The Silver Bride

Anyway, why would he take a secretary to his dad's funeral?' Stella cleared her dry throat. 'Who are they talking about?' The mystery blonde Harlequin arrived in Athens with. A secretary!' Grace chuckled.

'Not in those clothes!' 'Some secretaries are very highly qualified and earn top salaries,' Stella hastened to point out. One of the other women leaned across the gap separating them and said, "That blonde piece was a dead ringer for you, Stella.' She gave an outrageous wink. 'And you did go HOWL that night.

Anything you'd like to confess?' 'Me...me?' Stella repeated, sharply disconcerted and striving for more convincing vigor. 'Stella would be too busy lecturing our Dior about s.e.xism in the workplace to get off with him!' someone else mocked.

'I'm rather behind tonight. I'd better get back to work,' Stella told Grace breathlessly as the dialogue roamed away from her again, leaving her limp. She caught the bus home at the end of her shift, feeling both tired and stressed out.

As she walked down the street where she lived, she could not help but notice the long silver limousine parked outside the shop. Fierce tension tautened her slim figure and her heart raced so fast it was a challenge to breathe.

As she approached, Dior Harlequin got out of the car, the movement fluid and controlled, without any suggestion of haste. As usual, he looked spectacular. Charcoal-grey suit, crisp shadow stripe shirt, elegant silk tie in muted shades. Stella's heart went from racing to sinking.

Dior looked every inch what he was, she acknowledged dully. A very rich and powerful businessman, highly sophisticated and exquisitely well-groomed. How she had ever for one second imagined that she could have a relationship with someone like him? Stella removed her keys from her bag with an unsteady hand.

'You're not playing fair, Dior. I told you I didn't want this,' she reminded him. 'I hurt you and I'm sorry,' Dior whispered steadily. Unprepared for a blunt assertion of that ego-battering truth, Stella twisted her head away. Her strained eyes stung with tears as she fumbled blindly to get the key into the lock and get the shop door safely shut behind her again.

Dior plucked the key from her nerveless grip, opened the door and stood back. Stella stepped inside and adjusted the alarm so that it wouldn't go off. 'I just don't want to speak to you...Okay?' she said stiltedly. 'No. It's not OKay. I want to talk to you.' Stella swallowed hard.

All he probably wanted to do was explain and go away again. With as much dignity as she could muster, she simply shrugged as if she didn't care either way. Dior followed her up the steep narrow staircase behind the counter.

She unlocked the door of her bedsit and switched on the lamp by her bed. It was a spacious room and she was proud of it. She had painted the walls a sunny yellow, put up posters, and covered the armchair with a colorful throw. Tossing her keys on the gate-leg table by the window, she turned back to him with pronounced reluctance. Dior studied her with an intensity she could feel right through to her bones.

She flushed and folded her arms, suddenly horribly conscious of her serviceable rain jacket, faded jeans, and sweater. In the act of tilting her chin, she connected with glittering green eyes. She quivered treacherous heat pooling between her t.h.i.g.hs, a strength of craving that appalled her instantly awakened. 'Come home with me' Dior demanded thickly.