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Connie sat at the vanity unit in her bedroom, gazing at her reflection in the soft light above the mirror—the only light she’d put on in the bedroom. She’d slipped out of her dress—that beautiful, extravagant dress that had made her into someone completely different, someone she’d never known she could be—and hung it on one of the padded hangers in the wardrobe, lovingly smoothing her hand down the lustrous material.
Now she sat in her new, luxuriously silky lingerie, knowing she should head for the bathroom, get into her pyjamas and go to bed. But not just yet...
She was still reliving, moment by moment, how she’d walked into the cocktail bar and seen Dante catching sight of her. He was the most gorgeous man in all the world. He had been for her from the very first time she’d seen him. And in his eyes...in his frozen stillness...she’d seen what she had so longed to see in her secret dreams and fantasies. What she had crushed down, never admitted to, but what was somehow now wonderfully real.
What it might portend for her and Dante she set aside. She would think about that later. For now, she would just give herself to the moment...to the wonder and delight swirling within her.
That sense of wonderful, bemused delight had gone on all evening. All through drinks at the swish, swanky bar, and all through dinner in the swish, swanky restaurant, with its celebrity chef and hushed exclusivity and its no-prices-on-the-menu expensiveness.
That look in his eyes...in those dark, drowning, long-lashed eyes that did such delicious things to her...that look had never left him.
And she knew it for what it was—knew how glorious it was to see it in his gaze.
To be desired by Dante.
Her secret, impossible dream.
Which was seemingly no longer impossible...
Yearning filled her, and longing, and a soft, seductive quickening in her blood.
She could see it in her own reflection.
And she could see one thing more in the vanity mirror.
She could see that her bedroom door was opening, and Dante was standing there, framed against the light.
He could hear his heart thudding in his chest, feel the tightness in his lungs, in his whole body. Could hear his own protests inside his head that this was not what he should be doing, not where he should be. Yet he knew with an overriding certainty that it was the only place he wanted to be.
He felt his breath catch as his eyes went to her, sitting at the vanity unit, pooled in golden light. And then, with a surging in his blood, he saw that she had taken off that incredible dress which did such fabulous things to her body and was seated in nothing more than a silky camisole and lacy panties.
His blood surged again, coursing through him, rampant and arousing.
He stepped forward blindly, instinctively.
She did not move. But her reflected gaze in the mirror met his full-on, clashed and melded and fused with it. He walked towards her, saying not a word. No words were necessary. He stood behind her, looking down at her, and slowly...infinitely slowly...placed his hands on her almost bare shoulders.
Then, and only then, he said her name.
And she said his.
The touch of his hands on her shoulders, then grazing the delicate nape of her neck with his fingertips, sent sheets of exquisite sensation through her. She gave a shiver, a quiet moan emanating from deep in the throat his fingers were now brushing. He was standing so close behind her that she could catch his heat, his scent, his eyes holding hers in the reflection of the glass.
Faintness drummed through her. Melting her. Dissolving her.
He said her name again, his voice husky. She felt herself rise to her feet, lift her face to him. Her breath caught. In his eyes was a blaze that set her aflame.
His mouth descended, caressing hers with the lightest, sweetest touch. Instinctively her arms wound around his neck, pulling him close against her. The hard wall of his chest pressed the cresting peaks of her breasts, engendering in her such an arousal of her senses that it was as if she’d been drinking strong, heady wine.
His kiss deepened, and he crushed her to him. With a little shiver of shock—of newly rising eagerness—she felt the evidence of his desire for her. A rush went through her...a sensual excitement that was like a forest fire within her.
His fingers were sliding down the narrow straps of her chemise and the bra beneath, sliding them from her body, freeing her swollen, sensitive breasts. Holding her shoulders, he dipped his head, and with a catch in her throat, her head tilting back, she felt his mouth close over their rounded orbs. Sensation after sensation speared her. Her own desire was quickening, answering his. She wanted more—oh, so much more.
As if answering her unspoken plea, he slipped the rest of her skimpy underwear from her body, discarding it on the floor. Then he started on his own unwanted clothes. She could hear his heavy breathing. His eyes never left her, the hunger in them blatant as she stood there in the low light.
Naked for him.
Waiting for him.
