The Silver Bride

Above them, perched on the spectacular height of a cliff, the large domed roof of a pale building came into view. The higher they climbed, the bigger that building seemed to become. It couldn't be called a villa, Stella decided wide-eyed, it could only be called a palace.

'Is this your home?' she prompted tautly. As the limo glided to a halt in front of the massive entrance, Dior gave a bleak nod of confirmation.

If you're going to be socializing with friends and family now, just find me a room somewhere and lock the door. I don't want to intrude—' 'You're staying with me,' Dior countered steadily. 'But what am I supposed to say if anyone speaks to me?' Stella's dismay was unhidden. 'I don't even know what your father was called!' 'His name was Aaron.

He was seventy-one and I was his only child,' Dior framed, his accent thickening to roughen his vowel sounds, his jawline squaring. 'He was one of those good guys you mentioned. He may have passed away peacefully in his sleep, but his death was both sudden and unexpected.' 'You had no chance to say goodbye.

That's very hard to bear.' As she had listened Stella had paled, briefly plunged into her memories of the loss of a loved and loving parent. Dior sent her a flashing glance of pure disdain. 'Spare me the platitudes,' he derided harshly.

My father and I had been estranged for some time before his death.' 'It wasn't a platitude. Whose fault was it that you were...estranged?' she dared to ask. ''Mine...' She watched his lean brown hands slowly clench into powerful fists and then carefully unclench again the instant he realized she had noticed that betraying gesture. 'You couldn't have known—' 'This is none of your business!' Dior ground out thunderously.

They climbed out of the car. Stella stole a troubled glance up at Dior's rigid profile and suppressed a rueful sigh, recognizing the stoic, all-male but unnatural control he was determined to maintain.

Maybe it was easier for women to let go emotionally, talk it out, forgive themselves. It was certainly wiser, she reckoned. Right now Dior Harlequin was like a big simmering volcano, struggling to swallow back a surging lava flow.

Hanging back, she let him stride ahead of her. A large cl.u.s.ter of the staff was waiting in the huge, opulent entrance hall. Dior spoke a few words. Stella hovered awkwardly in the center of the marble floor, her attention roaming over statues in alcoves and magnificent paintings and then centering on the gorgeous brunette who had unexpectedly appeared in a doorway.

Not having noticed the other woman, Dior swung back an imperious head. 'Stella!' he gritted impatiently. Her color rising as ever watching eye swiveled to examine her with keen interest, Stella quickened her step.

Just as Dior clamped a large imprisoning hand over hers, the sophisticated brunette strolled forward. She looked to be in her late twenties. She had short, glossy black hair, exotic dark eyes, and creamy skin.

Her designer dress and her jewelry were simply breathtaking. 'Aria ...' Dior drawled, his long fingers suddenly closing so tightly over Stella's smaller hand that she almost yelped with discomfort. Aria planted a cool kiss on his cheek and then addressed him in Greek.

She ignored Stella. But Stella was grateful to be ignored because she was embarrassed by Dior's stubborn determination to keep her by his side. Still conversing with Aria, whom Stella now assumed to be a close relative, Dior walked them both into a vast reception room. Other people began to arrive.

Aria took up position like a seasoned hostess. Dior's grip on Stella's fingers had mercifully loosened, and she tried to pull away, hoping to retire to a dark corner. But not only did Dior retain his hold on her, but he also swept her forward and introduced her, although nobody got the chance to engage her in an actual conversation.

Many curious eyes lingered on her, but Dior kept both of them on the move. He exchanged a word here, a sentence there, his bleak, brooding tension forestalling any more intimate dialogue.

Skylar… I hate this!' he bit out rawly under his breath at one stage. Some minutes later, an exuberant older man grasped him in a bear hug, forcing him to release Stella. Stella backed away and then walked out onto the balcony that appeared to stretch the entire length of the house.

It was so beautiful it almost hurt. She stood there for a long time before she turned away again, becoming conscious of how very tired she still was. A couple of catnaps hadn't made up for the stress of a long trip and the loss of a decent night's sleep. As she glanced back into the crowded room, she immediately noticed Dior.

He was so tall he couldn't be missed. He had a dark frown on his starkly handsome features as he glanced restively around himself, only paying partial attention to what was being said to him. Then his keen gaze lit like a falling star on Stella, where she stood outside in the sun, her silver hair gleaming like precious metal.

The marked strain on his lean, strong face instantly eased. Across the distance that separated them, Stella collided with glittering green eyes. Her heart gave a sudden violent lurch and her mouth ran dry.

She watched Dior plow through the crush surrounding him. She could focus on nothing but him and was as blind as he was to the buzz of speculation his abrupt departure had created. 'Where the hell have you been?' he breathed in a driven undertone.

But a couple of feet from her Dior ground to an equally sudden halt, an almost bemused frown pleating his winged ebony brows.

Emanating Graceawatt tension in abundance again, he studied Stella with ferociously intent green eyes that questioned even before he demanded, 'Why do I want to be with you right now?' As tense now as he, Stella jerked a slight shoulder in an awkward movement.

Keeping tabs on me to ensure I don't get near a phone has b-become a real bad habit?' she stuttered in a strained and breathless rush.

At that moment, Aria Bailey strolled unhurriedly out to join them. Beneath her coolly enquiring closely inspect, Stella found herself reddening with fierce discomfiture, although she could not have explained why. '