A Touch of Silk (9 page)

“The basics?”

“Don’t ask questions.” He reached out a hand to her. “Come here.”

And damn, if she didn’t giggle just a little bit as she slipped off the bar stool and placed her small, soft hand in his. He would have thought such an elegant woman incapable of giggling. He also never thought a giggle could have such a profound effect him.

“Did you bring a change of clothes?” he asked.

“Yes, and that’s been driving me crazy all day. Why did I need a change of clothes?”

“Shh. No questions, remember. I want you to sit here.” He patted the tabletop.

“On the table?”

“Was that a question?”

“My mother would have a fit if she caught me sitting on the table.”

“All the more reason to sit there.”

“You’re sure this is necessary?”

“No questions,” he growled, feigning sternness.

She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oops, forgot. Questions, curse of the journalist. I’m sorry.”

Without warning, he cupped her under the chin with his fingers and forced her gaze upward so she had no choice but to look him squarely in the face. Her eyes were so deep and brown and inquisitive he immediately felt as if he were drowning in a vat of chocolate.

“Trust me.” He could tell this was difficult for her, letting go of control, trusting a man she didn’t know very well. But that was exactly why it was so important for her to do it.

“Okay.” She nodded in agreement, her expression softening. He was stunned by how much she wanted this. Even enough to go against her instincts.

He put his hands around her slender waist and lifted her onto the table. He could see her pulse racing in the hollow of her throat, and the intoxicating sight caused him to stiffen again.

She watched him as he drew the silk tie from his pocket. Her breathing quickened, grew shallower as he slowly ran his hands over the delicate material until he had one end clutched in each fist.

The tip of her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. A glimmer of expectation lit her eyes.

She looked from the tie to his face and back again. She swallowed hard.

“I want to ask a question.”

“No.”

She clenched her jaw. He saw the muscles work beneath her skin.

“You want to know what I’m going to do with this tie. Is that correct?”

She nodded.

“I’m going deprive you of the sense of sight.”

Kay gulped and a tremor passed through her at the wolfish expression in Quinn’s eyes, at the unmistakable feral intent…but she wasn’t scared. Instead, she was very turned on and extremely aware of her body’s heated response—the reckless stagger of her pulse, the incandescent spark that shot through her veins and rooted low in her belly, the sudden dryness in her palms and equally sudden moistness in her most feminine place.

He approached like a lion stalking his prey. Leaning forward, his chest bumped into hers as he secured the tie around her eyes. Her nipples hardened in instant response. How she wished they were naked, with his bare, muscled chest pushed against them.

He secured the tie, cutting off her vision.

Blind. Sightless. And questionless, too. She couldn’t even ask him why he was doing the things he was doing to her. She was at his mercy.

A spark of fear touched her then. Fear and an accompanying thrill. Trust was not her strong suit. She had resided too long in New York. Lived too many years as a Freemont woman. She wasn’t like the Alaskans she’d met, who’d assumed everyone was a friend until proved otherwise.

But she had asked for his help, and he was giving it to her. Too late to back out.

Quinn pressed something into her hand. Her fingers closed around it. She recognized the shape. A metal whistle on a chain.

“Now,” he said, “if you start to feel uncomfortable with anything that happens, I want you to blow this whistle. I’ll stop immediately. But I ask you to bear with me and give it a chance before you resort to the whistle. Once the whistle blows, the evening is over. Understand?”

She nodded, comforted that he’d given her a way out, but determined not to use the whistle, no matter what.

He took the whistle and slipped the chain around her neck. “We start,” he said, “with the sense of taste.”

Her tongue responded to his suggestion. It began to tingle and her mouth watered. She realized her entire body was tensed. Waiting.

She felt him move away from the table, heard the oven door open. Her nose twitched at the bewitching scents. The spicy aroma of barbecue, she recognized. And was that fried chicken?

His footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor as he tromped back over to her. His finger touched her chin, and she parted her bottom lip.

“What is this?” he asked.

She bit into the morsel he offered. “Barbecued ribs.”

“No, go deeper,” he insisted. “What does it taste like?”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Dig, Kay.”

She felt the pressure of his hand on her knees. Sighing with exasperation, she said, “Pork. It tastes like pork ribs.”

“I can see why you have so much trouble with sex. You’re too literal in your thinking.”

“Frankly,” she said, a little annoyed with him, “I don’t see what this has to do with sex.”

“That’s your problem, sweetheart, but don’t worry. Quinn’s here to help.”

She was about to tell him he was acting like a pompous ass when she felt a flutter as his lips brushed her throat. Spicy sparks shot through her system. Okay, maybe she was wrong and he was right about this.

“This is your reward,” he said huskily. “Answer my questions and you get more kisses.”

“Tangy,” she said. “Rich. Full. Smoky. Woodsy. Oaken.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m impressed. See what you can do when you put your mind to it?”

What a heavenly assault! Her senses sung to life and she was aware of everything not visual. Quinn’s musky male smell. The scent of spray starch on his shirt. The pressure of his hand on her shoulder. The hardness of the table beneath her bottom. The flavor of barbecue lingering on her tongue. The faint plunk-plunk-plunk of water droplets from a leaky faucet hitting the bottom of the stainless-steel sink.

From head to toe, her body tingled. Tingled and prickled and quivered.

He pressed something else to her lips. An icy coldness that was a brisk contrast to the warmth of his fingers.

“Ice cube,” she said as he traced her mouth with it. “Cold. Frosty. Tasteless.”

“Stick out your tongue.”

She extended her tongue. He dropped the ice cube onto it.

“Now suck.”

She wrapped her tongue around the ice cube, sucked gently as it melted.

“What does it taste like?”

“No taste.”

“Wrong. Try again. Use your imagination. You’re a writer—I know you’ve got one.”

“It tastes like winter.”

“More.”

“Refreshing. Invigorating. Chilling.”

“I’m very proud of you.” He rewarded her with a rain of kisses, showering her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheeks and chin.

She thrilled to his kisses, exalted in having earned them. She had pleased him. This sensory deprivation was driving her mad. She wanted to rip the tie off so she could see his face, gaze deeply into his eyes.

She reached to undo the tie, but he saw her intent and stilled her hand.

“Oh, no, sweetheart. There’s much more to do. The night is young and we’ve only just begun.”

He fed her more tidbits and made her describe each one in detail. She got into the spirit of the game, and when he gave her salsa guacamole in corn tortillas she exclaimed, “Lime, tequila, sangria, Acapulco sunsets, hot sand, thong bikinis.”

When he handed her a slick, round cob of corn, she bit into it and pronounced, “Crunchy, buttery, hot, salty. Summer. Fireflies. Picnic tables.”

He pushed the sleeve of her sweater to just above the elbow and slowly kissed and nibbled a blazing path up her arm.

“Ah,” he said. “I think I’ve made my point. We move on to the next phase.”

“You’re a wicked man, Quinn Scofield, to torture me so.”

He chuckled. The fertile sound resonated in her ears. She could tell so much from his laughter. She heard passion and kindness, humor and an earthy intelligence.

“Come.”

His fingers reached for hers and he helped her slide off the table. Her feet touched the floor and she realized she was eye level with his chin. She knew her face was decorated with barbecue sauce and corn nibbles and smears of guacamole. She felt like a messy kid.

She reached out a hand to touch him and he stood perfectly still and allowed her to run her fingers over his features the way a blind person might.

Her fingers trailed over to his nose. A sturdy masculine nose that was neither too large or too small, but bent slightly, knocked crooked from playing one too many games of hockey.

From his nose, her fingertips migrated to his mouth. Oh, this was dangerous territory. Firm and wide. Hearty and willing. His lips parted and he licked lightly at her fingertips, sending a blast of high-voltage electricity coursing through her body.

Startled, she jerked her hand away.

He laughed again, delighted with her, and began to clean her with big, wet kisses. His tongue frolicked over her upper lip.

“Mmm,” he said. “You’ve never lived until you’ve slurped barbecue off the face of a beautiful woman.”

“I think I’ll trust you on that one.” She laughed. “What’s next?”

“Dessert, and in the process, we’re going to fully explore the sense of touch.”

“Oh.” She inhaled sharply.

His hand reached for the button on her sweater. She stiffened beside him.

“Relax,” he soothed. “We’ve got to get you out of these messy clothes. Take a long, slow, deep breath.”

She obeyed. What else could she do? She wanted this so much. And yet she felt vulnerable, standing here blindfolded while he got to watch her every move.

Button by button, he undid her sweater, then carefully slid her arms from the sleeves.

He hissed in a breath.

“What?” she asked, then remembered she wasn’t supposed to ask questions.

But this time he answered her. “That black lace bra. It’s giving me a hard-on that won’t quit.”

Heat spread from her neck to her face. Blushing, the scourge of the blonde.

“Any woman who wears the kind of lingerie you wear can’t be frigid. You’ve just been waiting for someone to treasure you.”

To Kay’s horror, she began to cry. Fortunately, she had on the blindfold.

“WHAT’S WRONG?” Quinn asked. He drew her to him, her naked skin pressed against the crispness of his shirt, the metal whistle imprinted below the hollow of her throat. “Did I say something to offend you?”

She shook her head.

“I shouldn’t have made that crack about my hard-on. I just wanted you to know how much you move me.”

“It wasn’t that remark.” She sniffled. “I’m a New Yorker, after all. I hear much worse than that on my walk to work.”

“What is it, then?” He sounded genuinely worried, and his tenderness only exacerbated her emotions.

“No one’s ever treasured me before.” She placed a palm to her mouth and tried to will herself to stop crying.

Her feet left the floor when he clasped her so tightly she could hear the steady lub-dub of his heart. “I know, baby, I know.”

And then he just held her for the longest moment.

“Maybe we should call it a night,” he said, gently easing her back down to the floor. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No,” she said. “I want to continue.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, and imagined she looked pretty incongruous standing there in a blindfold, black lace bra and her black denim jeans.

“I wasn’t going to do this yet, but I can’t help myself.” The next thing she knew he was on his knees in front of her kissing her belly and easing down the zipper on her jeans.

Kay caught her breath. So this was it. They were going to make love on the kitchen floor. Couldn’t get much wilder than that. She thought back on some of the articles she had written for Metropolitan. Articles on spontaneity. Well, for once she was about to practice what she preached.

Once her pants were undone, Quinn placed a hand on either side of her and slowly began to nudge the thick material down over the curve of her hips.

“More sexy underwear.” He groaned when he spied her black thong. “You’re going to propel me over the brink, woman.”

His comment filled her with elation. She liked that she had the power to literally bring him to his knees. She had never held such control over Lloyd. He had acted as if her body was nothing special. In fact, he often prodded her to lose weight, and for heaven’s sake, at five-five she only weighed 115 pounds.

But Quinn seemed to relish her curves, and his appreciation made her feel like a goddess.

“Step out of your pants,” he instructed when he’d pooled the material around her ankles.

Trembling, she did as he asked. She still wore her boots and her underwear. Would he make love to her with her boots on? She found the thought incredibly erotic.

What now? What would come next? Her mind sprinted ahead of her body, imagining them coiled in the throes of sex, the hardwood floor pressing into her back.

But then he surprised her yet again by taking her hand and leading her through the house.

“I’m going to push you right to the edge,” he growled in her ear, “and then pull you back before you tumble over.”

She gasped, heard him open a door and felt a gust of frigid air. He was taking her outside!

He opened another door and a moist, heated blast washed over her. She smelled cedar and dampness. He closed the door behind them.

“My sauna.” He directed her to sit on a bench.

Her skin came alive. It seemed separate from the rest of her, as if it were a living, breathing organism all its own. Goose bumps piled up. Everything she touched was greatly magnified. The rough feel of the cedar bench, the damp heat draping over her body, the soft silk of the tie binding her eyes.

“I’ll be right back with dessert,” he whispered, his lips on her ear. “Don’t go anywhere.”

She sat in total silence for a moment, soaking in the experience, reassuring herself that this was indeed happening to her, that she wasn’t caught in the sleepy midst of one of her explosive fantasies.

The door snapped open again. Quinn pressed something into her hand. “For you.”

Her fingers were wrapped around an ice-cream cone. Kay laughed. Ice cream in a sauna?

“Hold mine a minute.” He handed her a second cone and stepped away from her.

Her ears, attuned to the slightest nuance in sound, pricked up when she heard the whisper of material and realized he was getting undressed. Not being able to see him catapulted her excitement into overdrive, and she found herself growing hotter and wetter than the sauna itself. When he finally settled himself on the bench beside her, it seemed as if her heart had ceased beating.

Waiting.

Perspiration pearled around her collarbones, trickled down her chest. The silence was deafening.

“Thanks for holding my cone.”

He took it from her. By now, her ice cream was melting in a sticky stream down her wrist.

“Oops,” he said. “Let me lick that off for you.”

He flicked his tongue around her wrist and Kay groaned. Then she felt something cold plop onto her breast.

“Sorry, lost the top of my cone.”

Then his tongue was on her skin just above her cleavage, and he was licking with mad abandon.

“Gotta eat it all up before it melts,” he gasped.

He went back and forth in rapid motion, first feasting at her breasts, then sucking on her gooey fingers. Kay was mad with the sensation of his hot, wet, sticky tongue seemingly everywhere at the same time. She dropped her cone. It hit the floor with a soft crunch, but she didn’t care. She was drowning, falling, dripping into a pool of crazy agitation.

“I want a taste!” she cried.

So he kissed her on the lips, his mouth full of ice cream.

“Mmm, chocolate,” she cooed. “No wait—vanilla? Strawberry?”

“Neopolitan.”

“Ah. That explains the mix of flavors.”

His gooey hands were on her shoulders, then her stomach. Damn this blindfold! She wanted to see him, wanted to watch what he was doing with that awesome tongue.

But then he stopped licking.

“What’s wrong?” she whimpered.

“Damn,” he said, disappointment winding through the timbre of his voice. “The ice cream is all gone, and we’re running out of steam.”

Quinn shifted off the bench, and she heard the sound of water being poured over the hot lava rocks. Hiss. Sizzle. Fresh steam rose and rolled over her skin, muggy as summertime in New Orleans. He returned to his seat beside her but said nothing.

Kay waited.

And tried to imagine what he looked like naked.

She wanted to ask what they were waiting for, but he’d warned her not to ask questions, and she was determined to play the game his way.

Finally she couldn’t stand the tension any longer. She reached out. Her hand collided with his forearm. Ah, those forearms that stoked an instant flame inside her. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, crushed his arm hairs now damp with humidity beneath the palm of her hand.

“Quinn, I want you,” she whispered.

“Then come here.”

He took her by the waist and lifted her onto his naked lap. She straddled him, his incredibly hard erection caught between their naked bellies.

“Oh!” she exclaimed because she could not think of one single thing to say to express her feelings. “Oh.”

“See what you do to me, woman?” He leaned close to growl in her ear.

Quinn cupped the sweet curve of her lush bottom left exposed by those dental-floss-size panties and pulled her even closer.

She made a little noise, soft and low, and the sound drilled a hole straight through his gut. She settled her hands on his shoulders. Her lovely breasts overflowed the lace of her low-cut bra. Like flags of pink velvet, her jaunty nipples peeked out above the delicate fabric gone soggy from the sauna.

Quinn wanted to seize her right then and there. Wanted to lower her onto his throbbing shaft and give her the ride of her life.

Control, he warned himself. This night was about Kay’s pleasure, not his own. He was going to drag this out as long as humanly possible. He was helping her explore her erogenous zones so that when she did finally climax, it would be like scaling Mount Everest, thrilling, incomparable, the experience of a lifetime and thoroughly earned.

Damn, but he should have spent some private time in the shower before he picked her up. Mentally steeling himself against the growing pressure inside him, Quinn dipped his head and suckled first one perky nipple and then the other.

Her fingers flew to his hair and knotted there as if she was anchoring herself in place. She wriggled and squirmed and writhed against him.

“Experience this with your skin,” he instructed in a voice choked with lust. “Focus on what you’re feeling. Tell me about it.”

“Hot,” she gasped. “Utterly hot.”

“And?”

“Wet and slick and slippery.”

“More.”

“Mucky, sticky, spongy.”

“Yes.”

“Squishy, sloppy, soggy.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Pervaded, persuaded, invaded.”

“Go, go.”

“Drenched, saturated, undone.” She was breathing heavily, her breasts rising and falling with each ragged pant. The tail end of the tie, soaked with steam and perspiration, trailed down her slender shoulders.

“Burning!” she cried. “Sweating, sweltering, ablaze.”

A strand of hair was plastered to her forehead. He would never have believed the cool, sophisticated woman he’d met at the offices of Metropolitan magazine could be so completely wanton. And so totally delicious.

Quinn loved it.

Man alive, how he loved it.

He had to grit his teeth and clench his fists to keep from tearing off that scrap of panty and piercing her through with his pulsating sword. The instinct to sheathe himself deep inside her was primitive. If he didn’t get her out of here quickly, he’d mangle everything he was building toward.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Wh…what?” She bobbed her head at him, raised a hand to her tie.

“Leave it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Hush.” He tugged her off his lap, her booted feet bumping lightly into his shins.

“But Quinn…” she protested.

He didn’t give her a chance; he just dragged her from the sauna and plunged them, steam rising from their bodies, into the cold, cold night. The air was brisk, the northern sky filled with dancing light. Quinn realized with a start that Kay wasn’t the only one having her senses put through the paces. The moment seemed utterly surreal. Like something from an erotic fantasy poem.

Holding hands, they ran together through the snow. He pulled up short beside the house and leaped with her into a snowbank.

“Omigosh!” Kay exclaimed. “This is absolutely exhilarating. Like a splash of cold water on a muggy August afternoon in Manhattan.”

Her skin had pinked, her cheeks flushed red. A huge grin decorated her face, and the sight of her joy tugged at Quinn’s heartstrings.

Watch out, Scofield! You’re treading on thin ice here. She’s not available. She’s on the rebound.

“I’m floored,” Kay said, apparently invigorated by the experience. “Completely floored.”

“Enough,” Quinn said. “We don’t want to get frostbite.”

“How could you get frostbite from something that feels so lovely?”

“Trust me on this.” He struggled to his feet, his arousal gone, and reached down to help her from the snowbank.

“You’re amazing,” she said.

“Me?” He speared her with his eyes, raked his gaze over her body. “I don’t think so.”

She wagged a finger at him. “Oh, yes, you are.”

“Let’s get you inside, Miss Eskimo. I’m beginning to think the cold has gone to your head.” Feeling inexplicably protective, he placed a hand to her back and swept her up the walk beside him.

She was shivering so hard her teeth were clattering by the time he got her to the fireplace. He wrapped her snugly in a quilt and seated her on the hearth. “Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll be right back with a hot toddy.”

Before going to the kitchen, he hurried to his bedroom and pulled on red nylon jogging shorts and a T-shirt that said, “Mountain Climbers Never Die, They Just Reach Their Peak.” He wasn’t cold; he did the sauna-snowbank thing on a regular basis, but he didn’t want Kay to see him naked. Not yet.

A few minutes later he settled a mug of Irish coffee in her hands and untied the blindfold.

She blinked up at him, the firelight reflecting the golden strands of her disheveled hair. Her mascara had smeared a little, causing her eyes to look wide despite their slightly almond shape.

He liked her like this, Quinn realized. Mussed and rumpled and smiling. Bang, bang, bang, went his heart.

“What?” she asked. “Or am I still not allowed to ask questions?”

“Game over,” he said. “And I was just shaking my head in amazement at how beautiful you are.”

She raised a hand to her head. “Yuck! My hair’s all clumpy with melted ice cream. I must look like a bachelor pad at 4 a.m. on New Year’s Day.”