A Thrill to Remember (2 page)

Heart thudding, he hurried over, boldly leaned down, pressed his mouth to her ear and heard himself whisper in a debonair Spanish accent that sounded nothing like his natural voice, “Please, allow me. It would be my greatest honor to assist you.”

DON JUAN’S MANLY HANDS rested on her bare back, his fingers finessing the hook of her bustier.

Meggie Scofield caught her breath, stunned that the drop-dead gorgeous man in the black leather mask who had been staring so blatantly at her ever since she strolled into the community center was touching her in a most intimate fashion and causing a frisson of heat to spread fanlike over her tender flesh.

No. No. This was much too soon. The guy was more than she had bargained for. She wasn’t ready for this much masculine attention.

It had taken every ounce of courage she possessed—plus generous encouragement from her friends and a hefty quaff of chardonnay—to stroll into the party wearing this skimpy outfit. If she hadn’t been so darned determined to shed her goody-goody image she wouldn’t have made it this far.

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.

Don Juan sank to one knee, cupped her heel in his palm and, like Prince Charming with Cinderella, gently slipped the scarlet shoe onto her foot.

The warmth from his hand was too much. She felt as if she’d slipped into a vat of melted chocolate.

He stood. Unbidden, her gaze tracked a path down the length of him. His body was hard and lean and muscular. A honed body that spoke of time spent outdoors, not lingering behind some desk.

Impressive.

He was a provocative specimen, from his thick unruly black hair, which contrasted starkly with the pristine white of his collar, to his broad-shouldered torso that tapered down to the narrow waistband of those exquisite leather pants.

This was way too much excitement for one night. This evening was supposed to be her coming-out party. The first time she had attended a public function since her divorce six months earlier. The first time she’d done anything remotely social since taking a leave of absence from her job as a pediatric nurse in Seattle.

She’d returned to Bear Creek under the auspices of helping her mother while she recovered from ankle surgery. But in truth, Meggie had come back to the safety of her hometown in order to regroup and lick her wounds.

She refused to get trapped in a rebound situation. She wasn’t about to repeat her past mistakes by falling headlong for some totally inappropriate guy.

You could just have a wild affair.

Impossible.

She felt her face heat at the very suggestion. Meggie Scofield was not a wild affair kinda gal. She was too sensible, too responsible and too darned cautious to leap without looking.

One thing was clear. Because she couldn’t seem to trust her own emotions, she had to get away from this guy. Fast.

Grabbing her clutch purse, which had slipped into the crack behind the chair cushion, she jerked a thumb in the direction of the ladies’ room.

In a tight whisper she stammered, “I’m gonna…I just gotta…go.”

A smile curled his lips, as if her nervousness amused him. He looked as if he might say something else, but Meggie didn’t wait to hear it. She darted from the chair and made a beeline for the bathroom, her heart pounding as it never had before.

SEVERAL MINUTES LATER her three best friends found her hiding out in the ladies’ lounge, head tucked between her knees as she tried not to hyperventilate.

“Meggie! Are you okay?” Kay Freemont Scofield, Meggie’s new sister-in-law, settled herself on the sofa next to her and draped an arm around her shoulder.

Woefully, Meggie raised her head. “Fine if you consider a five-alarm hot flash fine.”

“Does it have anything to do with that hottie in the Don Juan costume we saw you talking to?” Classy, native New Yorker Kay looked stunning in her Mata Hari costume. Then again Kay, a Charlize Theron look-alike, would be stunning in a tow sack.

“Certainly not. I just got overheated in that crowded room.”

“Don Juan looks like he could definitely steam up the sheets. Need an ice pack?” Sassy Sadie Stanhope, dressed as Marie Antoinette, wriggled her eyebrows and parked her fanny in front of the vanity mirror to freshen up her makeup.

“No,” Meggie declared, reluctant to admit her helpless attraction. But then she ruined her nonchalant pose by asking, “Do you know who he is?”

“Nope.” Kay shook her head. “But he is adorable.”

Adorable? That wasn’t a label Meggie would have chosen for that studly slab of manhood. Her heel still burned from his touch.

Reaching over, Cammie Jo Lockhart rubbed Don Juan’s silk cloak between her fingers. “Cool cape. Did you two play superhero and damsel in distress?”

“Don’t be silly, I did not play anything with that man. I was cold. He lent me his cape. End of story.”

“Wait a minute. I thought you said you were overheated.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?” Cammie Jo grinned.

“Before Mr. Hot-Bod draped his cape over her shoulders.” Sadie measured off an inch with her thumb and forefinger. “Come on, Megs, are you sure you’re not just the teeniest bit interested in him?”

Meggie shook her head. “Okay. So the man is sexy. Big deal. I’ll tell you what the real problem is—this costume. I told you guys it was a big mistake. I look like some third-rate hooker. He probably thought I was a hooker.”

She got up to lean over Sadie’s head and peer at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Kay had helped her get ready for the party, and she’d spread enough makeup on Meggie’s face to frost a cake.

But at the same time she was protesting, a quiet thrill of pleasure rippled through Meggie. She had managed to attract the attention of a very handsome man. Still, in this racy disguise she felt like an inexperienced driver behind the wheel of a souped-up muscle car.

So much flash. So much power.

So darned much potential for disaster, whispered her voice of reason.

The same confounded voice that had kept her tied to outmoded values for far too many years. The same stick-in-the-mud voice she had desperately tried to quell when she had allowed her friends to talk her into this outrageous costume.

“Don’t be silly,” Kay said matter-of-factly. “Klondike Kate is the perfect alter ego, and you look fabulous in that bustier.”

Meggie twirled, the cape whirling about her waist as she peeked over her shoulder at the mirror. She sighed. “It makes my butt look big.”

“Stop cutting yourself down,” Kay said. “You’ve got a great figure.”

“Not according to Jesse,” she muttered blackly, narrowing her eyes at the reflection of her well-rounded bottom.

“Oh, screw Jesse.”

“Not anymore, thank you very much. I’ll leave that to the eighteen-year-old groupies,” Meggie said in a tart tone that caused Sadie and Cammie Jo to lapse into gales of laughter.

“As well you should.” Kay nodded.

Jesse’s leaving hadn’t hurt nearly as much as his cruel parting shot. He had told her point-blank she was a lousy lay and that’s why he had been forced to stray from their marriage bed.

“Face it, Meggie. You’re a dud in the sack,” he had said, lashing out at her. “Sock puppets are more fun than you.”

Meggie winced at the memory. His words hurt because they were true. She wasn’t very adventuresome when it came to sex, and she’d always preferred snuggling to the actual act. Not that her ex had been much of a cuddler.

Kay, Sadie and Cammie Jo had rallied around, just as they were now, helping her through the rough spots with too much chocolate and lots of laughter. Most surprisingly, and most comforting of all, however, was the support she’d gotten from Jesse’s stepbrother, Caleb.

Caleb was such a sweet guy, concerned that she might be humiliated or worried that the rest of the family thought ill of her. He had come to see her at her parents’ house right after he’d found out about the divorce, just to assure her that everyone understood and sympathized with her.

“You’ve got to stop judging yourself on what other people think,” Sadie advised, “and find your authentic self.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil.”

“Sadie’s right. You are much too good for Jesse’s sorry ass.” Kay picked up on Meggie’s sadness.

In a moment of weakness, she had confessed to Kay the whole sordid details of their breakup, which included finding black thong panties that definitely weren’t hers dangling from the kitchen ceiling fan.

“You shouldn’t let him squash your self-esteem. If I can come out of my shell, so can you,” Cammie Jo said. After meeting her husband-to-be, bush pilot Mack McCaulley, she had recently been through a startling transformation of her own.

“Cammie Jo makes an excellent point.” Sadie nodded. “You need to reclaim your womanhood. Declare your independence. Redefine your sexuality. It’s way past time you started to live a little.”

Live a little.

Just the mention of those three short words caused Meggie’s heart to flutter with anticipation. She thought of Don Juan and her stomach did cartwheels. Did she have the guts to go back out there and start a conversation with him?

A conversation that might lead to…where?

An edginess nibbled at Meggie, challenging her to do something forbidden. She felt concurrently hot and cold and bizarrely excited.

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” Kay said.

“I’m not much of a flaunter.”

“It’s time you started. You’ve spent too much of your life taking care of other people. Your mother’s ankle has healed. You’re going back home to Seattle tomorrow to begin your new life as a single woman. What better time to start taking care of numero uno than right this minute?”

Kay spoke words of wisdom, but Meggie felt uncomfortable admitting her vulnerability. She was a nurse. She was supposed to be the strong, reliable one. She blew off her shortcomings with a laugh, pretending a sharp sticker of emotional pain did not skitter low in her belly.

It wasn’t so much sadness over Jesse’s betrayal. Truth be told, she was relieved to be out of the unhappy union. Their marriage had died long before the divorce; she just hadn’t had the gumption to bring it to its natural conclusion.

Rather, the tight coil of anxiety resulted from realizing she’d wasted so much time trying to be what Jesse had wanted her to be in order to hang on to something that wasn’t right in the first place.

A nurturer by nature, she’d never put her own needs first. Meggie had spent her entire life looking after others in one way or another. As a kid, she had taken in every stray animal she had stumbled across, and she’d helped her mother care for her invalid grandmother. As an adult, her natural ease in providing moral, emotional and physical support had led to a career in nursing, which was a source of constant pride.

Unfortunately, her need to be needed had also led her into an unsatisfactory marriage. She’d fallen for Jesse because he was everything she was not. Lively, animated, adventuresome, freewheeling. He played in a hip-hop band, drove fast cars and was always surrounded by people.

She had mistakenly believed he could give her the courage she lacked, while at the same time convincing herself she could offer him stability and security. She’d been drawn to the fact that he’d needed her, but not long after their wedding, the problems surfaced.

All too clearly now, she could see her mistakes.

What she’d once perceived as Jesse’s ability to take life nice and easy was in actuality irresponsibility. He was always on the road, leaving her at home to take care of everything—the bills, the house, the cars. She’d been as good as single for the past five years, but without the freedom to choose for herself what kind of life she really wanted.

“Remember,” Kay said, uncannily reading her mind. “The best revenge is a life well lived. Come on, Meggie. Let your hair down. Don’t be ashamed to explore.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Sounded good, anyway.

“This is your chance. You’ve been stagnating and you need something to snap you out of the doldrums. Don’t be nervous about spreading your wings. Now is the time to fly.” Sadie threw in her two cents worth.

Why not? Under the protection of her Klondike Kate guise, Meggie could flirt with Don Juan to her heart’s content. No one in Bear Creek, other than her three friends, would ever know whose face lurked behind the red-feathered mask. She was anonymous.

Why that thought should thrill her so, she had no idea, but it did.

She would flirt with Don Juan and dance with him.

And?

Who knew? She might do something totally out of character for her, like make out with the guy in a darkened alcove.

Live a little.

Take a chance.

Carpe diem.

Just the idea of taking a walk on the wild side caused her throat to constrict and her palms to perspire.

“Go back out there and flirt with Don Juan,” Kay insisted. “You’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Yeah,” Sadie agreed. “What’s the worst that can happen? He has no idea who you really are. Play the game. Have fun. You deserve it.”

“And just in case…” Kay opened her Gucci handbag and produced a roll of condoms.

“Kay!” Scandalized, Meggie slapped a hand over her mouth. She had never in her life had a one-night stand. Did she dare start now?

“Always be prepared.” Kay grinned and slipped the condoms into Meggie’s purse.

“I don’t need those. I’m not going to be doing anything like that.”

“You never know what might pop up.” Kay winked. “Better safe than sorry.”

Meggie nibbled her bottom lip. She was very open to suggestion right now—susceptible, vulnerable, fragile—and she knew it.

But that knowledge couldn’t quell her long-ignored need to shake up her complacent world. She would take Jesse’s betrayal and use it as a stepping-stone to a whole new Meggie. Why not?

And here were her dear friends, supporting her, encouraging her, egging her on with their spunky you-go-girl attitude. They recognized that she needed a little masculine admiration to repair her tattered ego. It seemed they knew her better than she knew herself.

She wanted this, Meggie realized with a start. She was twenty-nine years old, newly divorced and fighting off a deep-seated dread that life was sprinting by her at a dead run. This might be her last chance to really explore her limits and relish her youth.

Question was, did she have the courage to go for the gusto? Was she brave enough to reach for what she wanted? To explore the secret sexual fantasies she’d never shared with anyone? A weird sense of panic scampered through her. Did she possess enough chutzpah to initiate something wickedly wonderful with Don Juan?

Or was she going to end up a lonely old spinster with a houseful of Siamese cats, pining sadly for what might have been?

Take a risk. Who knows what you’ll discover about yourself? whispered an audacious voice in the back of her mind—the voice she’d spent a lifetime denying because it scared her so.

Go for it. You may never have a chance like this again.

“M ETROPOLITAN WOULD LIKE to thank the Bachelors of Bear Creek for taking out that wonderful advertisement. You guys single-handedly boosted the magazine’s circulation by twenty percent.” Kay Scofield stood on the stage at the back of the community center, microphone in hand, her husband, Quinn, by her side.

She smiled at Quinn with a shining love that made Caleb’s gut hitch with jealousy. All the bachelors had found someone to love except him.

“And on a more personal note…” Kay stared deeply into her husband’s eyes “…I want to thank you for making me the happiest woman in the world, Quinn. I’m honored to be your wife.”

“Aww!” The crowd sighed in unison when Kay stood on tiptoes to kiss her husband, who was dressed, appropriately enough for his size, as Paul Bunyan.

“This party is also to celebrate the impending marriage of Sadie Stanhope and Jake Gerard.” Kay scanned the audience. “Sadie and Jake, please take a bow.”

Liam, the disc jockey, shone the spotlight on Jake and Sadie, who were swaying together in the middle of the dance floor. Jake waved his hand and Sadie blew kisses to the crowd.

Caleb shook his head and grinned to himself. Those two were a pair. He’d never thought fun-loving Jake would settle down, but Jake had met his match in Sadie.

“Wedding is December 16 at our B and B,” Jake said. “Remember, you’re all invited.”