To Alaska, With Love: A Touch of Silk. Lori Wilde
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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.
He blamed his cheating on her.
A sick sensation flipped over in Kay’s stomach as she recalled the blissful expression on the red-haired woman’s face. She had obviously been having a very good time with Lloyd. If he could satisfy that woman, then apparently his lousy technique wasn’t the reason for Kay’s lack of sexual arousal. It was true. She was frigid.
She dropped her head into her hands and softly began to cry. In that moment she felt so alone. All those years of struggling to be the perfect daughter, the perfect Freemont, had extracted an extravagant toll. Decades of watching her p’s and q’s, worrying about what other people thought and putting on a polished facade had resulted in a repressed personality.
In truth she didn’t know who she was or what she wanted. If only she could activate her sexuality. If she could come alive in that area of her life, might it not be the gateway to freedom?
But how did she go about liberating her libido?
Then she thought of Quinn. With his heated kissing and his bedroom eyes, he’d obviously desired her. If anyone ever made her feel like a woman, it was him.
And she’d let him get away.
She stroked her lips with fingertips gone salty from her tears and wistfully recalled their kiss and the power of their connection. A shiver passed through her. Could Quinn light the fire in her that she feared did not even exist?
You’re idealizing him, Kay. He’s nothing but wish fulfillment. The inner, sensible voice that had guided her actions throughout her life spoke sternly.
Right.
Sighing, she raised her head and straightened her shoulders. Freemonts did not pine for the impossible.
At that moment her door buzzer went off.
Great. Just what she needed. Company. Kay trudged to the door and pressed the intercom. “Yes?”
“Dearest, it’s Mommy. I’m coming up.”
Oh, no! “Mother, I’m pretty busy.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to pretend with me. Lloyd has been to see your father. I know what happened between you two.”
“Then you know I never want to see his two-timing ass again.”
“Is that any way for a Freemont to talk?” her mother chided.
More Freemont guilt. “Come on up.” She sighed again.
A few minutes later Honoria Freemont rushed into Kay’s apartment with her hair freshly coiffed, smelling of expensive French perfume and wearing an impeccably tailored suit. Immediately she took both of Kay’s hands in hers and led her to the couch.
“You look terrible, darling. Your eyes are red and puffy.”
“I’ve been crying.”
“Do you have any cucumbers? We could make a cold compress.”
“Mother, I don’t care if my eyes are swollen. I’m in my own apartment. Don’t worry,