As soon as the jet was en route to Greece, where they were to spend a couple of weeks, Dior stashed Stella on the bed in the cabin and helped her out of her shoes. He would have helped her out of her suit as well, but Stella pulled away. 'Go to sleep,' he urged bossily. 'I know you have to be exhausted.' 'I'm not' Stella groaned in despair.
Dior crouched down lithely by the side of the bed. Vibrant dark eyes swept her mutinous but pale face. 'Don't you want to be awake for our wedding night?' he whispered silkily. 'I thought Maxwell might have put that on the forbidden list as well,' Stella said crossly.
Dior gave her a twinkling smile of amusement and smoothed her tumbled hair gently off her brow. 'You're such a kid sometimes.' Stella was so annoyed at that assurance she flipped over to turn her face to the wall and presented him with a stiff back.
'And that's good for me!' Dior protested with a tremor of laughter disturbing his usually even diction. 'Occasionally I now have to think for two people instead of one. For a male who has been extremely selfish and spoilt for most of his life, that's terrific therapy!' 'Oh, really?' Stella muttered sniffily.
Tm so glad one of us is having fun!' Dior burst out laughing. Stella flipped back over, real temper sparking, and then she collided with his beautiful dark eyes. Her heart skipped a beat and she forgot what she might have been about to snap back.
'I promise you, agape Mou. The fun will include you tonight,' he swore, not quite steadily. And only when she was free of the undeniable distraction of his vibrant presence did Stella feel the heaviness of the exhaustion she had rigorously denied slowly creeping over her to weight her limbs.
'Stop it,' Stella surfaced to mumble in a complaint when she sensed disturbance some timeless period later. 'Hush,' Dior soothed. Stella slid a sleepily seeking hand beneath his jacket. She spread possessive fingers across the silk shirt separating her from his warm, virile body and sighed with contentment. Dimly assuming he was lying down beside her, she sank back into a peaceful sleep.
She finally wakened and stretched, only find to herself under restraint. Her eyes flew open. Dior was carrying her. 'What...where?' 'You've slept well for a lady who wasn't remotely tired.
You've been out of it for the whole trip,' Dior drawled, with more than a hint of that satisfaction peculiar to a male who enjoys being proved right. Stella focused on the familiar frontage of the vast villa he was striving towards. 'For goodness' sake...put me down.' 'I can't.
I left your shoes behind on the jet.' 'How on earth did you cart me through Athens airport?' she gasped. 'The same way.' Dior laughed. 'It did cross my mind that the fact you're not as statuesque as Aria was a distinct advantage—I'm still fit to carry you over the threshold!' Stella froze at his reference to the other woman, the disconcerting comparison which he had unthinkingly made.
Dior tensed, closed his eyes and just groaned out loud, evidently registering what he had just said. Stella made an enormous effort. 'It's OK,' she stressed with a forced smile intended to soothe. 'She was part of your life for a long tune...I understand.'
As he reached the palatial front entrance of the villa, Dior sent a rueful glance down at her. 'Until I met you, I believed I was a skilled diplomat.' 'It's all that boot-licking that goes on around you,' Stella told him baldly.