A Touch Of Silk

She licks her lips.

He pauses in his work. Rests one arm against the ax handle, swipes at his forehead with a blue bandanna pulled from the back pocket of his tight, denim jeans.

The sun glints seductively off the sweat beading his chest. A sultry heat settles low in her belly, then fans out like thick fingers, growing, clutching, pressing down on her, until every part of her body pulsates with awareness of his overt maleness.

She shifts her position, lifts her head higher, hoping for a better look. She startles a squirrel, which begins to chatter at her.

The woodsman jerks his head sharply in her direction.

“Who’s there?” he calls out.

Heart racing, she jumps to her feet. She can’t be discovered. No telling what he’ll do to her if he finds her encroaching on his land.

“Show yourself,” he demands.

She whirls around—must get away—and darts through the underbrush.

“Come back here, damn you.”

She hears him crashing through the forest as he thunders after her, but she doesn’t look behind her.

Something snags her blouse. The silky material splits wide open, exposing her bra. Her skirt, too, gets caught on something sharp. She hears the rip. Her clothes hang in tatters, flapping about her skin.

Thud, thud, thud.

He is coming.

Faster, run faster.

She tries, but it’s as if her feet are encased in cement. She’s moving in slow motion. She can hear his breathing as he gets closer.

Her hair streaks out behind her, and her legs churn through the thick carpet of pine needles. She zigzags around trees, leaps over downed logs like a doe fleeing a pursuing rutting buck. She’s heading for the clearing and freedom. Her pulse is pounding, thumping, thrashing madly in her ears.

He’s quick for a big man. So quick. And so very close now. She’s not going to make it.

He tackles her. His arms go around her waist. He pulls her atop him as they fall together.

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, none of your friends are going to see me.”

“Oh, you’re in one of those moods.”

“Yes, I do believe I am. Not two hours ago I caught my boyfriend in bed with another woman. Under the circumstances I’m entitled to be a little testy, don’t you think?”

Her mother shifted, let go of Kay’s hands. “You mustn’t allow something like this to come between you and Lloyd.”

Kay stared at her mother openmouthed. “What?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Was her mother suggesting she overlook Lloyd’s blatant infidelity?

Gently Honoria reached out and pushed Kay’s jaw up. “Lloyd is your father’s right-hand man. He’d be lost without him.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

Her mother would have frowned, but her recent Botox injection ruled that out. Instead, a disapproving look came into her eyes. “It’s got everything to do with you, darling. One day Freemont Enterprises will belong to you.”

“And I can’t inherit without a man at my side?”

“Not just any man. You must have a husband who comes from the right stock. A man who knows how to navigate your world. A man of good breeding.”

“Oh, from what I witnessed this afternoon, Lloyd’s good at breeding, all right.” Kay crossed her arms and glared. How could her own mother side with her father and Lloyd in this matter?

“Don’t be crude. It’s unbecoming of a Freemont.”

If her mother said one more word about being a good Freemont, Kay was going to scream. She rubbed her pounding temples.

“I’m not saying what Lloyd did was right,” Honoria went on, “but he’s very sorry. He’s already apologized to your father, and he desperately wants to apologize to you, but he’s afraid you won’t speak to him.”

“He’s right. I never want to see him again.”

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