A Bride For The Whole Family(5)

"Relax, I know I'll like them," she broke in, as she straightened her clothing and pressed the wrinkles from her skirt with her palms.

"Especially if they're anything like you."

"I give up. A woman in love is blind," he grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Just remember, the Hightowers are a bit eccentric."

"I'll remember," she grimmaced. "You make it sound as if I was walking into some grisly scene straight out of a Gothic novel."

"It's not quite that bad…" he laughed, "…but the Hightower family is just a little bit different and somewhat weird."

"You can't scare me off now, Michael Hightower!" she returned in mock anger. "I've read all those tales of werewolves and vampires. And I've come equipped with a silver bullet and wooden stake!"

His laughter increased, "Okay! You win! No more!"

Then he continued, carrying her joke a step further, "Just remember, Grandma sacrifices virgins at midnight every night in the basement!"

"Virgins, hmmmmm?" she slid her hand up to the crotch of his jeans and allowed her fingers to tease along the sleeping bulge of his cock. "No worry there for me, is there!"

"You keep that up, woman, and I'll have to pull over to the side-of the road and rape your young body!" he grinned, easing her tempting fingers away.

"Promises, promises," she sighed, a wistful look in her eyes.

"Patience, my dear," he answered in a Bela Lugosi imitation, "ven night come, so vill you!"

Suddenly, she scooted to the edge of her seat and leaned over. Her teeth lightly nipped at his neck and she sucked loudly.

"I vant to suck your co…" she started.

"Greedy, bitch!" his palm slapped sharply on the exposed cheek of her skirt-covered rump.

"Ouch!" she whelped, pouting as she withdrew back into her seat.

He grinned at her, "On your best behavior, wench; we're here."

Before them on the road, which apparently was nothing more than one hell of a long driveway, stood a massive stone wall. A wrought iron gate, complete with arch and a swirling Old English "H" in an intricate circle, was open. Slowing down, Michael eased the sports car through the narrow passage. No longer was the surrounding country the tangled jungle of bayou undergrowth, but a plush carpet of green grass. No, she decided, lawn was more like it, well-manicured with landscaped shrubs growing around towering magnolia trees.

"Welcome to the Hightower Estate," Michael waved one of his hands to scene stretched before them.

"Michael, you didn't tell me…it's beautiful," she exclaimed with obvious delight.

"Up ahead is the Hightower home." he smiled pleased with her reaction.

"Home? Mansion is more like it!" She stared at the white brick, twostory house set back among the flowering trees.

"This is an old plantation my father found and restored several years ago," her husband explained. "He liked the isolation it offered."

The road widened into a circular driveway that led to the front of the Hightower mansion. Michael wheeled around and before the immense structure.

The place is authentic, just like the Old South," he continued. "Like it?"

"Like it? It's fantastic" she muttered, somewhat in shock by the unexpected mansion.

She found herself mumbling dumbfoundedly, "Michael, why didn't you tell me that…"

"That my family has some money?" he smiled.

She nodded, unable to find the appropriate words.

"It didn't seem to matter…with you," he leaned over and tenderly kissed her. "Does it?"

"No, you big, beautiful idiot!" she grinned, throwing her arms around his neck and planting a loud wet kiss on his lips. "No, it didn't matter. But please don't mind if I'm excited as hell about it! Not to mention nervous!"

"Nervous?" he grinned. "Don't worry. They'll love you!"

"But?"

"But nothing. The Hightowers may be a tad bit strange, but we really live rather simple," he reassured her. "That's what money's all about.

It lets you live in the style you want."

She shook her head, still unbelieving, and started to speak, but Michael announced, "Here they come. Time to meet your in-laws."

She glanced to the house and saw a man walking briskly toward the car.

With a last few brushes at her skirt, Diana took a deep breath, opened the door and slid out. The man, a wide grin on his face, was at Michael's side, behind them she glimpsed a feminine figure stepping from the house.

"Father, my wife, Diana," Michael beamed. "Diana, meet Michael Hightower, Number One."

She knew a surprised look was plastered stupidly across her face, but it couldn't be helped. Her father-in-law's resemblance to his son, her husband, was unbelievable. He was identical to Michael, except for a slightly older-looking face and a few strands of grey hair salting the area around his temples. The elder Hightower even wore blue-jeans and a pullover in the fashion of his son. Had she not known that he was nearing fifty, she would have guessed his age to be no more than in the mid-thirties.