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.
2
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.”