A Thrill To Remember

Chapter 16

Epilogue

1

WHO WAS THAT masked woman?

Spellbound, Caleb Greenleaf watched the auburn-haired lady in red strut through the front door of the Bear Creek, Alaska, community center and into the rowdy, masked costumed ball hosted by New York City’s trendiest women’s magazine, Metropolitan.

“Red, hot and rockin”’ he muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes and studying her more closely in the muted, atmospheric lighting.

Tall. Curvy in all the right places. Good legs.

Correction. Very, very good legs.

In fact, showcased so fetchingly in those four-inch, heartbreaker-red stilettos, they might even be the most stupendous pair of gams he’d ever clamped eyes upon.

The tight, scarlet bustier she wore snugged her luscious body like a second skin. The satiny material flared out provocatively over those generous curves before nipping in again at her narrow waist.

Below the bustier she had on crimson tap pants that barely covered her bodacious bottom. Then came vermilion fishnet stockings topped with a black lace garter that set his pulse charging like a stampeding bison. She was as vibrant as a Vegas showgirl and three times as sexy.

The term brick house permeated his brain.

He recognized the lingerie. Had seen similar attire at Dolly’s House, a brothel museum in Ketchikan, gracing the voluptuous wax figure of Alaska’s most notorious gold-rush madam, Klondike Kate.

What a costume.

What a body.

What a woman!

Who was she?

Brazenly, Caleb ogled, not the least bit ashamed of himself, which wasn’t like him at all. No hound dog, he. In fact, he was leaning against the wall in the insouciant slouch he’d carefully perfected for unwanted social occasions such as this.

An introvert by nature, he found his job as a naturalist for the state of Alaska suited his personality. Caleb spent a great deal of his time alone, in the outdoors, and he treasured his freedom. He avoided big parties, but since he was one of the guests of honor, he couldn’t steer clear of this shindig. Even though townspeople, husband-hungry wannabe brides, curious tourists and an assortment of media types packed the community center, he was suddenly very glad he had come.

Just inside the foyer, she hesitated. He observed her make the conscious decision to proceed in spite of her fear. She squared her shoulders, pasted a smile on her luscious lips and sallied forth. That split second of vulnerability, followed by her resolute marshaling of courage, touched him in an oddly tender way, and he almost applauded.

In she stalked. Boom-shaka-boom-shaka-boom. Her breasts bounced jauntily.

Wowza!

Watching her bottom sway caused Caleb’s body to tighten, his temperature to spike and his breathing to quicken. A seething longing gripped his gut. In conjunction, the wistful flavor of yearning burned on his tongue. He wanted her. Badly.

She aroused him with the stunning impact of blunt force trauma. No woman had aroused him quite like this since the object of his very horny teenage fantasies—Meggie Scofield.

He grinned crookedly at that memory. At one time he’d been so infatuated with his best friend’s sister Caleb had thought he would never get her out of his head. And unfortunately, Meggie, who was two years older, had never seen him as anything more than a surrogate kid brother. It had taken both a stint in college and his stepbrother Jesse marrying Meggie for him to let go of his youthful obsession.

As the last of the four Bear Creek Bachelors who had advertised for wives in Metropolitan magazine, Caleb had just about surrendered all hope of finding someone who inflamed him in the same way Meggie once had. But then, out of the clear azure sky, in marched sexy Klondike Kate, piquing his interest and stirring long dormant passions.

Was she a tourist? He knew everyone in town. She certainly wasn’t a local. Maybe she was with the magazine.

He couldn’t stop staring at her. She sashayed over to the bar, ordered a glass of wine and started chatting up the bartender. Lucky bastard.

Look at me, Caleb willed her. Forget that joker and look at me.

As if compelled by his silent entreaty, she raised her head and glanced across the room.

Their gazes clashed like lightning striking. Hot. Intense. Compelling.

Heavy-duty.

Her eyes widened behind the showy red-feathered mask that hid the upper portion of her face. She moistened her lips with the tip of her pink tongue and Caleb just about came undone. In an instant, his overactive imagination transported him to a world of his own making.

She’s splayed spread-eagle across his big, king-size bed in that daring damned underwear.

“Come here,” she invites.

He’s out of his clothes and beside her quicker than you can melt butter in a microwave.

She kisses him with a vital pressure, thrusting her honeyed tongue against his. Heat rushes to his groin, whetting his voracious appetite.

He unhooks her bustier, allows it to fall open and expose her full, creamy breasts. When he growls low in his throat, she closes her eyes and softly coos, “Help yourself.”

Bending his head, he takes one budded pink nipple into his warm mouth. She hisses drawing in a breath. Desire shoots through him. She encourages him to continue by holding his head in place.

“Harder,” she whimpers. “Don’t be gentle.”

Reaching down, she runs her hand over the length of his shaft, greedily signaling to him exactly what she needs. Her fingers tangle with the leather strings on his pants and she gives a series of short firm jerks that send a shower of sparks scorching through his groin.

He is beside himself with cravings for this marvelous creature. He could take her right here, right now, with no thoughts except to quench his undying thirst for her. But he doesn’t. He wants her to be as desperate for him as he is for her.

Hungrily, he cups her breasts together, filling his palms, so he can easily drift from one to the other with a quick flick of his tongue.

Her moans almost send him over the edge of reason, plunging him headfirst into a world of sensation of which he has only dreamed.

Pure heaven.

He feels himself grow stiffer, not even realizing such hardness was possible. His brain is addled by the sweet scent of her womanhood, the luxurious touch of her hair, the heavenly taste of her skin, the hypnotic sound of her voice.

More. He had to have more.

“Hey, guy.” A lithesome brunette dressed as Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, sidled up to him and shattered his reverie.

“Yes,” he replied rather curtly. Gee thanks, lady, for interrupting the grandest fantasy I’ve had in years.

“Ooh, the dark, brooding type. My favorite.” She circled her index finger around the rim of her champagne glass and batted her eyelashes at him.