The Silver Bride

'I know what I want out of life and, believe me, you're not part of the package!' 'What features in the package?' 'You want to know?' 'I want to know,' Dior confirmed levelly. 'All right. 'I'm hoping to buy the bookshop. That's why I run two jobs. I've been saving up for a long time and I'll be applying for a loan soon,' she admitted flatly. 'I'll offer you a loan now, on a straight business basis,' Dior informed her lazily.

Stella g.r.o.a.n.e.d out loud in frustration, marched into the next office down the corridor and snatched up the wastepaper bin. 'You just don't get it, do you?' she condemned when she emerged again. 'I don't want any favors. I don't need any help.' 'But you're making your employment here a barrier between us.'

'Dior...you wouldn't recognize a solid brick wall as a barrier!' Stella snapped. 'I shouldn't have asked you to be my mistress,' he whispered sibilantly. Stella was tempted into looking at him again, the hard knot of anger inside her loosening ever so slightly.

'No—' 'It was too soon,' Dior completed. 'You are a slow learner!' Stella delivered with a waspish bite. Vibrant amus.e.m.e.nt twinkled in his stunning dark eyes. 'I've missed having you around, Little Mou.' That smile warmed her like summer sunshine. She dragged her eyes from him as if that sudden heat burned her. '

So you're bored with sycophancy and in need of novelty. Have you ever thought of a dating agency?' 'You finish work soon. Let me take you out to eat somewhere.' Stella studied him where he lounged up against the door like a sleek, dark predator at rest. He aroused the most terrifyingly powerful hunger in her.

She thought of all the nights she had tossed and turned, unable to get him out of her mind and hating herself for being so weak she couldn't control her thoughts. But there it was, this aching, hurting craving that went way beyond physical d.e.s.i.r.e... 'Stella...' Dior prompted gently.

'I finish work and go to bed, Dior,' she stressed curtly, bending down to plug in the polisher again. 'So we skip the food.' Anger lancing through her in response to that provocative suggestion, Stella came upright again very fast. But that sudden movement engulfed her in a wave of dizziness.

Her view of Dior and the well-lit corridor lurched and then blurred out of focus. With a muffled gasp of fright, she went down and down into the beckoning darkness, her legs crumpling beneath her. When Stella began to recover consciousness, she felt nauseous and dazed. Her lashes lifted slowly.

Dior was so close she could see the tiny golden lights in his eyes and every inky individual spike of his lush lashes. They were hay a lift and he was carrying her, she finally registered, twin discoveries which confused her even more. 'Dior...' 'What?' he demanded with unconcealed aggression, powerful arms tightening around her to keep her firmly wedged against his hard, muscular c.h.e.s.t.

'What happened?' she muttered heavily. 'You fainted.' A frown indented her damp brow as she fought to regain her wits. 'I don't faint...' 'I've had it with this cleaning lark,' Dior ground out, his jawline squaring. 'It's obvious that you're not fit for it' 'Dior...put me down!' 'If I put you down, you'll fall over again! You look terrible, but then that's not very surprising, is it?'

Dior continued in the same accusing tone. 'You work six days a week in that bookshop, and more than half the time you're left to cope on your own there.' 'How do you know that?' Stella gasped, taken aback by his knowledge. 'I made it my business to know.' hazel green eyes gleamed down into hers. 'Your other employer has got it made.

He wanders in around lunchtime and heads home again mid-afternoon. How can you expect to work all day and then put in five nights here in a physically demanding job?' 'I'm young and healthy as a horse,' Stella protested as the lift doors sprang open, belatedly prompting her to demand to know where on earth he was taking her.