Nan Ryan

by Written in the Stars

  Her first words were, “Star, your hair! You’ve cut your hair.”

  “Couldn’t go to the big city tomorrow looking like a wild man.” He grinned at her. “Now close your eyes and hold out your hands.” Diane swiftly obeyed. Star placed the box in her arms. Her eyes opened. “Kiss me and the new gown’s all yours,” he said.

  The box between them, Diane kissed him.

  “Don’t tell me what it looks like,” she warned. “I want it to be a complete surprise.”

  Star humored her. Nodding, he withdrew the pair of blue railroad tickets from his shirt pocket, showed them to her. “Our tickets to San Francisco.” He dropped them in a silver bowl on a low hallway table. “Let’s go on upstairs and take a nice long bath and—”

  “No.” Diane violently shook her head. “I’m going to dress in the guest room. You clean up in our room.” She slowly backed away from him. “It’ll be more exciting that way. At eight o’clock sharp, we’ll meet for dinner.”

  “Sweetheart,” said Star, watching her tenaciously clutch the big box to her breasts, “I will count the minutes.”

  Chapter 42

  She wanted to, but she didn’t.

  Upstairs in the guest room, Diane made herself wait. She was itching to have a peek inside the big box, but she checked the urge as part of her plan to draw out and enjoy fully the sweet anticipation of their final evening. And so she waited. She didn’t allow herself a look until she’d had a long bath and carefully arranged her heavy black hair in glossy curls atop her head.

  Then, at last, she tore the lid off the big box, ripped away the white tissue paper, and snatched up the shimmering garment. The beautiful gown of rustling violet taffeta—the exact color of her eyes—was of the very latest European style. The balloon sleeves, puffed to the elbow, were long and fitted at the wrists. The waistline was slender, the neckline round and scandalously low. The gown was extremely tight around her hips and stomach, giving way to a full radiation of stiffly gored skirts.

  Smiling with delight, Diane laid the lovely gown across the bed and took from the box violet satin dancing slippers decorated with gold thread, a pair of fancy violet satin and gold garters, and sheer silk stockings.

  She struggled for several long, frustrating minutes, then finally managed to get the violet taffeta gown buttoned down her back. She could hardly breathe, it fitted her so snugly. Designed to give the full effects of the popular hourglass figure, the fashionable gown squeezed in her waist, pushed up her breasts, and accentuated her hips.

  Diane looked thoughtfully at herself in a freestanding silver-trimmed mirror. She frowned. While the color and cut of the gown were unquestionably becoming, there was one small problem. Her lace-trimmed underpants caused unsightly wrinkles beneath the snug taffeta.

  Diane did the only thing she could do. She took off the spoiling underwear and turned back to the mirror. Perfect. The exquisite violet taffeta evening gown looked exactly as it was meant to look. Grinning at herself, Diane felt a little naughty but pleasantly so. Naked beneath the gown save for the sheer silk stockings, satin garters, and dancing slippers, she wondered if Star would suspect.

  As regal as a queen, Diane descended the stairs at ten past eight, swept silently across the corridor, and paused in the arched doorway of the drawing room.

  Star stood with his back to the cold fireplace, smoking a thin brown cigar. His newly cut raven hair gleamed with blue highlights, the silver wings at the temples brushed straight back above his well-shaped ears. He wore an impeccably cut tuxedo of midnight black gabardine with lapels of shimmering black satin. His shirt was pristine white, the front pleated, the collar stiff, the sleeves’ French cuffs set off with shiny silver links. A black bow tie at his throat and neatly arranged in his breast coat pocket a handkerchief of violet silk added a small dramatic touch of color.

  Speechless, Diane stared at the tall, compelling Star. Not only was he devastatingly handsome in his well-cut evening clothes, but he was powerfully, intimidatingly male. Dark sensuality and self-assurance radiated from him. A cultured, expensively attired gentleman with gracious manners but with an essence of raw, leashed passion just below the polished surface. A dark, lean god with the devil’s own erotic appeal.

  Just looking at Star made Diane become vitally aware of her nudity beneath the taffeta gown.

  Star sensed her presence, looked up.

  And experienced a tremendous shock to his entire nervous system from merely seeing Diane framed in the wide doorway. His knees went weak, his throat dry; his fingers tightened reflexively on his half-smoked cigar.

  She was too beautiful to be real. Surely such an ethereal creature would vanish if he reached out to touch her.

  Her long, lustrous black hair was dressed attractively atop her head, revealing the sensuous curve of her pale neck and throat. The violet taffeta gown fitted her slender curves as if she had been sewn into it. Never had she been more irresistible. Her high, rounded breasts swelled against the shimmering taffeta bodice to spill appealingly from the daringly low neckline.

  So much pale, bare flesh was exposed he was tempted to go to her, bend his head, and kiss her in the dewy shadow between those lovely, tempting breasts. Her waist was nipped in waspishly, and her hips flared provocatively, the shimmering taffeta stretched tightly across her flat stomach.

  Star’s eyes slowly descended the length of her tall, slim body, then climbed back up to her beautiful face. There was high color in her cheeks, and her violet eyes flashed with purple fire. Her lips were invitingly parted over perfect white teeth.

  Star felt totally drained of power.

  Hers was a formidable beauty. She appeared to be a pale, unattainable goddess with the flawless face of a pure angel and the bewitching body of a naughty nymph. A seductive, irresistible blend of innocence and wickedness. Oddly she appeared rather demure and modest in the risqué Paris gown yet radiated an earthy, overpowering sensuality which suggested that beneath the shimmering fabric draping the tempting curves, she was naked and warm and willing.

  Diane drew a shallow breath as Star snuffed out his cigar in a crystal ashtray and crossed to her. She stood rooted to the spot as a lazy smile curved his sensual lips. He walked slowly, deliberately, around her, touching her with nothing but those dark, sultry eyes. Boldly, hotly he evaluated every angle of her, and Diane could feel the heat of those brazen eyes burning through the shimmering taffeta, singeing the bare, tingling flesh beneath.

  Star stopped in back of Diane, so close behind her she could feel the heat of his body. His hands lifted to clasp her bare ivory shoulders gently. He bent his dark head, pressed a warm kiss to the delicate nape of her neck.

  Diane trembled.

  Star raised his head. His long arms went around her from behind, reaching under her arms and cupping her rounded breasts. He caressed the nipples through the rustling taffeta, stroking them softly as he spoke. “If I should guess exactly what you’re wearing under the gown, would you admit it?”

  Her eyes half closed, heavy lashes fluttering nervously, Diane murmured, “Yes. Yes, of course.” She held her breath.

  “Nothing,” his low, unexcitable voice calmly stated. “I believe you’re naked.”

  Diane swept his hands away and turned to face him, her violet eyes searching his. “How did you know?”

  He smiled, took her hand, and warmly kissed it. “I saw it in your eyes when I looked at you from across the room.” He kissed the inside of her wrist “May I see some proof?”

  Her charming girlish laughter filled the air. “Of course, you can.” Star’s head snapped up, his eyes darkening with interest “But later,” she told him. “Much later.”

  “Ah, you’re a cruel, heartless female,” he gently accused. “How you tempt and torture this lowly male.”

  Diane gave no reply. She again laughed and thought back to the lioness’s behavior this afternoon. Recalled how the beautiful feline had driven the big male cat half crazy before she’d accepted him. Suddenly imbued wit
h a heady sense of feminine power, Diane decided to seduce the darkly handsome Star slowly. Devilishly make him wait the way the female cat had made her anxious mate wait. Flirt and tease and tempt him until he was half crazy with wanting her.

  Only then would she allow him to take her.

  Not one second before.

  Diane took Star’s offered arm, lifted the skirts of her elegant gown, and went with him to the dining room. He graciously seated Diane, then swiftly lighted the white candles gracing the long claret damask-covered table. The tall French doors were open to the cool evening. A gentle night breeze caused the tiny flames of candles to dance and sway, casting shadows on the walls and on the faces of the two diners.

  It was a lengthy, glorious meal. Caviar, lobster, and champagne and too many courses to count. Diane swallowed a bite of the crunchy caviar spread generously on a toasted small triangle of bread, washed it down with a big drink of the champagne, and looked up to see Star closely watching her. The candlelight played on the lines around his blue-black eyes and softened the angularity of his features.

  Holding his intense gaze, Diane put out the tip of her tongue, licked her gleaming lips, and said, “I have such an appetite this evening. Have you?”

  The quick pulse of blood through the vein on his temple was evident in the candlelight. “Yes,” he replied. “But not for food. I want you.”

  As she smiled seductively, Diane’s back left her chair. She leaned over the table to give Star a fleeting glimpse of her breasts, the pink-tipped crests appearing and disappearing inside the low-cut bodice.

  Star swallowed hard, reached out, and captured her hand. “Sweetheart, let’s go upstairs. We’ll dine later.”

  Diane laughed breathlessly. “On the contrary, my love, you should have a healthy portion of veal.” She withdrew her hand from his, spread it on her bosom, further calling his attention to the tempting expanse of bare, warm flesh. “You’re going to need plenty of energy.”

  They remained at the dining table for at least another leisurely hour. They sampled the many fine foods but ate little. They drank freely of the fine champagne, and Diane soon began to grow pleasantly tipsy. Star encouraged her, refilling her glass.

  “Thank you,” she said, stirring her wine with a finger and looking thoughtful for a moment.

  She was noticing Star’s hands. They were the hands of an artist, a sculptor. She looked at his long, tapered fingers and felt a chill of excitement skip up her spine. “Your hands are beautiful,” she said, lifting her eyes to meet his.

  “Your body is beautiful,” he replied, raising both hands before him. “I want to touch your body with these hands.”

  Diane shivered deliciously.

  “Soon,” she promised, draining her glass. She leaned back in her chair, drew a deep, slow breath. The taffeta fabric strained and pulled, accentuating every curve of her body.

  “No hurry,” said Star, feeling the perspiration dot his hairline. He uncorked a Pommard, poured a glass, and took a drink.

  “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.