Nan Ryan (47 page)

“A drink of your red wine?” Diane asked.

“If you don’t mind sharing my glass.” Star held the crystal goblet out to her.

“I prefer it that way,” Diane replied, smiling at him.

They shared that glass of wine. And the next. And the next.

Soon Diane was no longer seated across from Star. He smoothly coaxed her around the table and onto his lap. Her smile was dazzling when she agreed it seemed a good idea. So she rose, lifted her taffeta skirts, and swept around the candlelit dining table. Holding her skirts daringly high, she sat down on his lap, crossed her legs, and Star caught a glimpse of the inner side of her thighs, soft and as white as ivory.

His vocal cords tied in knots, he said, “There’s brandy in the library and a fire burning in the fireplace.”

Diane laid her forefinger against his lips. “I like wine.”

“You don’t like brandy?”

She shook her head. “I don’t recall ever tasting brandy.”

“You’ll love brandy.”

“After the brandy we’ll dance?”

“If you wish.”

“I wish.”

Diane clung tightly to Star’s arm as they climbed the stairs to the library. She felt a little light-headed but wonderfully relaxed and happy. The spacious library looked cozy and inviting. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace, the leaping, hypnotic blaze the only light. The French doors were wide open to the balcony. A cold north wind blew the heavy curtains, gusting intermittently, chilling the far reaches of the firelit room. A large square rug of lush black ermine was spread directly before the dancing, warming fire.

Diane released Star’s arm and took a seat on the comfortable long sofa. Star remained standing. He tugged loose the black bow tie, slid it free of his white shirt collar, and carelessly draped it over the brass telescope on a stand near the open French doors.

He poured two balloon snifters one-third full of fine Napoleon brandy. He came around the sofa, sat down beside Diane, and handed her one of the snifters.

Smiling into her violet eyes, he watched as she took a sip of the brandy, tilted her head thoughtfully, then nodded her approval. Star drank. Then took her snifter, reached across her, and set both glasses on the end table. He immediately took Diane in his arms and kissed her softly on the mouth. A wise and thorough lover, Star knew that for a woman slow, sure arousal began with kissing.

So between drinks of brandy he kissed her. His lips were warm and smooth and tasted of the brandy. Diane sighed softly and snuggled to him, enjoying tremendously the cozy fire, the aged brandy, the searing kisses.

And making Star wait.

Star felt as if he
had
waited. He wanted her so badly he didn’t feel he could wait much longer. So Diane got the full blast of his charm.

Attentive. Complimentary. Affectionate.

Between deep swallows of the brandy and murmured endearments and shocking promises of what was to come, he kissed her again and again with steadily graduating intensity. Then abruptly his heated lips left hers. He swung away and stood up, leaving Diane faint and trembling on the sofa.

Opening the white collar at his throat, Star moved across the room to the hand-cranked phonograph. He cranked the machine, and suddenly mellow music filled the chilly, firelit room. Star returned to Diane. She tipped her head back. He stood there above, looking breathtakingly handsome and appealingly dangerous.

Thrilled by the sexual self-confidence he exuded, Diane took the hand he extended and rose to face him.

His lean fingers lightly gripping hers, he said, “Dance with me?”

“Yes.” It was no more than a whisper.

Diane could only nod and swallow convulsively when Star decisively drew her into his arms and said in that low, caressive voice, “And then I’ll make love to you.”

Chapter 43

His long arm encircling Diane’s waist, Star leaned over and picked up his brandy snifter. He offered her a drink. She shook her head. He smiled, lifted the crystal snifter to his lips, and drank as his feet began to move in tempo to the music.

Smiling, Diane put her arm around his neck, spread a hand on his pleated white shirtfront, and moved with him. Effortlessly he led. Easily she followed.

Diane wasn’t surprised to find that Star was an expert dancer. Her responsive body sensed every subtle movement of his tall, lean frame well before he made it She shivered as Star’s hard thighs brushed against hers through the layers of their clothing. His hand on her back applied no pressure, yet she was vitally aware of the strong fingers touching her. Undoubtedly he was every woman’s dream of the consummate dancing partner. Tall, dark, and graceful.

A sudden flash of jealousy seized Diane as she considered the dozens of beautiful women Star had surely spun around the polished dance floors in mansions of the rich.

Her hand tightened on his neck, fingers grasping at the thick raven hair curling over his white collar. She pressed closer and closed her eyes as they swayed together.

His lips against her temple, Star softly said, “The last time I heard this song I was alone. Chained in the dark.” Diane’s eyes opened. She tilted her head back to look at him. He continued in that same dispassionate tone. “After the first Denver performance of your grandfather’s wild west show. There was a party. A band played “After the Ball.” I remember wondering if you were there. If you were dancing. If you were in the arms of the Cherokee Kid.”

Diane opened her mouth to respond, but abruptly Star’s lips claimed hers in a fiercely possessive kiss that left her weak and breathless and clinging frantically to him.

His blue-black eyes flashing with a heart-stopping blend of fury and desire, he commandingly promised, “You’ll never again be in any arms but mine.”

“No,” she breathlessly assured him, “never. I belong to you, Star.”

His hard face immediately softened, and he picked up the steps of the dance. As the sweetly mellow strains of “After the Ball” drifted from the phonograph, Star spun Diane around the shadowy library, calmly undoing her evening gown as they danced.

When the song ended, Diane’s violet taffeta gown was open down her back and Star’s tanned fingers were brushing her bare, sensitive flesh. The snifter of brandy still held in his other hand, he again offered Diane a drink. She accepted, sighing as she felt the fiery liquid burn its way through her throat and chest and out into her arms.

His spread hand on her bare, slender back, Star pressed Diane closer, tilted his head to one side, and licked the residue of brandy from her glistening lips. Which led to a kiss. To many kisses.

Star began to gradually build the intimacy and excitement. Adept at the art of seduction, he effortlessly managed to peel Diane’s violet taffeta gown down her arms and to her waist before she fully realized what was happening. While he dexterously undressed her, he continued to share with her his brandy and his kisses. He kissed her in a dozen different ways and tenderly caressed each inch of ivory flesh he exposed.

When Diane felt the rustling taffeta being eased down over her hips, she pressed closer to Star. Breathlessly she said, “Star, let’s go to our room. To our bed.”

Gently Star set her back. “Later,” he said. “Much later.”

And holding her gaze, he urged the full, rustling skirts over the arch of her hips and down her pale, luminous thighs.

“No … Star …” she breathed, embarrassed, excited.

“Yes, Diane.” He bent slightly from the waist, decisively pushed the swirling skirts down until they lay in a shimmering violet pool around her slippered feet.

“Wh-what are … you doing?”

“Making love to you,” he calmly replied.

Star straightened, lifted a hand, and withdrew the restraints from Diane’s fancily dressed hair. He watched appreciatively as the long inky tresses tumbled down around her bare ivory shoulders. A muscle involuntarily danced in his firm jaw, and his eyes darkened with rising passion as he looked at her.

Her hair was a shimmering black cloud around her lovely face, one long, silky strand falling onto her bare left breast. Naked save for the sheer stockings, satin garters, and dancing slippers, her pale, slender body was tinted a soft golden rose in the firelight. Star’s eyes were drawn to the triangle of curling raven hair between her firm thighs.

“I want,” he said, handing her the brandy snifter, “to dance one more time.”

“Dance one more?… Star, I’m naked.”

“I know, sweetheart. God, I know.”

He stepped away from her. Diane trembled and anxiously took a drink of brandy as the chill wind kissed her bare flesh. Star again cranked the phonograph, and the sweetly haunting tune “After the Ball” began to play once more.

Without a word Star lifted Diane free of the discarded taffeta skirts, pulled her into his embrace, and began to dance. Diane didn’t question him. She loosely hooked her arm around his neck, the brandy snifter cupped in her palm.

While it seemed shamefully risque and a bit mad to be dancing naked in the arms of a man fully dressed in evening attire, it was strangely exciting. Powerfully tantalizing.

Diane liked the way Star held her as they danced. So suggestively close. She wasn’t sure which was the most arousing: the slick satin of his tuxedo lapels brushing against her taut nipples. Or the rising male flesh pressing insistently against her bare belly through the restraining fabric of his black trousers. Or the bold, artistic hands molding her naked curves to the hard planes of his tall frame. She loved the feel of his dark, warm fingers stroking the nape of her neck, her shoulders and back, the curve of her hips. And finally her bare buttocks.

It was so unconventionally enjoyable Diane was soon straining eagerly against Star, pressing her tingling body intimately closer, anxiously rubbing her pelvis against the hard, sinewy thigh firmly positioned between her legs.

After the first few seconds Diane no longer felt the least bit foolish or awkward. Everything seemed natural and spontaneous. She was glad Star had suggested dancing this way. She naked. He clothed. It was strangely sexy and incredibly stirring.

Star’s total lack of inhibitions made for some very creative lovemaking. Which delighted her. She wanted to be just like him. Open and honest and without pretense or shame. Capable of enjoying to the fullest every novel facet of his inventive lovemaking, of their shared physical intimacy.

Star knew what was going through Diane’s mind. He could tell by her shallow breathing, by the way she wantonly pressed her tempting naked body to his that she was highly excited and ready for sexual adventure. She’d be agreeable to any kind of loving he dared propose, and that knowledge made his heart pound.

Nature was not to be ignored this night.

He wanted this beautiful woman in any and every way he’d not yet had her. Now was the time. Here was the place. On this final stolen evening in his wind-chilled firewarmed library, he and this desirable woman would give themselves with equal abandon.

His pulse raging with alcohol and sexual excitement, Star suddenly stopped dancing. While the music played on, he guided Diane down onto the black ermine rug directly before the fire. Sighing, she happily stretched out, resting her weight on an elbow. And was at once vitally aware of the tantalizing tickle of soft ermine next to her bare, awakened flesh. She purred like an aroused lioness.

Star smiled, stretched out close beside her, took the brandy snifter from her hand, and kissed her. The flames of the fire dancing in the depths of his dark eyes, he said in a low, soft voice, “Know what I want to do?”

“Let me guess,” Diane murmured, snared by his sultry eyes.

“Everything we’ve ever done.” The leap of her heart made it impossible to reply. His dark hand gently enclosed a pale, bare breast, and he added, “All the things we’ve
never
done.”

“Yes,” she managed to say breathlessly, wondering what that could possibly be. “Star, the way you make me feel … I never knew.”

“I didn’t either.” He took a small swallow of the brandy, held it in his mouth while he set the snifter aside. He bent to kiss the ivory breast enclosed in his dark hand, painting the pebble-hard nipple with brandy until it glistened wetly. He lifted his head. “I didn’t either, sweetheart”

Diane’s eyes met his as she drew a ragged breath. She waited anxiously, knowing he meant to lick the liquor from her aching nipple. Longing for him to do it.

Her darkening purple gaze slowly moved down to the pale breast cupped possessively in Star’s lean dark fingers. The taut nipple shimmered with the sheen of brandy. And throbbed for the touch of his lips. It seemed to Diane that the very universe was centered there in that aching pink crest.

“Star, please …” she murmured weakly.

“Kiss me,” he commanded, making her wait. His mouth on hers was fiery hot, and much as Diane reveled in the long, drugging kiss, she couldn’t help wishing that his blazing mouth were on her breast.

She exhaled raggedly when Star said against her lips, “What is it, love? What do you want?”

“I want—I want—”

“Say it,” he gently prompted. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

Diane made a helpless little sound and clasped his tanned face in her hand. She lay flat down on the black ermine rug, pulled him down on her breasts, and nuzzled into the thick silkiness of his blue black hair. And winced with grateful joy as he licked the brandy from her throbbing nipple. She sighed with sweet ecstasy when his mouth warmly enclosed her and he soothingly sucked.