A Touch of Silk by Lori Wilde Page B

skin, perfectly defined muscles, firm hiney.
    Kay gulped.
    “Come,” he urged. “Come.”
    Did she dare?
    Maybe, Kay realized, maybe she was afraid of finding out that she really was sexually dysfunctional. But how could she be frigid when she felt so hot and wet and achy deep inside? When her entire body begged for a release she’d dreamed about on a daily basis?
    He laced his fingers through hers and, walking backward, slowly pulled her up the first step. “I’m not going to bite,” he murmured. “Unless you want me to.”
    Her heart punched her rib cage as she placed one booted foot on the first hardwood step.
    His gaze snagged hers and held on tight. Kay shivered at the purely masculine gleam in his sultry eyes. Even from arm’s length, she could feel his body heat radiating outward.
    She was coming undone. Something uncoiled in her belly. Something soft and warm and messy.
    His breathing, husky with desire, echoed loudly in the confines of the staircase. The erotic sound strummed along her nerve endings, escalating her excitement. She struggled to draw in a steady breath of her own, but ended up panting shallowly, her eyes locked to his.
    Up another step and then another.
    Scalding hot. It must be 110 degrees in here. Quinn tightened his grip on her fingers. She needed to run outside and roll around in the snow.
    “Almost there,” he coaxed.
    Almost where? His bedroom? At the thought she experienced this incredible, inextricable push-pull. Her nipples tightened in anticipation; she could feel them protruding against the material of her bra. Pressure, sweet, sweet pressure, grew between her legs.
    “Here we are,” he said at last, and she mounted the last step.
    But where he led her was not a bedroom.
    Kay blinked.
    It was another spacious living area with rafter ceilings, a second fireplace, leather couch, braided rug. A handmade quilt graced the back of the couch. The far corner housed a desk complete with computer, printer, fax, copier and scanner.
    Outdoor and rescue equipment hung from pegs mounted along the paneling or were in organized rows on built-in shelves. Harnesses, ropes, pulleys and crampons for mountain climbing. Life vests, oars and wading boots for river rafting. There were fire extinguishers and first-aid kits, a citizens band radio and a huge stash of flashlights. Obviously this was his office.
    But what grabbed her attention and held her transfixed was the plate-glass window running along one wall overlooking the bay and the incredible display on view.
    Kay’s hand rose to her throat as she stared at the brilliant curtain of shimmering green, red and white that fluttered ghostlike across the sky. She had never seen anything so awe-inspiring as those radiant spectral waves.
    The shimmers danced and twirled, gauzy curtains of brilliant brightness changing shapes, billowing out like a green genie from a bottle in those old cartoons she had been banned from watching as a child.
    “The northern lights,” she whispered.
    “Yeah.” His voice was as husky with awe and respect as her own.
    “It’s incredible. Resplendent. Superlative. Words can’t began to describe it.”
    “Nature’s light show. We see the aurora up to two hundred times a year from early spring to late fall. This year promises to be particularly vibrant because of increased sunspot activity.”
    “What causes this spectacle?”
    “Scientifically speaking,” Quinn said, “the northern lights are electrical discharges resulting from the interaction between wind and the earth’s magnetic field.”
    “Oh.”
    “But the Native Alaskans believe the lights were torches carried by old souls to guide the new souls into the next world.”
    A carpet of gooseflesh covered her arms, despite her long-handled underwear. She felt shivery inside and not just from the eerie legend, but from her closeness to Quinn.
    He’d brought her up here to see this breathtaking display, not to make love to her. She was simultaneously relieved