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"Oh?"

"Me, I have the stamina of ten."

"I've always found boasting unbecoming."

"I do not boast. I speak the facts."

"We'll see," I said, pulling my hand free.

"I am so happy. I want to throw my arms wide and embrace the world. I want to yell until my throat is raw. For months I look forward to this night. For months I dream of it. I think you do not want me. I fear I will frighten you away if I say the things I long to say."

"I –I needed time," I said.

"This I realize. I give you lots of time. I suffer. I scowl. I pound my pillow with my fists because I want you so much, because you are not there beneath me to receive my gift of passion."

The words might have been ludicrous coming from another man, but he was Russian, and florid melodrama was perfectly natural to him. I smiled anyway, turning away from him, moving to stand in front of the fireplace. Gregory looked at me, feasting his eyes, the bulge in his breeches growing more and more pronounced. For all his need, he was in no hurry, nor was I. Both of us knew the tantalizing delights of prolongation. He sauntered lazily toward me and stood in front of me, looking down at my face, my bare shoulders, the swelling curve of my halfexposed bosom.

"Never have I known so beautiful a woman," he crooned huskily. "Never have I wanted so strongly, waited so long."

"You must have known dozens of women."

"Hundreds," he said. "None of them like you."

He took hold of my arms and tilted his head, lips parted.

He pulled me toward him and lowered his head and I tilted mine back and his fingers tightened on my arms and our lips met and sweet splendor blossomed inside. After a long, long minute, he drew back, his dark eyes glowing, a smile curling on those lips so recently caressing my own.

"I open the wine now," he said.

He stepped over to the table and grasped the neck of the slender bottle and pulled it out of the ice. Pressing his strong thumbs against the cork, he began to ease it out, grimacing in concentration as he did so. It flew free with a loud pop, shooting across the room. A foamy amber spray fizzed in the air like a miniature geyser. Orlov jumped back, startled. I smiled as he fumbled about and finally filled two fragile crystal glasses, bringing them over and handing one to me.

"I am very clumsy," he admitted.

"But endearing," I said in English.

He did not understand. "This is good?"he asked.

"Very good," I told him.

The wine was ice-cold and deliciously tangy with tiny gold bubbles dancing in the glass. I sipped it slowly. Orlov drank his own, watching me all the while over the rim of the glass. Those hooded, seductive eyes glowed darkly and told me I was the most beautiful, the most desirable

.woman in the world, the only woman who could make him feel such passion. Although I was much too wise in such matters to believe this silent flattery, it was wonderful to Bee that look in a man's eyes once again, reassuring to know I still had the ability to cause it.

He finished his wine and smiled a provocative smile, his hair burnished dark gold in the candlelight, his face brushed with shadow, planes and angles pronounced. I held the wineglass with my right hand, and his fingers curled over mine, lifting the glass to my lips. I took another sip, and he continued to guide my hand until the glass was empty.

"Now I feed you," he murmured.

He led me over to the table and, hands on my shoulders, gently pushed me into one of the chairs. He lifted my hair and kissed the back of my neck and I arched my back, my breasts straining against their satin prison. Chuckling softly, Gregory moved around and spread a thin sliver of toast with glistening caviar. and sprinkled it lightly with finely diced onion and boiled egg. He stood over me. I opened my mouth, took a bite. He nodded with approval, feeding me the rest ofthe toast as though I were an invalid and he my tender caretaker.

"Good?" he inquired.

"Delicious."

"Now the specialty," he said.

He lifted a silver lid to reveal a plate of raw oysters on pearly half shells. They gleamed a wet silver-gray with a faint pinkish sheen. I shook my head and told him that raw oysters were not my favorite thing. Orlov ignored me, spearing one with a small silver fork.

"These are special. The chef marinates them in spiced wine. They are love food, make you feel very sensual."

"I'd rather not-"

He curled one hand around my neck and tilted my head back until I gazed at the ceiling. He squeezed lightly, forcing me to open my mouth, and I felt the oyster slipping over my tongue. I bit, swallowed, felt it sliding down my throat. The taste was subtle, exotic, pleasing indeed. He smiled when he saw my expression, spearing another shimmering oyster, feeding it to me, and I felt a glorious ache stirring inside.

"You like?" he crooned.

I nodded, wonderfully indolent, and he placed his hands on my shoulders, looming over me, so large, so magnetic, the thin white lawn shirt belling as he leaned down to cover my mouth with his own. That glorious ache spread inside me as his lips pressed and probed, parting mine, his tongue slipping inside my mouth as easily as the oysters, long and firm, the tip jabbing lightly at the back of my throat. My head seemed to whirl as he straddled me and lowered himself, his buttocks resting heavily on my thighs, his long legs stretching out on either side of the chair. He wrapped one arm around the back of my neck, leaning against me, crushing me, kissing me with a tender fury that went on and on until my senses shredded.

He tightened his legs around my thighs and shifted until he was even closer, his swollen manhood pressing hard against my abdomen through the layers of cloth. The chair creaked, wobbled dangerously, and I feared it would collapse under our weight, but I didn't care, I didn't care at all. His free handdug into the bodice of my gown, fingers probing beneath the thin lace undergarment to curl tightly around my breast, squeezing so tightly I winced, my nipple swelling against his palm. His mouth held mine captive, smothering moans of ecstasy.

I was spinning, whirling in a delirious void of sensations that exploded inside with shattering force. Never, never had I felt such furious need, and I remembered what he had said about the oysters and knew they must have been doctored with some aphrodisiac and didn't care about that either, didn't care at all. I held on to him, my hands moving over the sculpted muscles of his back, exploring the.

width of his shoulders, finally catching hold of his hair and tugging violently as his hand squeezed my breast and his kisses continued to torment and the chair tilted dangerously.

He climbed to his feet ana took my hand and pulled me out of the chair. My legs were so weak I would have fallen had he not curled his arm around my shoulder, supporting me, guiding me over to the bed. The fury inside me had begun to ebb, changing into a tingling ache, as though my blood had thickened and coursed slowly through my veins like warm honey. When Gregory let go of me I was surprised to find that I could stand. I watched him pull the shell pink counterpane back, revealing the silken sheets, and I seemed to be seeing it through a soft haze, everything faintly blurred. The golden light of candles seemed to melt into mist, and the delicately colored figures on the panels seemed to come alive, dancing in the mist.

Gregory stepped behind me and began to unfasten the tiny invisible hooks that fastened the back of my gown. He did it with practiced skill, his large fingers nimble and sure. He's done this many, many times, a voice whispered in my mind. The bodice loosened, dipping forward, finally falling as he took hold of the sleeves and slipped them down my arms. Sumptuous folds of gleaming pearl gray satin spilled to the floor, the tiny sapphire and silver flowers melting into the cloth. I stepped out of the circle, the cobweb-colored skirts of my petticoat floating on air. Gregory picked up my gown and draped it over a chair and turned and stood with his hands on his hips, gazing at me with lazy eyes, a smile spreading on his lips.

My flesh was visible beneath the frail cloth of my petticoat, as though seen through soft gray smoke, my full breasts lightly veiled, taut pink nipples pressing against the tissue-thin lace. The skirts covered my legs like swirls of smoke. Gregory gazed, savoring the sight as the honeysweet lethargy spread through me, tingling, tormenting. I would die, I would dissolve if that ache were not soon assuaged, and he knew it. Was that smile faintly mocking?

Why had he given me the oysters? Did he think the aphrodisiac was necessary? I closed my eyes for a moment, whirling slowly through the void, and then I stepped out of my shoes and removed the smoky petticoat, tossing it aside, watching it float to the floor.

He did not move. He continued to smile, lazy, in no hurry at all, prolonging that ultimate pleasure in order to relish it more. I raised my arms and stroked the back of my neck, lifting the heavy coppery red waves up, letting them spill through my fingers. Gregory grinned and strolled over to the dressing table and gathered up the pale pink roses and then sauntered toward me. Holding one rose by its long stem, he clutched the rest ofthem against his chest and, grinning still, began to stroke my body with the velvety soft petals of the single rose, causing sensations I never dreamed possible. The lethargy turned into throbbing agony as the petals gently caressed my throat, my breasts, whipping lightly across my nipples, gliding down my stomach.

My knees buckled. He gave me a rough shove. I fell onto the bed, writhing on the ivory silk sheets.

Slowly, with lazy deliberation, he ripped the petals from the roses and pelted me with them. The petals were soft, soft, thin flakes of pink velvet, yet I could feel each one strike my skin. I turned this way and that, moaning, try ing to elude that soft shower, and Gregory Orlov chuckled, scattering a final handful over me, tossing the stems aside.

Petals spilled over my naked body, slipping beneath me, their perfume filling the air with an intoxicating fragrance.

Gregory looked down at me, his erection throbbing painfully against the snug gray cloth encasing it, yet his manner was still indolent and relaxed.

"I make this a night to remember," he promised in a husky purr.

He moved about the room, blowing out the candles one by one, and as the hazy golden light vanished, a silvery mist of moonlight spilled in through the windows, brushing surfaces with a pale sheen, intensifying the blue-gray shadows that filled the corners. I could see him clearly as he sat down to pull off his boots. He set them aside, peeled off his stockings and, barefooted, stood with legs apart, slowly removing the thin white lawn shirt, letting it float to the floor like a soft shred of cloud. Hooking his thumbs inside the waistband of his breeches, he pulled them down, leaning over, stepping out of them, naked now, looking like an animated Roman statue in the misty silver light, but no statue had ever possessed such a manhood. It seemed to stretch and strain toward its goal, throbbing with a life all its own. _

He padded slowly through moonlight and shadow and stopped at the side of the bed, proudly displaying his virility.

I closed my eyes, unable to endure another moment of this excruciating torment. I felt the mattress sag and felt his knees between mine and I spread my legs and he lowered himself and I cried out as that warm, pulsating tip entered with torturing slowness, a fraction of an inch at a time, stretching me on a rack of pain that seemed to pull my limbs apart and brought pleasure beyond compare.

With dazzling expertise and inhuman control he continued to tantalize and torture, shredding my senses, denying his own pleasure in order to prolong mine, still rigid and as strong as steel as I hurtled into a shattering oblivion of ecstasy.

Again he stretched me on that rack and led me to the brink of blissful destruction, and this time, when I had arrived, he allowed himself to participate in my pleasure, sharing it with shuddering glee, and later, during the

'night, I woke up to find the moonlight gone and darkness like black velvet shrouding the room and felt his hands exploring

my body and I stretched, aching, bruised, the ashes of aftermath still warm, filling me with that delicious glow that made my blood tingle. I moved nearer, curling my arms around him, and he shifted positions and pulled me under him and we shared new splendors, a rough and rousing bout this time, the springs creaking loudly, limbs thrashing, my nails clawing his back, his teeth sinking into my shoulder, both of us lost to a wild abandon that knew no bounds.

When I woke up the next time, the room was filled with a soft pinkish light that slanted through the windows in softly diffused rays, gradually melting into gold. I was all alone in Du Barry's bed, and I doubted that that celebrated lady had ever experienced such incredible physical bliss.

The man who had provided it was perched on the edge of a chair in his gray breeches, struggling to pull on the supple leather knee boots. He was shirtless, and as he leaned over I saw the broad curve of his naked back, crisscrossed with four thin red trails where my nails had clawed. I sat up against the pillows and pulled the rumpled ivory silk sheet over my breasts, gloriously replete, my hair spilling over my shoulders in a copper red tangle.

I watched as he got one boot on and smoothed the thin leather up over his calf. Golden brown hair spilled over his brow as he leaned forward, the tawny locks damp. His muscular torso was coated with a faint sheen of perspiration.

I understood now why Empress Catherine had kept him so long, tolerated so much from him. Gregory Orlov was the consummate master of the art of love, his incredible technique a veritable marvel of expertise. One couldn't take him seriously, of course. He could be very engaging and one could be terribly fond of him, but there was no danger of a deep emotional involvement. What a splendid pet for a woman to enjoy.

He picked up the fine white lawn shirt and stood and, seeing that I was awake, grinned lazily, looking at me with hooded eyes. Misty golden pink light bathed him as he raised the shirt.

"You feel good?" he asked.