High Society (12 page)

Already beyond logical conversation, Julia could only moan and grind her hips eagerly against him. The silk wrap was so sheer that it barely veiled her body, the light shining through it to pick out the dark, sensual ripeness of the aureoles of flesh surrounding her nipples as well as her nipples themselves. It was tied at the front, and when she moved Silas kept getting brief, tormenting glimpses of bare flesh.

He parted the fabric, his hand gripping her naked hip as he bent his head and drew one chiffon-covered nipple into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue-tip whilst Julia writhed helplessly in erotic delight.

But that pleasure was nothing compared to what she felt when Silas caressed the eager wetness of her waiting sex, stroking the full length of her from back to front in a caress that made her cry out and arch into his touch, then cry out again as he played delicately with her clit, nurturing its tight bud into ripe fullness before he finally gave in to her incoherent pleas and slid his fingers into her hot waiting wetness, making her climax so violently that Julia was half afraid she might actually pass out.

‘Oh, Silas, that was heavenly.’ She wept emotionally as he held her shuddering body. ‘Purr-fect. Who would ever have thought that being married to you could be like this?’

‘I’m going to take that as a compliment,’ Silas told her dryly, as he picked her up and carried her over to the waiting bed.

Laughter gurgled in Julia’s throat as she leaned over and kissed him.

‘And I’m going to take you as well—unless you’ve got some objection?’

‘No objection. Just a warning that I probably won’t come again. Not after an orgasm like that,’ Julia cautioned him.

‘Want to bet?’ Silas asked her.

He was just leaning over her when the telephone started to ring. Immediately Julia stiffened. Was it Aimee ringing him again?

Silas released her and reached for the room telephone at the same moment as she recognised that it was not his mobile ringing.

‘That was the reception desk, wanting to know if we’d booked a car. I told them they’d got the wrong room. Now, where were we?’ Silas asked softly.

No way was she going to let Aimee spoil what she was enjoying with Silas, Julia assured herself as he took her back in his arms. She closed her eyes tightly, willing herself not to think of anything or anyone other than the two of them and what they were sharing, and gave herself over completely to the physical delight of his hands on her body.

An hour later, after the final ripples of their shared climax had died away and Silas had gathered her into his arms to draw her close to him, Julia decided blissfully that there could be no greater happiness than this, and that she had been silly to worry about that earlier phone call.

She was almost on the verge of falling asleep when she remembered something very important.

‘Silas!’ she gasped urgently.

‘What?’

‘We didn’t use a condom.’

‘No, we didn’t, did we?’

If Silas wasn’t concerned that they might be risking her conceiving his child, then he couldn’t possibly be involved with another woman could he? She had been silly to worry, Julia reassured herself.

CHAPTER EIGHT

M
ARBELLA
in September: the month of summer when the tiresome tourist crowds had gone, along with their noisy children, and the only visitors were those who were rich enough or A-list enough to know that this was the time to be here. Or at least that was what most of the guests invited to Dorland’s party were likely to believe, Julia thought cynically, as the chauffeur-driven limo swept them up to the main entrance of Marbella’s
luxe de luxe
home from home for the celebrity set—the world famous Alfonso Club, Golf Resort and Spa—or the Alfonso, as most of those in the know referred to the hotel a European prince had created from what had originally been merely a family
finca
, or rural property.

Supposedly, sooner or later everyone who was anyone stayed at the Alfonso. Her smile deepened as she reflected on how very different this fashionable celebrity watering hole was from the hotel they had stayed at in Rome.

Marbella, like St Tropez, St Moritz and a handful of other places worldwide, had held on to its exalted status through many decades. Julia suspected that nowhere else in the world, apart from possibly Palm Springs, was home to quite so many nipped and tucked seventy-something women pretending to be thirty-something. They came here in the summer to bask in the sunshine, like so many stick-thin locusts, bronzing their leathery bodies before retreating to some discreet Swiss clinic to be pampered and prepared for another summer.

Marbella was like nowhere else, being a place where it was almost
de rigueur
to sport a tan, a proper hairdo, diamanté-studded sunglasses and gold leather Gucci-style loafers.

Not that Marbella didn’t attract the younger celebrity crowd—it did, and in droves, a fact which Dorland had recognised when he elected to throw his end-of-summer bash here.

Silas had booked them into one of the club’s private villas, and as they were shown to it Julia decided she would have to do something about extending her wardrobe. She had seen how sad her small case looked in contrast to the mounds of Louis Vuitton being removed from limousine boots. Already she had spotted at least three famous film stars, plus an all girl-group and their entourage, all of whom she knew had been invited to Dorland’s party.

To Julia’s delight their villa not only had its own private garden, it also had its own private swimming pool.

‘Oh, Silas, this is just too blissful,’ she exclaimed happily as she stood looking out of the villa’s patio doors towards the pool.

‘I thought you’d like it,’ Silas agreed, making her both laugh and blush at the same time.

‘Just because I happened to say that I’d love to swim naked with you and then have sex outside, in the open air, that doesn’t mean you had to find a way to make it possible,’ she told him.

‘Meaning that now that I have, you’ve changed your mind?’

‘No way,’ Julia assured him vehemently. ‘Though I’ll have to go and find Dorland later.’ She gave a small shudder. ‘I don’t want any more traumas or mistakes of the kind we had in Positano. I still can’t believe that actually happened. What is it?’ she demanded, when she saw the way Silas was looking at her.

‘I’ve had an e-mail from the person I asked to make some discreet enquiries into both Blayne and Prêt a Party.’

‘And?’

‘Let’s get settled in first. You must be hungry. I’ll order something from Room Service, shall I?’

‘Silas, it’s bad, isn’t it?’ Julia guessed.

‘Let’s get sorted out first.’

Julia reached out and touched his arm, sensing that he was trying to distract her.

‘No, please tell me now.’ She could see from his face that Silas was beginning to wish he hadn’t said anything. ‘I know you only want to protect me, but I’m not a little girl any more,’ she told him gently. ‘And Lucy is my friend.’

‘All right. But at least let’s sit down.’

Her mouth had gone dry, Julia realised as Silas sat in one of the comfortable easy chairs and she perched on the arm of it next to him.

‘From what my source has discovered—and I’ve no reason to doubt him; I’ve used him in the past to investigate sensitive issues for me—it looks very much as though Prêt a Party has some very serious financial problems.’

‘Oh, Silas.’ Julia placed her fingertips to her mouth, her eyes shadowing with distress.

‘There’s worse, I’m afraid. It seems that there is every likelihood that Blayne has been defrauding the business—and Lucy herself as well.’

‘Oh, no! Poor Lucy—but how can that have happened? Lucy is always complaining that her trustee won’t let her touch her trust fund without his say-so.’

‘Maybe not, but he has allowed her to guarantee Prêt a Party’s overdraft facilities. And that means that the bank has been able to call upon her to clear it via her trust fund. From what my source has discovered, it seems that large amounts of money have been withdrawn from the business by Blayne, which have caused an overdraft that Lucy has had to make good. It seems that there is no real business reason why he should have withdrawn such large amounts, and my source suspects they have gone straight into his own pocket—if Lucy isn’t aware of what he’s doing.’

‘She can’t be.’ Julia defended her friend immediately. ‘Lucy is scrupulously honest, Silas.’

‘Maybe she was. But she loves Blayne, and if he has been pressuring her...’

‘No.’ Julia shook her head vigorously. ‘No matter how much Lucy loves Nick, she would never agree to anything underhand. She just isn’t like that. Oh, Silas. Poor, poor Lucy.’

Tears shimmered in Julia’s eyes. ‘This is just so awful. Imagine loving someone who would do that to you. And Nick...how could he do such a thing?’ She bit her bottom lip and then looked unhappily at Silas.

‘It’s going to be so dreadful for Lucy when she finds out what Nick’s been doing.’

‘Yes, but you can’t interfere,’ Silas warned her.

‘Silas, she’s one of my two closest friends,’ Julia protested. ‘Lucy, Carly and I have been like sisters. I can’t just stand by and let Nick destroy her.’

‘What I’ve told you is merely, at this stage, the informed opinion of my source. What do you think will happen if you do tell Lucy and she refuses to believe you? Blayne is her husband. She’s besotted with him.’

‘But we must be able to do something.’

‘Maybe I could sound out her trustee discreetly.’

‘Marcus, you mean? Lucy hates him.’

‘Maybe, but he’s still the best person to deal with the situation on her behalf. I’ve told my source to double-check and then come back to me. Until he does we can’t really do anything. Was Blayne supposed to pay any bills for this party of Dorland’s?’ Silas asked.

Julia frowned. ‘No, we worked together with Dorland, and he paid for everything himself. I’m going to be more a hostess for him than anything else. But why are you asking me that?’

‘If Dorland had given Prêt a Party money then it’s pretty likely it would have found its way into Blayne’s pocket—and then we would have a repetition of what happened in Positano.’

‘No, Dorland has definitely paid for everything himself,’ Julia told him, adding with relief, ‘Thank goodness.’

* * *

Julia was still thinking about Lucy several hours later, when she knocked on the door of Dorland’s suite.

‘Julia! What—no fabbie jewels?’ Dorland exclaimed as he opened the door to her himself and immediately examined her left hand. ‘Don’t tell me the engagement is off?’

Julia laughed.

‘Not yet,’ she answered mischievously. She had no intention of giving Dorland any kind of hint that she and Silas were actually married, and she certainly wasn’t going to let him guess why.

Dorland pouted, and then batted what Julia saw were fake turquoise eyelashes at her.

‘I thought he was going to load you down with heirlooms.’

‘The insurers wouldn’t let him,’ Julia answered, straight-faced.

‘You must watch that, Julia. There is nothing worse than a mean billionaire,’ Dorland warned her, ignoring her comment.

‘Silas isn’t mean.’

‘Oooh, so it is a love thang, then, is it? I thought so! Sex is all very well, but take it from me, diamonds are better.’

‘Speaking of which, did the Tiffany necklace turn up?’ Julia asked him.

‘No, and Tiffany are being absolutely
howwid
to me about it. You wouldn’t credit it. Still, we won’t talk about that now. Not when all I want to talk about is my fabby party. Everyone is coming...a certain celebrity European princess, plus an even more celebrity Hollywood couple—you’ll know who I mean. They are all so famous I’m not allowed to so much as breathe their names,’ he added coyly. ‘Just the whole of the A list are going to be here—even a certain international footballer and his wife are coming, and guess who they are bringing with them?’

‘Er...who?’ Julia asked dutifully.

‘Only Jon Belton!’

Julia looked suitably impressed at the mention of the ultra-famous pop singer.

‘Oh, Jules, I am just
sooo
excited,’ Dorland exclaimed excitedly. ‘It is going to be the party of the year—and of course
A-List Life
will have an exclusive on it. Now, sweet, down to business. I’ve already spoken to the hotel people and arranged for a piano, but you know, I was thinking—wouldn’t it be fun to have the balloons printed with a piano motif—black balloons with a white piano, perhaps encrusted with just the teeny-weeniest bit of diamanté? So retro and so Liberace. I can see it now!’

So, unfortunately, could Julia.

‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’ she asked cautiously.

‘Of course I do. Why? Don’t you?’

‘Well, it could be just a tad over the top, don’t you think?’

‘Julia, I am Dorland Chesterfield—
nothing
I do could
ever
be too over the top,’ Dorland told her theatrically.

* * *

‘How’s it going?’

Julia shook her head as Silas reached for her hand and held it firmly in his own. He had been waiting for her when she finally left Dorland’s suite, and now they were walking back to their villa through the hotel gardens.

‘Dorland is wearing false eyelashes—turquoise false eyelashes. Apparently he’s going to be wearing turquoise-coloured contact lenses for the party. And he’s going to be sprayed with fake tan.’

‘I’m beginning to fear the worst,’ Silas murmured wryly.

‘He’s had a shirt specially made for him by Roberto Cavalli, and he’s going to wear a white suit.’

She could feel Silas starting to shake with laughter.

‘Silas, it isn’t funny. He’s bought a white poodle—and a diamond-and turquoise-studded collar.’

‘For whom?’

‘The poodle, of course. At least, I assume it’s for the poodle. I haven’t told you the worst yet, though.’

‘Could it be any worse?’

‘Yes. He keeps on talking about Liberace—Silas, stop laughing.
Silas!
’ Julia protested breathlessly as he suddenly stopped walking and pulled her towards him.

‘We’re almost back at the villa,’ she told him huskily, as his hands moulded her against his body.

‘I can’t wait that long.’

His skin smelled of warm night air and that sexy indefinable smell that was just him, and his lips were cool and slightly salty as they teased and cajoled hers.

Julia looped her arms around his neck and traced the shape of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, glorying in the now familiar starburst of erotic delight fizzing eagerly inside her. It wouldn’t always be like this between them, of course; one day this fierce, intoxicating passion would become a warm and familiar comforting glow rather than something that still filled her with half-shocked delight. One day. A long, long time from now, when they were old...

Growing old with Silas. The rest of their lives together. How very lucky she was—and how very, very happy. She held him tighter, kissing him passionately, making a small soft sound of pleasure deep in her throat as she felt him start to unfasten her cut-offs and then slide his hand inside the opening.

‘You’re so wet...’

‘Mmm, I know... Uhh. Ohh. Mmm, Silas...’ Her body was already moving rhythmically against his caressing fingers, her own hand closing round him whilst she shuddered in pleasurable anticipation. He fitted her so well. Filled her so well, making her feel each time that she almost might not be able to take the pleasure of the depth and intensity of his thrusts, and yet at the same time miraculously somehow making her feel that she wanted to stretch, to have more and more of him.

‘Silas, I’m going to come,’ she warned him.

‘No. Not yet. I want to watch you when you do...’

He removed his fingers, slowly and gently, and then kissed her tenderly, keeping her close to his side as they walked the last few yards to their villa.