The Silver Bride

PART THREE

Stella's quick temper, already taxed to its limits by Luke's offensive familiarity, simply erupted. Reacting on instinct alone, her hand flew up and she slapped Dior Harlequin so hard across one cheekbone her fingers stung like mad. 'No man calls me a tramp!' she bit out in furious condemnation.

As the livid marks of that slap sprang up across one slashing cheekbone, Dior stared back at her with truly stunning green eyes. Even though Stella instantly knew that she had gone too far, she was far too upset to acknowledge her mistake. 'And your conceited Grace-ego of a cousin deserves the same!' she launched in defiant addition.

'Who does that little squirt think he is? Calling me a babe, and smirking and pawing my hair like I'm some kind of toy to be played with! And how dare you to behave in such a way as to give him the impression that I would stoop to be something as utterly disgusting as your woman?' 'Disgusting...?'

Dior gritted, not quite levelly, eyes now as scorching a gold as the heart of a bonfire. 'Yes, disgusting!' Stella repeated with a feeling shudder. 'Women do not belong like objects to men—' 'I could persuade you to belong to me,' Dior declared in a wrathful growl. Stella breathed in so deep on that staggering claim she was vaguely surprised that she didn't explode. She studied him with scornful green eyes.

'What with? A Stone Age hammer? Because let me tell you, knocking me out and dragging me by force back to the family cave would be the only way!' Without the slightest warning, Dior reached for her with powerful hands that brooked no refusal.

He brought his mouth crashing down hard on hers. Shock paralyzed Stella. But a far deeper level of shock awaited her. When that wide, sensual mouth possessed hers with hungry force, it was as if the world came to a sudden screeching halt and sent her flying off into the sun. The surge of heat Dior ignited could have burned up an entire planet.

Stella's head swam, all rational thought suspended beneath that shattering shower of instant sensation. As he hauled her into a crushing and deeply satisfying embrace, her blood pounded madly through her pliant body. He tasted like water after a long summer drought. He created a thirst she had never known she had.

She was so hooked on that electrifying excitement that she clung like a vine to a tree, m.o.a.ning low in her throat as his tongue invaded the moist sensitivity of her mouth in an e.r.o.t.i.c invasion that drove her wild.

Dior dragged her back from him, his breathing fractured, his eyes blazing over her with a primitive satisfaction he couldn't hide. 'I wouldn't need to use force with you, Stella. You'd come back to the family cave like a little lamb,' he contended thickly.

As the haze of intoxicating passion evaporated, Stella gazed up into his darkly handsome features, aghast. Simultaneously, Dior stiffened, veiled his eyes and set her back from him.

A boiling wave of hot embarrassment enveloped Stella. She couldn't believe that what had happened had happened. She couldn't believe that she could have felt what he had made her feel when she hadn't wanted to feel anything. And the silence lay there, thick and treacherous as a swamp that neither of them wanted to risk trying to cross.

'I... I...' Stella began unevenly, suddenly eager to give both of them an acceptable excuse. 'I shouldn't have slapped you. I made you upset—' 'Greek men don't like having their masculinity challenged.'

Dior loosed a sardonic laugh and dealt her a bleak glance. 'But I kissed you because I wanted to. As you said to me, tell it like it is.' Taken aback by that blunt acknowledgment that the attraction playing havoc with her self-discipline was not solely her problem, Stella gazed at him in frank perplexity.

Then she swiftly turned her head away. 'Naturally, we won't be repeating the experiment,' Dior completed with flat finality. Stella's delicate profile tautened. Although he was only stating the obvious, only saying what she would have said herself, upset mortification still engulfed her. Conscious that she was being warned off, she felt humiliated.

He had kissed her! Yet he still evidently saw a need to depress any foolish ideas she might be developing. Who the heck did he think he was? Is Mister Irresistible? Yes, she answered for herself. And that blazing confidence wasn't vanity, she acknowledged with driven reluctance. He had it all. The looks, the money, the power.

How often did Dior Harlequin meet with rejection? How much more often must he meet with blatant encouragement? But still, Stella felt the need to defend herself. 'I lashed out because you were extremely rude—' 'I don't wish to discuss this any further,' Dior interposed harshly. 'I'm not myself today.

My reactions are on a very short fuse.' But in the space of a heartbeat, he had blown Stella's belief that she wasn't a very s.e.x.u.a.l person right out of the water. She could only cringe when she recalled the almost irresistible temptation to snatch him greedily back into her arms.

She had never dreamt that any man could rouse her to that level of excitement, hunger, and craving. That Dior Harlequin had that power shook her to her very depths. The limousine drove up the steep road at a stately crawl, other vehicles now falling in behind to follow in their wake