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His glittering blue gaze swept over her, turning mocking and sardonic by the time it reached her fluffy footwear. 'Did I interrupt something? Or do you always go round the house dressed in stuff like that?'
'You interrupted something,' she couldn't resist saying, reveling in his reaction. His whole body stiffened, his nostrils flaring as his nose shot up. 'I was in the middle of being entertained by Michael Bolton,' she added in a low, husky voice. Surely you know Michael?'
When Byron remained frozen and silent, she gave a melodramatic sigh. 'I see you don't. Truly, Byron, there is more to music than opera and symphonies, you know. Michael Bolton is a singer. He specializes in love songs.'
Was that relief momentarily flashing across his eyes or had she merely imagined it? What would he have done, she wondered, if a half-naked man had wandered out to see where she was, a handsome, half-naked, very young man? God, she almost regretted firing Gerry, regretted turning down what he'd pressed for that night. It might have been worth it actually to take a real toy-boy lover if she'd known it would have provided such a superb revenge.
'One day, Celeste,' Byron ground out, 'you're going to goad me one time too many.'
'Oh? And what will you do, Byron? Sully your hands on the very thing you most despise? I doubt it. You're too good for that,' she spat at him. 'You came to see if Gemma and Damian were here? Come, then. This way for the grand tour. Shall we go upstairs first and check the bedrooms? Yes, I think so .. .'
She swooshed up the stairs, letting her robe flow free in an act of defiance which he knew was deadly dangerous. But his ongoing contempt for her had sparked an intensely compelling urge that refused to listen to common sense.
She ached to push him to the limit, to make him break, one way or the other. And vows she had made about not letting him touch her again seemed irrelevant in the face of her desire to make him eat his words, to make him admit that he ,still wanted her, to make him reach out and try to take' what he had once craved as badly as she had.
It was madness. Celeste accepted that. But then, she'd been mad about Byron from the first moment she'd met him. It had merely taken seeing him face to face a couple of times recently to bring it out in her again
'I'll open the doors for you if you like,' she offered blithely, throwing each one open as she moved briskly along the upstairs hall. She didn't turn her head to find out if Byron actually looked into the rooms or not, but she could hear his footsteps behind her.
'Don't forget to look under the beds,' she called back over her shoulder. 'And in the bathrooms. They might be hiding in one of the showers together. That room's mine. Perhaps you shouldn't go in there if you don't want to contaminate yourself.'
Celeste cried out when Byron's hands suddenly closed over her shoulders, dragging her to a halt and back against him. 'Stop it,' he hissed, his mouth brushing the top of her hair. 'Just stop it.'
'Stop what?' she answered, but her voice was trembling and so was she. Oh, God ... this wasn't at all what she'd been trying to do. He was supposed to end up the victim here, not her own silly self.
But dear heaven, she couldn't stop herself from melting back into him, couldn't stop her head from tipping back against his chest, or her eyes from closing on a ragged sigh of sheer desire.
Byron's tortured groan went some way to soothing her own dismay. Clearly, he couldn't resist the physical contact any more than she could.
'Damn you, Celeste,' he rasped. 'I should have known better than to come here.'
'Touch me, Byron,' she pleaded in a voice she scarcely recognized as her own. 'Touch me.’
Another groan escaped his lips as his hands slid from her shoulders down her arms, down past her outstretched fingers and on to her satin-covered thighs.
Her heartbeat went wild when his hands moved acros s her thighs and up over her stomach, massaging its muscular flatness through the slithery material then following the gentle curve of her ribcage till they reached the undersides of her breasts.
When he hesitated at this point, she moaned her disappointment, her own hands lifting to urge his up over the exquisitely swollen curves. When his fingers brushed against the already erect nipples, she gasped, her hips automatically moving against his as everything inside her contracted.
'God, Celeste,' he muttered, his head dipping to suckle ravenously at the tender skin of her throat. His hands were rough on her breasts now, his lips harsh against her flesh. She began to yearn for him, yearn and burn. Her arm lifted to curve up over his shoulders, her hands finding his head, her fingers splaying passionately into the thick black waves. Her own head began to twist round, her mouth blindly searching for his.
