The Silver Bride

The raw tension churning up the atmosphere turned her stomach over. Complete bewilderment assailed her, followed by a sudden stark flood of intense embarrassment. As Stella rose jerkily upright, looking everywhere but at Dior Harlequin, the female flight attendant appeared.

Stella was shown in a sleeping compartment. She sank on the edge of the surprisingly large bed, powerfully disconcerted by the lingering ache in her swollen b.r.e.a.s.ts and the still urgent tautness of her n.i.p.p.l.es. Never before had a man simply looked at Stella and made her feel a pang of hunger so powerful it hurt. But Dior Harlequin had.

Stella was shattered by that discovery, and ashamed of a physical reaction she had been quite unable to control. Had he realized what was happening to her? Had he recognized the effect he was having on her? She shut her eyes tight. She was appalled by the suspicion that Dior had not only recognized her helpless s.e.x.u.a.l response to him but banished her from his sight because of it.

A couple of hours later, a quiet but insistent voice roused Stella from her uneasy doze. ' Caroline ...?' Stella came up slowly on one elbow. The flight attendant was hovering with a tray and a look of uncertainty. Stella reached up with a grateful smile to accept the food finally being offered to her.

"Thanks...yes?' 'We... well, the cabin staff wondered if perhaps you would like to wake Harlequin,' she confided tautly. 'We'll be landing in fifty minutes, and naturally, we're all anxious not to intrude any more than we have to—' 'Intrude?' Stella queried, all at sea and wondering why on earth such a strange request should be made of her.

Was Dior a grizzly bear when he was woken up? Had she qualified for the short straw? Did she look like cannon fodder? The other woman sighed.

Someone has to wake Harlequin up now so that he can dress for the funeral.' 'The funeral...' Stella echoed, her voice just fading out altogether. 'I'm afraid this flight is very late, Caroline. The delay back in London and the further delay in landing means that you'll have to travel to the funeral directors.

I hope you won't think I'm being too personal, but we all think it's wonderful that Harlequin has brought someone with him for support,' she shared and slipped out again. Fully awakened now by sheer horror, Stella stared into space.

Oh, dear heaven, Dior Harlequin was flying out to Greece to attend a funeral! That was why he had bought her all that black clothing! And the cabin staff had decided that she had to be somebody important in Dior's life because she was accompanying him.

She remembered him saying that he hadn't wanted company on this particular trip, and g.r.o.a.n.e.d out loud at the memory while wondering whose funeral it was. Somebody close.

A relative? A dear friend? After hurriedly choking down the breakfast on the tray, Stella got up and rushed into the compact bathroom.

She would have loved to take advantage of the shower but there wasn't time. She took out the black suit and put it on. Her appearance in that suit astonished her. The light jacket fits like a glove, nipping in at her tiny waist, hugging her slim shoulders, the deep vee-neck molding her full b.r.e.a.s.ts.

The narrow skirt outlined the all-female curve of her h.i.p.s and then tightened to outline her slender t.h.i.g.hs. She looked sensational, she registered in amazement. Then, reddening at a vanity that seemed inappropriate, she turned from the mirror, irritated with herself for being so superficial.

Returning to the cabin, she saw Dior's impossibly long and powerful length sprawled at a most uncomfortable angle across one of the fancy leather seats. Her now tenderized and conscience-stricken heart smote her.

Shorn of his formal jacket and tie, his silk shirt open at his strong brown throat and his jawline darkly shadowed by stubble, he looked so much younger and less intimidating. He also looked exhausted, and if it hadn't been for her presence he would naturally have enjoyed the comfort of his bed. Stella tensed even more.

To think the cabin staff had been nervous about intruding on his grief! She had done nothing but intrude! Recalling every upset combative word she had slung at the airport, Stella cringed with guilt and shame.

So the poor guy had been in a rough mood. In the circ.u.mstances, that was hardly a surprise, and his preoccupation had been equally understandable. With a gentle hand on his shoulder, she shook him awake.

His incredibly long lashes lifted off his flushed cheekbones, and with a soft sigh, he lifted his tousled head to check his watch. With a stifled expletive, he then plunged forcefully upright and headed for the sleeping compartment. ' Harlequin...?'

He stilled, but he didn't turn round. 'I didn't know you were attending a funeral,' Stella said awkwardly. 'I wish somebody had mentioned it.' He swung back, frowning at her in genuine surprise. 'Don't you read newspapers?' 'I don't get time to read them.'

It's my father's funeral,' he responded curtly and strode away. Stella slowly breathed in deep, but it didn't make her feel any better. His father! What could be worse? Of course, he hadn't wanted to be lumbered with a total stranger over the next couple of days.