A Touch of Silk (12 page)

She heard a whimpering noise then and realized the sound came from her. “I can’t stand much more of this, Quinn.”

“Oh, baby, we’re just getting started.” He pampered her like a mother coddling her small child. He turned off the jets, lit the scented candles and set them in the water to float beside her. The heady aroma of a spring floral bouquet curled through her nose. Jasmine, lavender, honeysuckle.

He got up, turned out the lights, then sat back down beside her and took her hands. “Now stare at the candles, inhale deeply and concentrate on your body for a few minutes.”

She blinked at him.

“Go ahead, do it.”

She closed her eyes again, leaned her head back against the tub and inhaled deeply. She’d tried meditation, of course. And creative visualization and yoga classes. She’d heard rave reviews of all these techniques to enhance your sex life, but she’d never been able to relax. Something had always held her back. She felt odd letting herself go in the company of strangers, and she’d never been able to freely express herself like everyone else in the classes.

But here now, for the first time, she felt her body floating as if on a cloud, while at the same time she felt leaden, affixed to the tub. It was an exhilarating experience.

“That’s right,” he whispered as if he knew she’d achieved an exalted state. “Focus your attention on the center of your belly.”

She did as he asked.

“As you breathe in, imagine a warm light settling in your solar plexus and gradually spreading outward.”

How had he become so sophisticated about such things? she wanted to ask. Living out here in the wilderness, so far from people and activities.

But she couldn’t ask him this, because she was supposed to be concentrating. Yet it was hard to focus when she could smell his masculine scent even over the flowery aroma of the candles.

Warm glow. That was it.

Then like a match to a wick, her belly suddenly did feel hot. Hot and tingly. She rode the sensation, imagining the heat spreading out, coursing through her body, pooling in her groin.

And then she was so hot she couldn’t stand it a second more. The power she had over her own body was eerie. She’d never been so in touch with herself.

Her eyes flew open and she found Quinn watching her in the candlelight.

“Pretty awesome, huh?”

All she could do was nod.

“Okay,” he said. “Time to get out, your fingers are turning pruney.”

He got to his feet, opened a fluffy bath towel and held his hand out to her.

When she touched him, the contact amazed her. Quinn wrapped the towel around her dripping body. He rubbed her dry. The towel was new, mildly scratchy. Her skin was pink from the heat, the water, the brisk toweling.

His affectionate attention reminded her of the nanny she’d had as a little girl. After her bath, Nanny Marie would dust her with talcum powder, help her into her pajamas and then sit by Kay’s bed reading one of her favorite books for the millionth time until she fell asleep. Once in a while, on her way to a party, Mommy would pop into her room to say good-night. But she never hugged or nuzzled her cheek the way Nanny did. Honoria wouldn’t risk smearing her makeup or mussing her elaborate hairstyle by bending over to kiss her daughter.

Kay blew out her breath, pushed away the melancholy memory. This wasn’t the time or place for a stumble down memory lane.

“You okay?” Quinn asked, his gaze on her face.

“Fine.” She forced a smile.

Once she was dry, he took her hand and guided her into the bedroom. “Lie down on the bed on your stomach.”

“I feel guilty,” she said. “You’re doing all these things for me, and I’ve done nothing for you.”

“Hush. My time will come. Tonight is all about you.”

She lay then, on her belly, with her face pressed into the pillow. Outside she could hear winter spitting icy rain against the windowpane, but inside they were wrapped tight in a snug cocoon.

Quinn sat on the edge of the bed beside her. The mattress sagged under his weight. His hand, warm and slick with heated peach-scented oil, slid over the planes of her back, lightly caressing.

Had anything in the world ever felt this luxurious?

His hands advanced in ever-widening circles, down her spine to her lower back and then to her buttocks, which he teased with firmer caresses.

She felt sexy deep in the most intimate part of her. Sexy and wet and desperate for this man. She tried to turn over, to face him, to see what he was thinking, but he pushed softly on her shoulder.

“Not yet.”

She groaned. “Bastard.”

“Now, now. No call for such language.” He laughed. “You’ll be thanking me soon enough.”

“Pretty damn sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t you know it.”

His motions changed but never stopped. Short strokes to long strokes and back again, he swept his hand up and down her back until she felt as if she’d melted into the sheets.

“Turn over,” he said.

She barely had the energy, but she managed.

His big hands slid down her neck. Mentally, her mind went where his fingers were. Butterfly pressure on her throat. Tingles in the hollow spot where her collarbones met.

Hot, cold. Soft, hard. She felt so many things.

Her breath caught in her lungs when his right hand made a leisurely foray from her hip to her left breast, kneading with gentle, rhythmic motion that had her squirming even more.

His hand grazed her hardened nipple, and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from crying out. He leaned in close, ran his tongue over that insatiable nipple, tugging, licking, suckling until her breathing was nothing but shallow, ragged gasps.

His splayed palm felt different than his fist. He used both to fondle her. First one, then the other. Round and square, up and down. Opened, closed. Curved, straight.

After what seemed an eternity, his fingers finally skated to her belly button.

She writhed as his hand lingered there. “Don’t,” she said breathlessly. “I’m ticklish.”

“That means you’ve got a lot of sexual energy stored there. We need to release it. Let it flow throughout your entire system.”

Then he leaned over and pressed his lips to her navel. His hair glinted in the light from the bedside lamp. No one had ever kissed her belly button before, and she found it wildly erotic.

But then the next thing she knew, he’d left there and was headed decidedly south.

What was this?

With one hand he gently spread her knees. “Hold still,” he commanded. “Keep your eyes shut.”

She closed her eyes, felt his weight shift off the bed. In a minute he was back. She heard what sounded like jar lids being opened. She cracked one eye to see what in the heck he was doing.

“No peeking.”

“What’s going on?”

“Lie back and enjoy the ride.”

She tried to sink into the pillow, to let her body go limp, but she was so damned curious. “I can’t stand this. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“Pretending I’m Michelangelo. I’ve always wanted to paint a masterpiece.”

“What?” She frowned.

“Shh,” he whispered, and she felt a soft feathering of a dry artist’s paintbrush sweep against her furrowed brow.

Everywhere the brush touched, she burst into flames. Down he went, traversing her body for a second time.

Eyebrows, eyelids, cheeks, nose, lips. He worked his way around first one ear and then the other, then slipped to the underside of her jaw.

He took the brush away, and when he brought it back, it was warm and wet.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Open your mouth.”

She parted her lips. He leaned over and lightly dabbed something on the tip of her tongue.

“Mmm. Chocolate body paint.”

“Very good.”

With bold strokes, he painted a wide stripe straight down between her breasts to her tummy. Her toes curled at the delicious sensation. He drew a design around her belly button.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“A heart.” She grinned.

“And this?”

She felt him spell out K-A-Y. “My name.”

He switched to a tiny brush and swirled it around her nipples. “Yes,” he hissed triumphantly. “I love how they glisten when they stand perkily at attention.”

Was she still on planet Earth? Or had she been shot clean into outer space?

He returned to her knees, edged them apart again. “There we go. I’m switching to my smallest tool.”

“Wh…?” she started to ask but got no further.

His sizzling-hot hands rested at the apex of her thighs. And he was manipulating that brush like Michelangelo himself. The tip was wet and hot and sticky and oh-so-fine. And he definitely knew how to use it. He gently eased back the flesh protecting her womanhood and caressed the hard, thrusting nub with the warm, damp sable of the brush.

The sensation was nothing short of electric.

She inhaled all the way to her feet. She felt every velvety strand of the brush’s thick fur as it fluttered back and forth over her flowering cleft. She swung her hips, gyrating against the brush, reveling in his sounds of approval.

“Yes, baby, yes,” he purred.

He flicked the brush. Back and forth, back and forth until she was covered in steamy chocolate.

“Now,” he said, “I’m going to lick you clean.”

He dipped his head. His hair rasped against her belly. He was licking at the high recesses of the inside of her thigh. So near the area where she was dying for him to be. She was tired of this torment. She wanted to feel his hard, throbbing member thrusting deep inside her.

She smelled his maleness, and his scent spurred her arousal. Her body, which minutes before had been soft and pliant from the bath and the sensual rub, was now stiff and ready. She was wet, so incredibly wet. She wanted it. This spectacular release everyone spoke of. This colorful, vibrant fantastic orgasm. It was possible. Within her reach at last. She could feel it building, feel herself getting more strung out and desperate.

She tossed her head like a restless mare. She arched against his mouth, wanting, no, needing more, more. Her nerves were raw, ragged.

His tongue, oh, sweet heaven, his tongue! She unfurled to him like a rosebud opening to the sun, exalting in the heat, blooming, growing, expanding.

He was too slow. He was taking too long. This was maddening. This was incredible. This was hell. This was heaven.

Was it possible to feel so much driving need and not collapse if that need was not met?

“Take me, Quinn,” she begged, unable to stand this one second longer. “Make love with me. Get inside me. I want you.”

But he diligently ignored her pleas, still slowly, gently licking her with his tongue.

He inched closer and closer to the prize, his mouth now between her thighs and her outer lips. He drew circles with his tongue and each lick felt like a stinging-hot brand. Whimpering, she pushed her hips upward, her lower back clearing the bed.

And then he was flicking his tongue across her aching cleft while at the same time stroking the sensitive area just below with his fingers. She cried out at the dual sensation. She was falling, stumbling, careening into a caldron of heat.

Boiling, baking, blistering heat.

Hijacked, bushwhacked, shanghaied.

He’d kidnapped her, mind, body and soul.

She tried to say something, but her tongue wouldn’t work. Her ears rang.

I need, I need, I need.

So this was what it was all about. This was why everyone extolled sex as if it was some great curative. She felt as if she was hanging on the edge of a precipice by her fingernails.

She was aflame, ablaze, incandescent. She was the aurora borealis, and Quinn’s dangerous, exquisite mouth created sunspots, shooting highly charged energy through her until she was aglow with electricity.

She gyrated and rotated. She writhed and bucked.

Make it happen, she begged silently, hungering to tumble over into that magical abyss.

His tongue loved her, caressed her, lifted her to the pinnacle.

She waited for the drop, entwined her fingers in his hair and waited with bated breath, knew that orgasm was only seconds away. At last. After twenty-seven years. At last.

And then, just before she came, he stopped.

“NO,” SHE WHIMPERED. “No. You can’t stop now.”

Quinn looked down into her face, scrunched tight with both pain and pleasure, and his gut torqued. How he wanted her! If only she knew how difficult this was for him, holding back when more than anything in the world he ached to bury himself deep inside her and stay there forever.

She raised herself on her elbows, flicked out her tongue and licked his throat. “Please,” she whispered, her eyes still effulgent with the sheen of lust. “Please.”

He almost lost his minuscule shard of control and took her, but his overwhelming desire to confer upon her the precious gift of her first orgasm kept him tethered to his goal.

“One more night, sweetheart.” He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Just one more night. Trust me on this.”

Kay groaned and sank against him. “Quinn, this is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“I know, baby, I know.” He gently caressed her head. “But it’s for your own good. Tomorrow night, my place. I promise.”

But could he keep that promise? She’d been close to orgasm just now, but if he’d continued stroking her, would she have plunged over the edge or remained on the precipice, unable to make the plunge? Was that the real reason he’d pulled the plug on tonight’s proceedings? Because he was afraid that, when push came to shove, he couldn’t deliver on his promise?

The thought of letting her down, of not being able to fulfill her sexually, caused a clutch of anxiety in the bottom of his heart. God, how he wanted to be the one to make her happy.

That was why he wouldn’t give in to those pleading eyes and his raging hormones. That was why they had to wait one more night. Everything had to be perfect. Tomorrow night he was pulling out all the stops, unpacking his arsenal, opening his bag of tricks. He was going to make sure she had the sexual experience of a lifetime and return home to New York with treasured memories of Alaska that would never fade.

For some odd reason he felt empty at the thought of her leaving. He’d known from the beginning that this could not be a long-term relationship, that for many reasons they weren’t well suited as a couple, but he’d hardly had any time to get to know her the way he wanted to know her.

“Quinn?” She reached up and traced his lips with a finger. “Is something wrong?”

Wrong? Oh, only that he was holding an exquisite angel in his arms and soon he would have to let her go. He feared that consummating their passion, joining their bodies and taking their relationship to the highest physical level would make things that much harder.

And yet, he could not, would not, let her down, even if it meant getting hurt himself. She was worth the sacrifice. He would award her all he had to give.

“Nothing.” He smiled. No point tormenting himself over something that could not be changed. “Just planning tomorrow night.”

She curled against his body. “I can’t wait,” she whispered, “to see what you’ve prepared for me.”

Oh, boy. The pressure was on, and somehow, he would rise to the challenge. But how could he provide Kay with what she needed while at the same time keeping himself from falling head over heels in love?

“Kiss me again,” she whispered. “Just kissing and nothing else.”

How could he refuse that?

Kay sighed into his mouth. This man was so powerful and yet so tender. He was controlled and yet willing to do whatever she asked of him. She’d never met anyone like him.

They lay on the bed together, side by side, his tongue softly exploring her mouth.

In her mind, a vision appeared. She saw him in her mind’s eye as clearly as if it was happening. He was cuddling a sweet newborn baby in the crook of his arm, gazing tenderly into the baby’s face. His hands were bigger than the baby’s tiny head. The explicit contrast was startling.

He would make a wonderful father.

Kay opened her eyes, stared at Quinn, who was looking right at her. Why was she picturing him as a father? Why was she thinking about babies? When she’d been with Lloyd, she’d barely given babies a second thought. Oh, she supposed she wanted a child someday. But she’d been too consumed with her career, too unimpressed with Lloyd to spend much time fantasizing about babies. Now, in a sudden rush, all those maternal feelings she’d suppressed came to the forefront of her mind, confusing the hell out of her.

She couldn’t have him. She could never be the kind of wife he needed, so why daydream about having his baby? She pulled away from him, disturbed by her feelings.

“What’s wrong?” His husky words clobbered her thoughts, demanded entry into the part of her she kept most private—her heart.

She struggled for her famous Freemont control, tried to force her features into expressionless lines.

And failed miserably.

She couldn’t keep dragging that tired facade over her face, couldn’t keep hiding her true feelings.

Quinn reached out and gently massaged her shoulder. “Tell me, sweetheart, have I done something wrong?”

In that moment Kay lost it completely, and to her horror, she began to cry.

“What is it?” Alarmed, Quinn sat up. His heart thundered. What had he done wrong? He gathered her to his chest. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “It’s just that no one man has ever treated me so gently, so kindly.”

He squeezed her tight. “Well, darling, your luck has just changed.”

Concern for her, and another emotion he wasn’t quite ready to name, filled his chest. He searched for the right words to say, to tell her how special she was, when the beeper he wore for fire-call emergencies went off.

THEY CAREENED down the street, headed for the fire. Kay’s blood was pumping through her veins like Freon. Quinn had agreed to take her along as a journalist as long as she promised to stay clear of the fire. He gripped the steering wheel in his hands, his gaze focused intently on the icy road in front of them. Through the two-way radio mounted on the dash, he was in touch with the other firefighters and had learned that Millie Peterson’s house was on fire.

Millie, Quinn told her, was an eighty-five-year-old widow who lived just outside Bear Creek. She’d grown absentminded of late, and he worried that maybe she’d forgotten to turn the stove off before she went to bed. He gave the truck more gas and took the curve far too fast. Kay, thankful for her seat belt, gripped the armrest and prayed that Millie was all right.

Quinn braked to a stop outside a small, two-story frame house at the same instant that Mack, Jake, Caleb and a couple of other men arrived in the fire truck. Orange flames licked their way across the roof. The acrid smell of smoke consumed the air. Quinn sprinted over to the truck.

Kay got out and watched him quickly and methodically go about the business of putting out a fire. She wanted to help. Needed to keep busy so she wouldn’t worry so much about Quinn and the other firefighters. Glancing around, Kay saw an elderly woman standing on the lawn. She hurried over.

“Millie?” she asked.

The elderly lady, dressed in long johns and a bathrobe, was shivering, her glasses askew on her wrinkled face. Kay whipped off her coat and draped it around Millie’s shoulders.

“Doodles,” Millie cried. “My little doggy, Doodles, is inside.”

“I’ll tell the firemen,” Kay said, and raced over to Quinn, who was breaking out an ax from the back of the truck. “Quinn,” she called to him. He raised his head. “Millie’s dog is inside.”

Quinn glanced toward the house. In the short time they’d been here, the flames had grown taller, arched higher into the night sky. Mack grabbed Quinn’s arm. “Don’t do it, man. The house is about to go.”

“Doodles!” Millie wailed, and wrung her hands.

“I’ve got to try,” Quinn said. “Millie would give up and die if anything happened to that dog.”

“Quinn,” Kay whimpered, “be careful.”

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll be back.” He leaned down and placed a quick kiss on her lips. “I promise.”

While Mack and Jake turned the fire hose on the house, Quinn charged through the front door.

Kay’s heart crammed into her throat and stayed there.

“I’m scared,” Millie said.

Kay surprised herself by confessing, “Me too.” Since coming to Bear Creek, she’d found it easier and easier to express her feelings. She didn’t know if that was good or bad. She only knew that in New York she would never have felt comfortable enough to throw her arm around a frightened little old lady she didn’t know and hug her close.

For what seemed an eternity, Kay and Millie huddled together, waiting. More cars arrived. A crowd gathered. At one point Kay looked around and realized the whole town was here, people running to and fro, doing what they could to help. Someone threw a blanket over her and Millie.

Kay turned to see Meggie standing behind her, a worried expression on her face. Kay nodded.

Meggie reached over, took Kay’s hand and squeezed.

A huge lump of emotion formed in Kay’s throat.

I’m among friends, she realized. Honest-to-gosh friends. Not just people who pretended to like her because she was rich.

Suddenly she felt a part of Alaska, a part of the community, a part of Quinn’s family. But almost as suddenly, her fear quickly pushed aside her quiet feeling of acceptance. Quinn should have been out by now. Where was he?

Just as Jake said, “I’m going in after Quinn,” a form appeared in the doorway of the burning house and Quinn staggered out, something clutched tightly in his arms.

Doodles.

Millie sprang forward to snatch her dog from him, and Kay sprang forward to scoop her smoky, cinder-smeared man into her arms, unmindful of the hubbub surrounding them.

Quinn picked her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

“You’re safe,” she whispered.

“I told you I’d be back,” he said gruffly. “And I always keep my promises.”

“I was so worried, so scared I’d never see you again.”

“Were you really?”

“Of course, you big goof.”

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked.

Tears were streaming down her cheek and she didn’t even realize it until he kissed them gently away.

TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT.

It was six o’clock on Sunday evening as Kay parked the Wagoneer that Quinn’s parents had lent her, then made her way up the frozen walkway. The smell of wood smoke hung in the air. The snow crunched delightfully underfoot.

At last, at last, at last, she mentally chanted.

Underneath her coat she wore a red silk dress, sheer red-tinted stockings, a racy red garter belt and three-inch red stilettos. But in the short distance from the heated car to Quinn’s front door, the icy bite of wind had turned her legs into Popsicles. Alaska in late winter was no place to wear seductive clothing.

But the sexy outfit made her feel ultrafeminine, her gift to Quinn. She hadn’t considered wearing anything else.

Tonight was the night.

He opened the door and let her in.

She tilted her head at him, and the sight of his rugged profile caused a hitch in her breath. He was so handsome, so masculine, so unabashedly male. She couldn’t wait to see him naked. Couldn’t wait to have him inside her.

He caught her watching him and grinned. She looked away but not without holding his gaze for a long moment first. He led her inside to the rug by the fire.

“Sit,” he instructed, then took her coat and went to hang it up. When he returned, he sat beside her.

An awkward silence hung between them for the briefest minute, then they both chuckled at once.

“Your feet look pale.” He said. “Give ’em to me.”

Languidly, as if moving through a pool of pudding, Kay raised her legs and plopped her feet in Quinn’s lap. He slipped off her high heels and tossed them into the corner. The sensation of his warm fingers on her cold toes caused her to hiss in her breath.

He rubbed her feet between his palms. First the left and then the right. “I’d lecture you on dressing warmly,” he said, “but you look so damned sexy in that outfit I’m not saying a word.”

She laughed, pleased at his compliment. He made her feel like a seductive vamp, and she loved the feeling.

“Mmm,” she moaned softly against his tender ministrations, lying back against the stone hearth and closing her eyes. “That feels wonderful.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Dinner’s keeping warm in a Crock-Pot, so we could eat now or whenever you’re ready.”

“Just keep rubbing,” she said, her body going eagerly limp. She amazed herself at how easily she relaxed with Quinn.

His fingers rubbed and kneaded, caressed and massaged. He moved from her feet to her ankles, then up her calf.

“How does this feel?”

“Heavenly.”

“How about this?”

“Ooh, you wicked devil.”

“At your service, angel.”

She thrilled at his words, at the sex in his voice. Her body erupted in a shower of mind-numbing tingles.

“You have gorgeous legs,” he said.

“And you administer a mean foot rub. Your hands are like a touch of silk.”