edges in her velvety voice smoothed out, “Sex, sex, and more sex?”
“A sensual sabbatical.” Even he could hear the enticement in his soft voice. “If you will.”
She would!
Sandra stood beside her bed, a bemused smile curving her lips, a filmy flame red nightgown dangling from her nerveless fingertips.
Had she actually agreed to Cameron’s outrageous proposal to have him stay with her in Barbara’s cabin? she asked herself for perhaps the hundredth time since leaving his office a few hours ago.
In a shot!
Some folks might have accused Sandra of being aloof, but no astute person had ever accused her of being stupid—and she wasn’t about to start now.
Her smile evolved into a soft, excited laugh.
It was spring. And how did the old saying go? In the spring, a young man’s fancy, and all that. Well, didn’t the same apply to young women, as well?
An anticipatory thrill moved through her. The filmy gown undulated through her fingers, bringing awareness of the sexy garment. Laughter again tickled the back of her throat. Contemplating the possible—hopeful?—ranifications of wearing the revealing scrap of nothing for him, she folded the nightie and tucked it into the suitcase lying open on her bed.
Imagine, she mused, the legendary Lone Wolfe expressing a desire to spend time in seclusion for an unspecified time. with her!
Wild.
How long had she been secretly lusting for the oh-so-cool-and-self-contained Cameron Wolfe?
Sandra laughed once more, low and sultry. She knew full well how long it had been. She had wanted Cameron from the very first day she met him, six long years ago. And wanting him had ruined her chances of forming a deep romantic relationship with any other man.
From the very beginning, it had had to be Cameron, or no one. And the passage of time had not diminished her desire for him. On the contrary, getting to know him, learning about some of the facets of his character—his honesty, his high personal moral code, his dedication to duty—had only deepened the attraction she felt for him.
She wanted him, and it was as simple as that. Foolish, maybe, but that was the way it was.
And now. and now.
Anticipation expanded into an effervescent sensation inside her, rushing through her bloodstream, intoxicating her mind and senses. Reacting to the stimulant, she turned and two-stepped across the room to her dresser, pulling open the drawer containing her mostly ultrafeminine lingerie.
Humming an old and very suggestive love ballad, she moved around the room, from the dresser to the closet to the bed, with side trips into the bathroom, filling the suitcase and a large nylon carryon with the things she wanted to take to the cabin.
Originally thinking to do nothing more strenuous than take short, brisk hikes in the foothills surrounding the cabin, Sandra had planned on packing only what she thought of as loafing-around clothes—jeans, sweatshirts, sweaters, parka, boots and such. But at one point, while she was removing an old cotton shirt, soft from many washings, from the closet, her glance had touched, then settled on, a new, more alluring outfit.
Sandra had never worn the two-piece ensemble. It bore a Paris label—a thirty-second-birthday gift she had received over a month ago from her parents, who were spending a year in France, both working and having a grand time, while her father set up international offices there for his business firm.
The reason Sandra had never worn the outfit was that there had never been an occasion suitable for her to do so. The set was too darn alluring for just any old gathering of friends.
Fashioned of sand-washed silk in shimmering swirls of fuchsia, orange and mint green, the outfit consisted of a voluminous-sleeved poet-style shirt and a belted, full-flowing skirt.
Viewed on a padded clothes hanger, the ensemble appeared innocent enough. But, upon trying it on for fit, Sandra had been mildly shocked by the appearance she presented in it.
The first button on the shirt was placed at midchest, a plunging vee revealing the cleavage of her high, fully rounded breasts. And, although there was an abundance of material to the skirt, when she moved, it swirled around her long legs, the clinging silk caressing every curve from her waist to her ankles.
At the time, Sandra had stared at her mirrored image in wide-eyed amazement, deciding on the spot that the outfit was too blatantly sexy for just any casual get-together. It was definitely for something special.
An impish glow sparkled in her dark eyes now as a thought flashed through her mind.
The Lone Wolfe was someone special. And being with him would most definitely be special.
Sandra carefully folded the two pieces and tucked themr into the case.
How much farther could it possibly be?
Sandra frowned as she maneuvered her one-yearold front-wheel-drive compact around yet another sharp bend in the narrow, rutted, mud-and-slushcovered dirt road. Although spring had arrived at the lower elevations, shallow mounds of snow still lay in patches on the ground and beneath the trees in the foothills of the mountain range northwest of Denver.
A quick glance at the dashboard clock told her that thirty-odd minutes had elapsed since she had made the turn off the major highway indicated in the directions Barbara had written down for her.
By Sandra’s reckoning, she should soon be seeing the signpost indicating the private road leading to the cabin. Even though she knew what to expect, she laughed aloud upon sighting the sign with the words Escape Hatch printed in bold letters on it.
The private driveway leading to the cabin was in worse condition than the dirt road, the slush concealing potholes that caught her unawares and caused the vehicle to lurch from side to side.
Sandra heaved a deep sigh of relief when the cabin came into view around a gentle curve in the road.
Seemingly built into the side of the hill, the log cabin looked as if it belonged there, nestled in amid the tall pines. A broad porch fronted the cabin. A wide window overlooked the porch and the valley beyond.
Anxious to see the inside of the place, Sandra stepped from the vehicle and tramped through the diminishing snow cover to the three broad steps leading up to the porch. The sunshine was warm on her shoulders, and turned the snow to mush beneath her hiking boots.
Around the base of the cabin, yellow and white jonquils raised their bright faces to the spring sunlight, while at the base of the stalks, shoots of delicate green grasses poked through the melting snow.
Smiling at the harbingers of spring, Sandra mounted the stairs to the porch and strode to the front door, key at the ready. Unlocking the door, she turned the knob, pushed open the door, stepped inside, and came to an abrupt halt, a soft “Oh…” whispering through her parted lips.
The
