Lori Wilde - To Alaska, With Love

It was a plan. Taking action made her feel better. She gave the cabby Lloyd’s address and leaned back.

Sighing, she wistfully trailed her fingers over the seat where Quinn had been sitting, the vinyl material warm from the heat of his body. She lowered her head, lifted her collar to her nose and breathed deeply of his scent, still clinging to her blouse.

What a masculine man.

Hair as thick and wavy as a Kansas cornfield. Eyes the color of a cold November sky. Warm, inviting lips that promised so much in that short but sizzling kiss they’d shared. Broad shoulders, honed waist, narrow hips.

Kay moaned under her breath, closed her eyes and pictured him with his shirt off.

He’s splitting logs with an ax, and he’s stripped bare to the waist. It’s summer. Midday. Hot for Alaska.

She’s watching him from a shelter of thick trees. The scent of pine fills her nostrils. Behind him in the distance rises snowcapped mountain peaks. He doesn’t see her. She knows he’s had trouble with hunters poaching his land, and he’s not friendly toward secretive visitors spying on him from the trees.

She shouldn’t be here, but she can’t look away. She can’t even move. Her eyes are transfixed on his exquisite, tanned torso.

His muscular biceps bunch as he swings the ax down in one long, smooth stroke.

Whack!

The ax strikes home with a metallic, hypnotic ring that echoes strangely in the still forest. Shivers of excitement run up her spine.

She licks her lips.

He pauses in his work. Rests one arm against the ax handle, swipes at his forehead with a blue bandanna pulled from the back pocket of his tight, denim jeans.

The sun glints seductively off the sweat beading his chest. A sultry heat settles low in her belly, then fans out like thick fingers, growing, clutching, pressing down on her, until every part of her body pulsates with awareness of his overt maleness.

She shifts her position, lifts her head higher, hoping for a better look. She startles a squirrel, which begins to chatter at her.

The woodsman jerks his head sharply in her direction.

“Who’s there?” he calls out.

Heart racing, she jumps to her feet. She can’t be discovered. No telling what he’ll do to her if he finds her encroaching on his land.

“Show yourself,” he demands.

She whirls around—must get away—and darts through the underbrush.

“Come back here, damn you.”

She hears him crashing through the forest as he thunders after her, but she doesn’t look behind her.

Something snags her blouse. The silky material splits wide open, exposing her bra. Her skirt, too, gets caught on something sharp. She hears the rip. Her clothes hang in tatters, flapping about her skin.

Thud, thud, thud.

He is coming.

Faster, run faster.

She tries, but it’s as if her feet are encased in cement. She’s moving in slow motion. She can hear his breathing as he gets closer.

Her hair streaks out behind her, and her legs churn through the thick carpet of pine needles. She zigzags around trees, leaps over downed logs like a doe fleeing a pursuing rutting buck. She’s heading for the clearing and freedom. Her pulse is pounding, thumping, thrashing madly in her ears.

He’s quick for a big man. So quick. And so very close now. She’s not going to make it.

He tackles her. His arms go around her waist. He pulls her atop him as they fall together.

Then she’s on her back and he’s above her, pinning her arms to the earth with his knees. His breathing is raspy, ragged. There is an angry gleam in his smoldering eyes.

“Who are you?” he commands.

But she can’t answer. She’s so afraid. Her whole body trembles. What’s he going to do to her?

“You were trespassing on my land.”

She nods, fear and a strange feeling she’s never had before pooling in her belly.

“You must be punished.”

She squirms, trying to get free, but his knees hold her fast. She can’t move. Can’t get away. She is captured. His prisoner. Will he require her to be his love slave?

She catches her breath.

He grabs what’s left of her blouse and rips it from her body. Her bra follows, exposing tender breasts. Her chest heaves as she exhales.

His hands, work-roughened and callused, are suddenly gentle as he massages her nipples. “I must teach you a lesson,” he whispers. “You must learn never to spy.”

She whimpers.

He leans over her, takes one nipple into his mouth, and she gasps. He plunders her with his tongue.

The pleasure is beyond description. She writhes beneath him wanting more punishment, more sweet torture....

“Lady—” the cabby’s voice jerked her rudely back to reality “—that’ll be seven-fifty.”

She thrust a ten at him. Dazed and stuffy-headed from her interrupted fantasy, she stumbled out of the taxi.

The doorman greeted her with a smile, and Kay took the elevator to the penthouse and let herself into Lloyd’s apartment. Emotionally exhausted, she dropped her purse on the table in the foyer and kicked off her shoes. This wasn’t going to be easy.

That was when she heard the noises coming from the bedroom. She cocked her head, listening.

Giggles. Moans. Oohs. Ahhs. It sounded like someone having sex.

And not just any sex, but wild, uninhibited, swinging-from-the-chandelier monkey sex.

Bed springs squeaked. The headboard banged. Ka-wham, ka-wham, ka-wham.

“Oh, baby, yeah, you hot stud. Give me all you’ve got. That’s it. That’s right.”

Kay froze. Who was in Lloyd’s apartment having sex? His maid and her boyfriend?

She tiptoed down the hallway, her stocking feet gliding over the cool, terrazzo floor. She should be upset or offended on Lloyd’s behalf; instead, she was weirdly curious. It sounded as if they were having a hell of a time.

His bedroom door stood slightly ajar. Kay pressed her body against the opposite wall of the hallway and angled her head around for a peek. She shouldn’t be doing this, she knew, but she wanted to see how other people made love.

Clothing lay strewn across the carpet, a bra—that looked to be nothing short of a D cup—dangled over the shade of a thousand-dollar antique lamp.

“Faster! Harder!” the woman cried.

Kay inched closer, helpless to stop herself from watching. A man, garbed only in black socks, stood with his back to her, his arms supporting the woman bent over in front of him.

She recognized the man at once. No mistaking that bony behind. Shock jolted through her. It took a moment for her to react, but then Kay kicked the door open wide.

Startled, her wannabe-fiancé turned to gape at her, his body still embedded in the flesh of the buxom redhead in his arms.

“Kay!” he cried in a strangled voice. “What on earth are you doing here?”

* * *

TWO HOURS LATER Kay sat morosely in her darkened kitchen, staring at the crystal salt and pepper shakers that sandwiched a crystal napkin holder and slowly shredding a lace paper doily.

She felt empty inside. Empty, hollow and cold. She hugged herself tightly and clenched her jaw to stay the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks if she dared let them.

It wasn’t so much finding Lloyd with another woman that bothered her. No, what really upset Kay was the cruel words he’d hurled at her as he’d wriggled into his pants.

“I’m glad you caught me, Kay. I’ve hated sneaking around behind your back. But you gave me no choice. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is being with a frigid woman?”

Frigid.

The word reverberated in her head. Was she really frigid? She’d suspected for many years she might be, but to have someone say it to her face caused her more pain than she could have imagined.