The Silver Bride

They had spent three glorious weeks on Chandos, and Stella had been so happy, she'd felt as if she was walking on air. She had been afraid that their return to London might take some of the magic away, yet, even though Dior was now frantically busy after taking so much time off, nothing had changed between them.

They had shared so much more than a bed on the island: visits to Lucy and Bella's cozy little farmhouse, midnight swims, barbecues on the beach and so much laughter. Now she was amazed that she had got herself in such a twist over Aria Bailey.

The brunette had taken her revenge with that newspaper article. Apart from the odd unavoidable social occasion, Stella reckoned that the other woman was more or less out of their lives. Indeed, there was only one cloud in Stella's world, and she knew it was a very selfish and unreasonable one.

She had a guy who would trail round a baby shop without complaint. She had a guy who acted as if the merest breath of wind might blow her fragile little carcass away.

She had a guy who listened when she talked, who was still sending her flowers after the wedding, and who phoned her in the mornings even if he was seeing her for lunch. A guy who was caring and supportive and incredible in bed. She was a lucky woman. So wishing that Dior would fall madly in love with her as well was positively greedy.

Late that night, Dior strolled out of the bathroom in his penthouse apartment, towel loosely knotted about his lean h.i.p.s, moisture still beading the curling dark tendrils of hair on his muscular c.h.e.s.t. 'Stella...there's something we need to talk about.'

Blissfully engaged in appreciating him, Stella sat up in bed and smiled before she registered that his lean, dark features had a very serious cast. 'What's wrong?' 'There's nothing wrong,' Dior asserted wryly. 'I'm flying over to Paris to see Aria tomorrow.' Stella blinked in sheer shock.

'Naturally, I'm hoping that this won't cause trouble between us,' Dior continued levelly. 'Since her father died I have been in charge of all Aria 's business interests.' At that second revelation, an appalled look froze Stella's fine features. 'Why didn't you tell me that before?' she demanded.

To be blunt,' Dior whispered steadily, hazel green eyes challenging her now, 'I don't think that a responsibility I accepted long before I met you is any real concern of yours.' Stella turned pale. That wasn't just blunt, that was brutal.

Dior released his breath in an impatient hiss. 'I want you to be rational about the fact that I meet up with Aria regularly.' 'Rational...' Her husband met up with her most bitter enemy regularly.

That news was the equivalent of being slugged with a sandbag. Dior came down on her side of the bed and reached for her hand. Stella snatched it back.

'Can't you even try to behave like a grown-up?' Dior censured with stark impatience as he sprang upright again. 'I accept that you felt insecure when we first got married—' Stella parted bloodless lips.