Like a steamroller, he headed for another rack, to pull a blue cotton shift dress from a hanger and stuff it with equal un‐ concern into her dismayed grasp. A long black coat was thrust at her in the same careless fashion.
Then he paused by a severely undersized candy-pink shorts outfit on a dummy. With an imperious inclination of his dark head, he hailed the frozen-faced older woman already moving their way. '
We'll have this as well.' 'I'm afraid that item is sold out, sir,' he was told acidly. 'Take it off the dummy, then,' Dior instructed the woman, whose badge proclaimed her managerial status. ' Harlequin!' Stella hissed, cringing with embarrassment.
On the clear brink of making a deflating retort, the older woman's mouth fell open when she heard that name and took a better look at the tall black-haired male towering over Stella. 'M-Mr Harlequin?' she stuttered in incredulously. 'Yes, the owner of this chain of shops,' Dior confirmed, surveying the unfortunate woman with menacing disapproval.
'Tell me, do your staff usually stand around chatting when there are customers requiring attention? And since when has a display been more important than making a sale?' 'You're quite right, sir. Please allow me to assist you,' the manageress muttered unevenly, her discomfiture unconcealed.
'This lady needs lingerie. Pick some out for us.' His attention falling on the shoe racks, he dragged Stella across to them. 'What size are you?' 'I don't think I've ever been more embarrassed in my life.' Stella was trembling with rage and chagrin.
'Is this the way you normally behave hi public?' 'What's the matter with you?' he demanded with ringing impatience.
'We don't have time to waste. Choose some shoes.' In the background, the manageress was struggling to strip the shorts outfit from the mannequin with hands that were visibly trembling. In a sudden move of desperation, Stella stretched up and heaped all the garments into his arms instead.
'Why don't you just go over to the checkout and wait for me there?' 'I'll stay here to expedite matters—' 'You are not standing around while I choose undergarments!' Stella hissed up at him, like a viper ready to strike, infuriated green eyes flaming bright as jewels.
'I don't need so much stuff either.' green eyes scorched down into hers. 'I'm paying you to do as you're told—' 'If I have to put up with you, it'll need to be plenty!' His brilliant gaze shimmered, a dark flush of color accentuating the savage slant of his sculpted cheekbones.
Incredulity emanated from him in waves. Nobody speaks to me like that—' 'Oh, stop throwing your weight around,' Stella told him witheringly.
'I—' 'You've behaved atrociously from the moment we walked in here,' Stella condemned fiercely. 'Go over to the checkout and keep quiet, and try not to terrify the life out of anybody else!' Turning her back on him, unperturbed by the rasp of Greek invective Dior Harlequin was audibly struggling to restrain, Stella chose a pair of high-heeled black sandals and tried them on.
They fitted. She passed them to him without a backward glance before joining the ashen-pale manageress at the lingerie section and hurriedly selecting a nightdress and some sets of bras and briefs.
The argument, she sensed with a shudder, might well lead to further public mortification. She would leave the clothes behind when she was finally free of the dreadful man.
And already the mere thought of another thirty-six hours in Dior Harlequin's domineering and boorish radius daunted her. He handed the blue dress and the shoes back to her. 'Put them on,' he commanded with studied insolence.
Cheeks adorned with flags of outraged scarlet, Stella stalked into a cubicle. He had no manners. He was incredibly confrontational, unnervingly uninhibited and outspoken.