing up from where she was sitting next to Linda Scofield at the kitchen table, she caught Quinn watching her with those gray eyes the same brooding color as the snow-heavy clouds that hovered over the town. He winked and Kay felt a now familiar thrill.

Where have you been all my life, wilderness man? The question floated unbidden into her head, lodged there and refused to leave.

She had to be careful. As wonderful as Quinn was, she couldn’t allow her feelings for him to become anything more than physical. This infatuation brewing inside her was just that, infatuation. She was intrigued by their differences, turned on by his complete opposition to all the other men she had ever known.

Plus, she liked the way she changed whenever she was around him. Already, in less than a week’s time, she’d began to relax, to let her hair down, to explore the part of her psyche she’d kept shut away for so many years and to abolish her old thought processes.

Kay was also impressed with Quinn’s family and friends. They were close-knit and yet very welcoming to a stranger from New York City. Yes, she had to be very careful not to mistake this infatuation for something more. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him.

Or herself.

Quinn moved across the room toward her as if called by the glance she’d sent him. He lowered his head and placed a hand on her shoulder. At the pressure of his touch, at the tickling of his warm breath in her ear, Kay’s heart revved.

“Are you doing all right?” he asked.

She nodded. His chin lightly grazed her cheek and caused an immediate reaction deep in her center.

“We’re a rambunctious bunch,” he said. “But don’t let them overwhelm you.”

She shook her head to let him know she was fine.

“Bet you’re not used to this kind of shindig.”

“It’s different,” she admitted, “but a lot of fun.”

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

“To this music?”

“We can fix that.”

“Where would we dance?”

“Just watch.” He winked again, and Kay was warmed clean through her toes.

Quinn straightened, clapped his hands and raised his voice. “People, we’re in need of a dance floor and some dance music.”

Kay stared in stunned amazement as soup bowls and beer mugs were deposited on the counter and half a dozen burly men relocated the poker players to the kitchen. They scooted furniture against the wall and rolled the heavy braided living room rug back from the glossy hardwood floors as if they’d done this many times before.

Linda took a seat at the upright piano parked in the corner, and solemn Caleb Greenleaf surprised Kay by retrieving a fiddle from his truck. He perched on a wooden stool pulled up next to the piano and soon the sounds of “Cotton-eyed Joe” filled the house.

“Shall we?” Quinn held out his hand to Kay. Several other couples were already gathering on the makeshift dance floor and forming a circle.

She’d danced at many a cotillion. She’d waltzed with politicians and bankers and stockbrokers. She’d worn five-thousand-dollar dresses and sipped five-hundred-dollar champagne from crystal flutes.

But she’d never danced the two-step in front of a roaring fire on a cold winter night in someone’s living room wearing blue jeans and boots and a turtleneck sweater. She’d never drunk beer from a keg or eaten sourdough bread sopped in beef stew.

And she’d never had so much fun.

All these years she’d been unfairly deprived!

From “Cotton-eyed Joe,” Linda and Caleb segued into “Achy Breaky Heart” with an ease that told Kay they’d been doing this for a long time. And all the men seemed to be vying for the honor of squiring Meggie around the dance floor.

Kay didn’t know the steps, so she had to follow Quinn’s every move. For a large man he was amazingly graceful, stepping lightly without any of the awkwardness brawny men often possessed.

“Achy Breaky” melded into “Tennessee Waltz.” Quinn took her into his arms, held her close and twirled her about the living room. She was so intent on staring up into his compelling eyes that she didn’t even notice for several minutes that they were the only ones dancing.

She vaguely registered that the telephone rang and someone hollered at Meggie that it was for her. Her mind was in a dream where she noticed nothing except Quinn.

Resting her head against his broad chest, Kay inhaled his piney scent, listened to the beating of his strong heart. His hands tightened on hers and he squeezed lightly, letting her know she was safe with him.

Then, for absolutely no reason at all, a lump rose in her throat, forcing her to swallow hard to keep from crying. She was happy. Why this urge to bawl?

From childhood she’d been trained to control her emotions, to repress her feelings, deny her impulses. She’d been taught that appearances were paramount, and you conducted yourself based on what others thought of you.

Growing up rich and privileged was like living on a island with other people exactly like you. The lifestyle imposed on children of the wealthy and powerful entailed certain duties and conditions foreign to the majority of the population. There was no blending into an anonymous background. You were required to watch your step at every moment. No one trod easily on the emotions of others where money and manners mingled. This behavior resulted in an inbreeding of the spirit, too much held in, regret and silent brooding.

And Kay wanted out.

She’d wasted so much time living on her island and pretending to agree with people whose values and beliefs differed so greatly from her own. She’d expended too much effort struggling against her natural tendencies. The truth of the matter was, she’d never felt more at home than she did right now in Quinn’s arms.

Tilting her head, she looked into his face. He smiled at her with a lustfulness that made her hot and achy. Then without warning, he dipped his head and kissed her, all the while moving them around the living room.

It wasn’t a long kiss. Nor the most passionate he’d ever given her, but it was blindingly tender.

They danced past a clump of men gathered in one corner.

“Will you get a load of that?” old Gus whispered none too softly. “Looks like Quinn’s found himself a city girl to play with until the real thing comes along.”

The words, when they sunk in, stung. She wasn’t considered wife material. No matter how kind, how welcoming these people seemed, she wasn’t one of them and never would be.

Oh, Lord, what was she thinking? She didn’t belong here. She was a New Yorker, a socialite, a magazine reporter romanticizing her first trip to Alaska.

This was why her mother warned her against public displays of affection. For the first time in her life, she’d dared to let her hair down, and look what happened. She pulled away from Quinn, but he held fast to her hand and refused to let her go. She didn’t want to jerk back and make things worse.

“I need some air,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes. “It’s too warm in here.”

“I’ll get your coat,” he said. “We’ll take a walk to the barn.”

She shook her head. “I’d rather be alone.”

“No, ma’am. I can’t let you go by yourself.”

“Why not?” she snapped.

“Wolves out there.”

“Look, I live among two-legged wolves. I think I can handle myself with the furry variety.”

Linda and Caleb had stopped playing. Everyone was eyeing them. Kay clamped her jaws and headed for the kitchen. She retrieved her coat from the totem pole and rushed outside.

She didn’t know why she was upset. She only knew she needed distance from Quinn so she could sort out her feelings.

It was cold outside. Very cold. Kay shivered despite the warmth of her heavy coat, woolen gloves and cap. The light from the barn some fifty yards away welcomed her. She hurried toward it and tumbled inside.

To find Meggie Drummond sitting on a bale of hay struggling to light a cigarette with an obviously shaky hand. The minute Meggie saw Kay she flung the unlit cigarette across the barn.

“Oh!” Meggie and Kay cried in unison, and then laughed.

“I’m sorry,” Kay mumbled. “I didn’t mean to violate your privacy.”

“You didn’t,” Meggie admitted. “You saved me.”

Kay arched an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I kicked the ciggy habit years ago, but when I get nervous, that old urge returns. I sneaked out to take a couple of drags off a cigarette Gus gave me. I’m glad you stopped me. I’d hate to harness that old monkey to my back again.” Meggie grinned.

“Then I’m glad I interrupted you.” Kay smiled back.

“Have a seat.” Meggie scooted over and patted the hay bale.

Kay sat beside her. “What drove you to sneak off for a cigarette?” her inquisitive reporter instincts made her ask.

“Mom’s ankle. Looks like she’s going to have to have surgery. It’s not healing the way they hoped.” Meggie gave her a convenient excuse, but Kay had a feeling something else was on her new friend’s mind. Should she pry?