Free Curves for the Billionaire by Alexis Moore Page B

scrubbed her body with a coarse wonderfully-aromatic mixture and then polished it with a similar concoction ground to a finer consistency.
    Once out of the bath, she was treated like a queen.  Soft towels were used to blot the moisture from her skin before sweet-smelling oil was massaged into it.  Her hair which had been wrapped in a towel after being washed was then towel dried, lightly oiled and brushed until it shone like burnished copper.
    She thanked her bathers and dismissed them once they had helped her into a white halter dress, the style of which Fiona had shamelessly borrowed from Marilyn Monroe’s famous outfit in The Seven Year Itch .
    The dress left her newly-exfoliated arms and back exposed, nipped in closely at the waist and flared softly to just below her knees.  She slipped her feet into white high-heeled sandals and glanced at her reflection in the mirror.  She almost didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her.  Her hair shone like a new penny and her skin literally glowed, not just from the pampering she’d received but, she suspected, from being married to Zachary, making love with him and feeling incredibly happy.
    She shouldn’t be this happy, she thought guiltily, so soon after her father’s death.  Tears came to her eyes and she hurriedly dashed them away.  She would take time out to grieve properly, she promised herself, when the pain was less raw.  Strangely she felt that her father was smiling down at her in approval.  He had loved and admired Zachary, and had seemed almost as disappointed as she when Zachary had turned up at her eighteenth birthday party with his girlfriend in tow.  Once she had convinced him that she and Zachary were just friends, he had accepted the fact and treated Zachary pretty much like the son he’d never had.  He would have wanted her to be every bit as happy as she felt.
    ***
    Zachary was sitting on the sprawling sofa, engrossed in the newspaper, a snifter with a generous shot of cognac cradled in one hand.
    He looked up as he sensed her approach and for a moment he just stared at her.  Samantha revelled in his look of blatant appreciation, belatedly wishing that she hadn’t been so hasty in dismissing the young women.  A strategically-placed fan set on high would have added the final touch to the fantasy.  But Zachary didn’t seem to mind that the dress wasn’t blowing up around her ears and revealing the tiny thong which was the only thing she wore under the dress.
    “You look incredible!”
    He got up and stalked towards her like a hunter, his eyes drinking in her magnificent curves.  Samantha shivered with awareness at the look in his eyes.
    “You do realize wearing this dress will have consequences, don’t you?”  His voice sounded strained and it filled her both with a sense of power and a frisson of fear.  She’d wanted him to lose control, but she may have been rather more successful than planned she realized when he literally growled, “God, I need to have you again!”
    He kissed her then, his tongue delving deeply.  Samantha welcomed his touch eagerly, thrilled at the urgency of his hands as they slipped first under the top of the dress and tweaked her nipples into twin points of need before reaching under the hem, grasping her behind and grinding her hips against his.  She ground hers right back and he shuddered in reaction.
    “Come here.”  Taking her by the hand he led her to the chair he had just vacated, bending her over the back of it and throwing the hem of her dress up over her head.  She blushed as she imagined what he was seeing—the full cheeks of her bottom with just the slender string of the thong between and her full, firm thighs elongated by four-inch heels.  His gasp of arousal told her that he found the sight just as provocative as she’d hoped.
    Her juices were already flowing.  Eagerly, she opened her legs wider at his urging, tilting her bottom upwards so that he could penetrate her deeply.