The Silver Bride

Belatedly appreciating how very little she was wearing, she was quite unable to comprehend how the need to cover herself up had not been her first thought when she'd seen him! In a stumbling surge, shorn of her usual grace, her face hot as hellfire, Stella snatched up a throw from the nearest sofa and hauled it around herself like a screening blanket.

No blooming wonder he was coming on to her! Men were not very discriminating when a woman put on a provocative display. she believed that most men lived on the constant edge of succ.u.mbing to illicit temptation. Dior released a soft, ruefully amused laugh.

His strong features were no longer hard with tension as he scanned Stella standing there, green eyes huge, gripping the colorful throw tightly around herself.

Half-child, half-woman. What a confusing combination you are!' 'Stop talking like that,' Stella urged him uncomfortably, evading his inspection. 'You don't know what you're saying.

I'll just pretend I didn't hear what you said. I know you can't help being like that, so I'm not taking offense—' 'Perhaps this is not the moment to tell you that you have supplied the only glimmer of light in an exceedingly dark day,' Dior breathed grittily, switching mood at volatile speed as he swung with restive fluidity away from her.

Because I'm a stranger... don't you realize that?' Stella prompted in a voice that shook with sudden strain. She was touched against her own volition by that roughened sincerity, but eager to tell him why she believed he was acting like somebody temporarily bereft of all sanity.

'I have no expectations of you, no knowledge of your life. I don't ask anything of you. I make no judgments.' 'On the contrary, you never stop making arbitrary judgments,' Dior contradicted grimly. ''I'm going for a walk on the beach.'

Shaken by the warring emotional storm beginning to make its presence felt inside her, Stella wrenched open the door and hurriedly walked outside. Moonlight twinkled on the sea as the surf whispered f onto the shore.

It was a clear night, and the air was warm and still. She trudged barefoot through the soft silky sand, fighting the turmoil he had unleashed—because she understood all too well what Dior Harlequin was going through. And the way Dior looked at her might scare the hell out of her on one level, but on another, it electrified her.

Even without him in front of her, she still felt drunk. It was as if some giant, insane infatuation had mushroomed inside her and stolen all common sense.

In the space of twenty-four hours, Dior had turned her inside out, dissolving her defensive shell, luring out the soft, vulnerable feelings she usually kept under lock and key. Now that she was being honest with herself, she knew that she couldn't trust herself around him.

She wanted Dior Harlequin. She wanted him as she had never wanted any other man, and that alone was terrifying. But, far more dangerously, she ached to talk to him, listen to him, be with him... Every alarm bell she possessed was clanging as loud as Big Ben. Dior couldn't deal with his own emotions right now so he had focused on her instead.

That was the cruel reality of his supposed d.e.s.i.r.e, she told herself urgently. Standard male avoidance technique. Target the nearest reasonably attractive woman and try to blot out every painful feeling with the comforting familiarity of the physical.

And right now Dior Harlequin would dance on broken glass sooner than admit his desperate need to talk about his late father. Reaching an impulsive decision, Stella suddenly turned in her tracks and set off back in the direction she had come.

Dior was staring out to sea, both hands dug in the pockets of his well-cut trousers, his pale shirt glimmering in the shadows of the overhanging roof that shaded the entrance to the beach house.

I bet nothing really bad has ever happened to you before,' Stella breathed. He swung round. 'What the hell are you talking about?' 'Did you have a happy childhood?' 'Yes!' he gritted.

'A close relationship with your father before you became estranged?' 'Of course,' Dior confirmed in a shuttered tone that would not have encouraged the wise or wary to continue.

So why can't you just concentrate on the good times you had?' Stella asked bluntly. 'How could you understand how I feel now?' he demanded with splintering aggression.

I understand. I just don't think you appreciate how very lucky you are to have enjoyed so many years of love and support,' Stella admitted ruefully. Dior turned to stare at her, speechless with disbelief, his whole stance shouting his blistering anger at such a contention.