A Thrill To Remember

But now she was paralyzed, intoxicated by the smoldering nearness of this stranger. He stood so close his spicy cologne filled her nostrils with the bracing combination of orange zest, piquant cinnamon and rich licorice. He smelled like a holiday feast.

Anticipation, charged and fiery, crackled between them. Adrenaline shot through her veins, prickled her sensitive skin, seeped beneath the auburn wig she wore over her coal-black tresses.

Who was he? And why did he seem so fascinated with plain ordinary Meggie Scofield, when a man like him could have any available woman in the room?

It’s the costume, ninny.

Disquieting heat waves shimmered through her body as his fingers tripped down her spine. She shivered and shifted away from him.

“Hold still,” he murmured in a low Spanish accent so erotically seductive it caused the fine hairs at the nape of her neck to lift. “I fear sudden movement will render your beautiful garment worthless.”

“Sorry.”

“No reason to apologize.”

Her heart hammered restlessly. His leather-clad hip was level with her shoulder. She dropped her gaze to his knee-length, shiny leather riding boots, and had to force herself not to shiver again.

For some reason she could not fathom, Meggie envisioned rubbing her fingers over the soft, fluid folds of his silky white shirt. The unexpected image sent goose bumps skittering up her arm, and the budded tips of her breasts stiffened against the lace of her bustier.

She gulped.

This whole moment felt weirdly surreal, as if she were moving in slow motion through a favorite recurring dream. When she was younger her secret fantasies had been chockful of ferociously naughty characters like Don Juan. Rock stars and motorcycle men. Pirates and Vikings and irascible black sheep. But those days were gone. She’d had her fill of rogues, and she was finished with living vicariously through risk-taking men.

She wanted her own adventures.

Except her body wasn’t listening to her mind’s vehement denial.

“There,” he pronounced. “You are free.”

Meggie leaped from the chair, almost careening into him in an urge to remove herself from his disconcerting proximity.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Unable to resist peeking, she shot him a sidelong glance. The intense blue eyes lurking behind his black leather mask rocked her, upsetting her equilibrium.

“You’re most welcome.”

He kept his voice low, and she wondered if the Spanish accent was real or if it was simply perfected for his Don Juan persona. She remembered then that she was supposed to be in character, too, and she should be speaking with the bawdy, teasing drawl of Klondike Kate. But bowled over by her body’s unexpected response to this stranger, she couldn’t force herself to speak above a whisper.

Whoever this guy might be in real life, in costume he was a dead ringer for the infamous Spaniard. Had he chosen his costume because he was indeed a masterful lover?

He caught her watching him, and Meggie’s stomach fluttered. Deliberately, he raised a hand and slowly traced an index finger over his pencil thin mustache in a surprisingly intimate gesture.

Her gaze darted from his eyes to his mouth and back again and her chest squeezed.

Look away! Look away!

But she could not.

His audacious gaze collided head-on with hers. Smoldering, fervent, deeply blue. He possessed the sort of eyes to make any woman tremor with sexual anticipation. Eyes that promised a thousand taboo pleasures.

He didn’t smile; his expression remained one of inexplicable containment. His lips were full; his jawline solidly masculine.

Who was he?

There was something incredibly powerful about the secrecy of his masquerade. Was the man beneath the mask just as potentially explosive as he appeared?

His masculine aura of supreme self-confidence seduced her, while at the same time made her extremely skittish. Her heart galloped and she did, indeed, tremble. Meggie hated the torturous, achy sensation and the helpless vulnerability that such potent physical attraction implied.

“You are cold.”

Say something flip and flirty. Something Klondike Kate would say, the voice in the back of her head urged.

But overwhelmed by this man and her body’s response to him, she couldn’t find her tongue.

He whipped off the black cape from around his neck and settled it over her shoulders. At the simple pressure of his hands, Meggie’s heart popped.

“There.” He stepped back. “Warmer?”

“Much,” she croaked. The cloak smelled of him, all delicious spice, rugged leather and masculine male.

He was staring at her again, and everywhere his gaze roamed, her body burned.

Helplessly, she found herself imagining his fingers traversing the same ground his eyes had just traveled. Her breasts engorged with heated desire. She was very aware of him as a virile, potent man.

Disconcerted, she stared down at her feet and realized to her chagrin she was wearing only one shoe.

Good grief, why had she just now noticed that? What was the matter with her?

Why didn’t he say something?

Why didn’t she?

Meggie glanced around the room, desperate to distract herself from the intensity of his scrutiny. The community center was crowded with tourists and townspeople alike, everyone decked out for the lavish, end-of-summer masked costume ball. Excitement and mystery tinged the atmosphere as everyone tried to guess who was who.

The costume theme was “notorious characters from history,” and guests wore a wide variety of attire, from Attila the Hun to Bonnie and Clyde.

Animated conversations buzzed around her. A cavalcade of delicious scents wafted from the buffet—onions, garlic, rosemary, freshly baked bread, a banquet for the senses. Liam Kilstrom, the disc jockey from KCRK—the local radio station her parents owned—spun a kicky, raucous song by Pink that had everyone on their feet. But Meggie couldn’t seem to focus on anything except the perplexing pull of the exotic masked stranger and his unwavering stare.

She wished he would cut it out.

Now she could say she knew exactly how a goldfish felt.

Exposed.

He leaned over, picked up her orphaned shoe and indicated her bare foot with a nod. “May I?”

Numbly, Meggie plunked back down in the chair and extended her leg.