The Silver Bride

Their love and concern for Dior became more endearingly obvious with each word. When they finally took their leave in an elderly Harris Steven, driven off at a snail's pace by their careful driver, Dior shot Stella a slightly uneasy glance. 'Sorry about that. Lucy and Bella live at the far end of the island. I can appreciate that some people find them rather eccentric, but they rarely visit.'

'Oh, I hope not. They're adorable,' Stella told him. 'What age are they? Have they always been together?' 'Ninety-two and, yes, they're completely inseparable.' Dior smiled warmly down at her and relaxed. He dropped an arm around her as he walked her up the spectacular central staircase. 'I'm glad you like them. I have a soft spot for my great—aunts.

When my mother died, Lucy and Bella were a great comfort to me, and I've never forgotten that.' He drew her into a fabulous bedroom furnished with the same unashamed opulence as the ground floor. Gorgeous flower arrangements scented the still air.

Stella glanced at the magnificent bed and her tummy clenched with anticipation. She looked away, her cheeks warming, embarrassed by the sensual stirrings of her own body. It was hard to credit that only a few weeks ago she had been blissfully ignorant of how powerful s.e.x.u.a.l hunger could be.

'I could do with freshening up,' she confided shyly. 'So could I,' Dior purred like a big lazy cat, casting off his jacket and tugging lose his tie.

Watching him strip, she ran out of breath and mobility. Meeting those dark golden eyes, feeling their bold, sensual glide over her taut figure, she felt her heart start to beat very fast. N.a.k.e.d now, his lean, bronzed, hair-roughened length a feast for her wakening senses, Dior strode over to her. He undid the buttons on her jacket one by one and eased it from her shoulders.

'I want to drive you wild,' he told her huskily. 'My imagination has already done that for you...' Stella confided. Releasing her bra, Dior curved his hands to the new fullness of her b.r.e.a.s.ts. He smiled with sensual appreciation as she jerked and gasped at the brush of his thumbs over her urgently s.e.n.s.i.t.i.v.e n.i.p.p.l.es. Suddenly intent, Dior pushed her gently down onto the bed.

Following her there, he sealed his mouth hotly to a straining pink bud, laving it with his tongue and the edge of his teeth. Fiery response whooshed through her trembling tautness, provoking a driven m.o.a.n from her parted lips. Dior raised his dark head again, raw hunger in his eyes. He angled back and skimmed off her skirt.

He dispensed with her remaining garments with unconcealed impatience. As he ran his burnished gaze over her pale nudity, she felt as if she was burning all over. 'You are so perfect... I need a shower just to cool off,' he confided thickly.