by Teri Wilson
“Irresponsible?” The nerve. He didn’t know a thing about her life in Delamotte. “Did I just hear you correctly?”
People jostled past them on the sidewalk. Skyscrapers towered on either side of the street. The snow was coming down harder now, like they were inside a snow globe that had been given a good, hard shake.
“You certainly did,” he said.
God, he was rude. Particularly for a man who wanted something from her. “You do realize who you’re speaking to, don’t you, Mr. Drake?”
He looked pointedly at the puppy in Aurélie’s arms.
The little dog whimpered, and she gave him a comforting squeeze.
If she put herself in Dalton’s shoes, she could understand how adopting a dog on a whim might appear a tad irresponsible. But it wasn’t a whim. Not exactly. And anyway, she shouldn’t have to explain herself. They had a deal.
He crossed his arms. Aurélie tried not to think about the biceps that appeared to be straining the fabric of his suit jacket. How did a man who so obviously spent most of his time at work get muscles like that? It was hardly fair. “You said you wanted a hot dog, not a French bulldog.”
What was he even talking about? Oh, that’s right—her grand speech. “The hot dog was a metaphor, Mr. Drake.”
“And what about the pretzel? Was that a metaphor, as well?”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean...” Merde. Why did she get so flustered every time she tried to talk to him? “What do you have against dogs, anyway?”
“Nothing.” He frowned. How anyone could frown in the presence of a puppy was a mystery Aurélie couldn’t begin to fathom. “I do, however, have a problem with your little disappearing act.”
“And I have a problem with your patronizing attitude.”
She needed to put an end to this ridiculous standoff and get them both inside, preferably somewhere other than Dalton’s boring office. “I could very easily pack up my egg and go home, if you like.”
“Fine.” He shrugged, and to her utter astonishment, he began walking away.
“I beg your pardon?” she sputtered.
He turned back around. “Fine. Go back to your castle. And take the mutt with you.”
A slap to the face wouldn’t have been more painful. She squared her shoulders and did her best to ignore the panicked beating of her heart. “He has a name.”
“Since when? Five minutes ago?”
“It’s Jacques.” She ran a hand over the dog’s smooth little head. “In case you were wondering.”
A hint of a smile passed through his gaze. “Very French. I’m sure the palace will love it.”
She wasn’t sure if his praise was genuine or sarcastic. Either way, it sent a pleasant thrill skittering through Aurélie. A pleasant thrill that irritated her to no end.
Why should she care what he thought about anything? Clearly he considered her spoiled. Foolish. Irresponsible. He’d said as much, right to her face. When he looked at her, he saw one thing. A princess.
She wondered what it would be like to be seen. Really seen. Every move she made back home was watched and reported. Not a day passed when her face wasn’t on the front page of the Delamotte papers.
“Let’s be serious, Mr. Drake. We both know I’m not going anywhere. You want that egg.”
He took a few steps nearer, until she could feel the angry heat of his body. Too close. Much too close. “Yes, I do. But not as much as you wish to escape whatever it is you’re running from. You’re not going anywhere. I, on the other hand, won’t hesitate to call the palace. Tell me, Princess, what is it that’s got you so frightened?”
As if she would share any part of herself with someone like him. She hadn’t crossed an ocean in an effort to get away from one overbearing man, only to throw herself into the path of another.
She leveled her gaze at him. “Nothing scares me, Mr. Drake. Least of all, your empty threats. If you’re not prepared to uphold your end of our bargain, then I will, in fact, leave. Only I won’t take my egg back to Delamotte. I’ll take it right down the street to Harry Winston.”
She pasted a sweet smile on her face. Dalton gave her a long look, and as the silence stretched between them, she feared he might actually call her bluff.
Finally, he placed a hand on the small of her back and said, “Come. Let’s go home.”
Chapter Four
The next morning, Dalton woke to the sensation of a warm body pressed against his. For a moment—just an aching, bittersweet instant—he allowed himself to believe he’d somehow traveled back to the past. Back to a time when there’d been more to life than work. And his office. And yet more work.
Then an unpleasant snuffling sound came from the body beside him, followed by a sneeze that sprayed his entire forearm with a hot, breathy mist. Dalton opened one eye. Sure enough, the beast he found staring back at him was most definitely not a woman. It was the damned dog.
He sighed. “What are you doing in here? I thought we agreed the bedroom was off-limits?”
The puppy’s head tilted at the sound of his voice, a gesture that would have probably been adorable if the dog weren’t so ridiculous-looking. And if he weren’t currently situated in Dalton’s bed, with his comically oversized head nestled right beside Dalton’s on his pillow—eiderdown, imported from Geneva.
Dalton’s gaze landed on a dark puddle of drool in the center of the pillowcase. Eiderdown or not, the pillow had just become a dog bed.
He rolled his eyes as he strode naked to the marble bathroom at the far end of the master suite and turned on the shower. Perhaps a soggy pillow was his penance for allowing a royal princess to sleep on his sofa rather than giving up his bed. Not that he hadn’t tried. But at 1 a.m., she’d still been perched cross-legged on the oversized tufted ottoman in the living room, flipping through the hundreds of channels his satellite dish company offered, like a giddy child on holiday. Dalton hadn’t even known he subscribed to so much programming. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d turned on the television.
Sleeping in his office had become something of a habit, especially in recent years. But he couldn’t very well spend the night there with Aurélie. He wasn’t about to let the staff at Drake Diamonds see her hanging about his office in her pajamas. Explaining her sudden presence in his life—and the need for a duplicate key to his apartment—to the doorman of his building had been awkward enough. Until she’d slipped her arm through his and called him darling, that is.
They were masquerading as a couple. Again.
Dalton wasn’t sure why he found that arrangement so vexing. She couldn’t introduce herself as a princess. That was out of the question. Posing as his lover was the obvious choice.
Dalton stepped under the spray of his steam shower and let the hot water beat against the rigid muscles in his shoulders. Every inch of his body was taut with tension. He told himself it had nothing to do with the bewildered expression on the doorman’s face as Aurélie had gripped his arm with her delicate fingertips and given him a knowing smile, as if they’d been on their way upstairs so he could ravish her. Was the idea of a woman in his life really so far-fetched?
Yes, he supposed it was. He didn’t bring dates here. Ever. There were too many ghosts roaming the penthouse.
It isn’t real. It’s nothing but a temporary illusion, a necessary evil.
In just thirteen days, Dalton’s existence would return to its predictable, orderly state. He’d have his life back. And that life would be significantly improved, because the display cases in the first floor showroom of Drake Diamonds would be filled with sparkling, bejeweled eggs.
He knew precisely where he would put the secret egg—in the same glass box that had once housed the revered Drake Diamond. The 130-carat wonder had held a place of honor in the family’s flagship store since the day the doors opene
d to the public. Tourists came from all over the city just to see the stone, which had only been worn by two women in the 150 years since Dalton’s great-great-great-great-great-grandfather had plucked it from a remote mine in South Africa and subsequently carved it into one of the most famous gemstones in the world.
The loss of that diamond just three months after the death of Dalton’s father had been like losing a limb. Granted, Artem had managed to buy it back for his wife, Ophelia. But it belonged to her personally now. Not the store. The Drake Diamond’s display case sat empty.
Not that Dalton despised the sight of that vacant spot for sentimental reasons. The Drakes had never been an emotional bunch, and sentimentality had been the last thing on Dalton’s mind once he’d learned he’d been passed over in favor of Artem for the CEO position. His pride was at stake. His position in the family business.
He didn’t want to restore Drake Diamonds to its former glory. He wanted to surpass it, to make the institution into something so grand that his father wouldn’t even recognize it if he rose from his grave, walked through the front door and set foot on the plush Drake-blue carpet.
Selling the Drake Diamond had been a necessity. Geoffrey Drake had plunged the family business so far into debt that there’d been no other option. And he hadn’t told a soul. He’d sat in an office just down the hall from Dalton every day for years and hadn’t said a word about the defunct diamond mine that had stripped the company of all its cash reserves. About the debt. About any of it.
Dalton shouldn’t have been surprised. Honesty had never been his father’s strong suit. Artem’s very existence was a testament to their father’s trustworthiness, or lack thereof. Dalton hadn’t even known he had a brother until his father had brought five-year-old Artem home to the Drake mansion. Judging from the look of hurt and confusion on his mother’s pale face, it had come as a surprise to her as well. Less than a year later, she was dead. To this day, Dalton’s sister blamed their mother’s death on a broken heart.
If there was a bright side to any of his family’s sordid past or the recent sudden death of their patriarch, it was that the brothers had made peace with each other. At long last. When Artem had made the decision to sell the Drake Diamond, he’d saved the company. Dalton could admit as much.
But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
He needed to be the one to transform Drake Diamonds into something more spectacular than it had ever been. It was the only way to justify his years of mindless devotion to the family business. He needed those years to mean something. He needed something to show for his life. Something other than loss.
He switched the shower faucet to the off position with more force than was necessary, and then grabbed a towel. On any other day, he would already have put in a solid hour behind his desk by now. He dressed as quickly as possible, adjusted the Windsor knot in his Drake-blue tie and resigned himself to the fact that it was time to venture into the living room and wake Aurélie. But first he needed to get the snoring beast out of his bed.
Dalton scooped the dog up and tried to wrap his mind around how something so tiny could make so much noise. Then his gaze landed on a wet spot in the center of the duvet. The little monster had peed in his bed. Perfect. Just perfect.
“Seriously?”
The animal’s googly eyes peered up at Dalton. He sighed mightily.
“Aurélie!” He stormed into the living room without bothering to deal with the mess. “Your charge requires attention.”
The television was blaring and the sofa was piled with pillows and blankets, but Aurélie wasn’t there. Dalton’s temples began to pound. She’d run off? Again?
The puppy squirmed in his arms and let out a little yip, so Dalton lowered him to the floor. He scampered toward the kitchen, tripping over his own head a few times in the process.
“Mon petit chou!”
Dalton didn’t know whether to feel relieved at the sound of Aurélie’s voice or angry. Angry about the dog. About the near heart attack he’d just experienced when he’d thought she’d run off again. About every ridiculous thing she’d done since she’d breezed into his life less than twenty-four hours ago.
He settled on relief, until he followed the dog into the kitchen and caught his first glimpse of Aurélie’s appearance.
She stood leaning against the counter with her mass of blond hair piled in a messy updo, wearing nothing but her luminous strand of gold pearls and a crisp men’s white tuxedo shirt. His tuxedo shirt, if Dalton wasn’t mistaken. But it wasn’t the idea that she’d slept in his freshly pressed formal wear that got under his skin. It was the sight of her bare, willowy legs, the curve of her breasts beneath the thin white fabric of his shirt, the lush fullness of her bottom lip.
All of it.
He went hard in an instant, and the thought occurred to him that perhaps the only ghost inhabiting the apartment in the past few years had been him.
Whatever you do, don’t take her to bed.
“Bonjour.” Aurélie smiled. “Look at you, all dressed and ready for work. Why am I not surprised?”
Dalton shook his head. He was aroused to the point of pain. “We’re not going to the office.”
“Non?”
Non. Very much non. Suddenly, there was a more pressing matter that required attention—clothing the princess living under his roof before he did something royally stupid.
“Get ready. We’re going shopping.” He lifted a brow at the puppy in her arms. “As soon as you clean up after your dog.”
* * *
After more cajoling than Aurélie could have possibly anticipated, Dalton finally acquiesced and agreed to take the subway rather than using his driver. He appeared distinctly uncomfortable doing so.
Aurélie couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since he’d ridden any form of public transportation. Granted, he was rich. That much was obvious. And just in case it hadn’t been so glaringly apparent, the Google search Aurélie had conducted of Drake Diamonds on her phone the night before had confirmed as much.
According to Forbes, the flagship store on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 57th Street was the most valuable piece of real estate in the entire country. The building and its contents were worth slightly more than Fort Knox, where America’s official gold reserves were held.
So yes, Dalton Drake was quite wealthy. And as he took such pleasure in pointing out over and over again, he was also busy. But this was New York. She’d assumed that everyone rode the subway, even rich workaholics like Dalton Drake.
Aurélie was also tempted to ask him how long it had been since he’d set foot in a building that didn’t bear his name. She couldn’t help but notice the discreet script lettering spelling out The Drake on the elegant black awnings of his apartment building. He seemed to spend every waking moment inside his sprawling penthouse or his jewelry store, where the name Drake was splashed everywhere, including across the structure’s granite Art Deco exterior.
She didn’t ask him either of those things, though. Instead, she soaked up every detail of riding the city’s underground—the click of the silver turnstiles, the bright orange seats, the heady feeling of barreling through tunnels. The train sped from stop to stop, picking up and letting off people from all walks of life. Students with backpacks. Mommies with infants. Businessmen with briefcases.
None of those businessmen, however, were quite as formidable as the man standing beside her. No matter how much she tried to ignore him, Aurélie was overly conscious of Dalton’s presence.
As fascinated as she was by the hordes of New Yorkers, the bustling subway stations, even the jostling movement of the train, she couldn’t fully focus on any of it. Her gaze kept straying to Dalton’s broad shoulders, his freshly shaven square jaw, his full, sensual mouth.
If only she could ignore him properly. But it proved an impossible task, no matter
how hard she tried. During the frantic disembarking process at one of the stops, someone shoved Aurélie from behind and she found herself pressed right up against Dalton’s formidable chest, her lips mere inches from his. She stiffened, unable to move or even breathe, and prayed he couldn’t feel the frantic beating of her heart through the soft cashmere of his coat.
She’d been so overwhelmed by the sheer closeness of him that she couldn’t quite seem to think, much less right herself. Until he glared down at her with that disapproving gray gaze of his. Again.
Right. He was a serious CEO, and she was nothing but a spoiled, irresponsible princess. Duly noted.
“We’re here,” he said, as the doors of the train whooshed open.
Aurélie glanced at the tile mosaic sign on the wall. Lexington Avenue. “Wait, this isn’t...”
But Dalton’s hand was already in the small of her back and he was guiding her through the station and out onto the snowy sidewalk before she could finish her thought. As usual, he was on a mission. Aurélie was just along for the ride, but at least when he noticed how enraptured she was by the opulent shop windows, he slowed his steps. When she stopped to admire a display of dresses made entirely of colorful paper flowers, she caught a glimpse of Dalton’s reflection, and it looked almost as though he were smiling at her.
Then their eyes met in the glittering glass and any trace of a smile on his handsome face vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
He cleared his throat. “Shall we continue?”
That voice. Such a dark, low sound that sent a dangerous chill skittering up Aurélie’s spine, for which she heartily admonished herself. She shouldn’t be attracted to Dalton Drake. She couldn’t. He had too much leverage over her as it was. Besides, she had enough men in her life. More than enough.
“Yes.” She breezed past him as if she knew precisely where they were headed, when in fact, she hadn’t a clue. “Let’s.”
“Aurélie,” he said, with a hint of amusement in his tone. “We’re going that way.”
