by Teri Wilson
What on earth was going on? It was like he’d stepped into some weird reverse Cinderella scenario.
“I own this building,” he said. “I have every right to be here.”
“I suppose you do.” Her gaze darted toward the empty hallway.
“You can stop looking around. I’ve sent everyone home already.” Almost everyone.
“Oh.” She swallowed, and Dalton traced the movement up and down the length of her regal neck. His willpower was crumbling by the second. “How’s Diana? Is she going to be okay?”
He nodded. “Yes, thank God. She’s awake. Mostly anyway. According to the doctor, she didn’t suffer any permanent damage.”
He dropped his gaze to the display case and the diamond rings shimmering in the darkness, like ice on fire. “Her horse had to be put down. She didn’t know. I told her about an hour ago, and she didn’t take it well.”
His voice broke, and something inside him seemed to break right along with it. Giving Diana the news about Diamond had been the most difficult conversation he’d ever had in his life. Even more difficult than telling Clarissa’s parents about her suicide.
He was just so sick of loss. Of death and dying. He couldn’t carry it with him anymore. Not another damned minute.
His gaze slid back to Aurélie, standing in front of him looking so beautiful. So alive. So real.
It was enough to make him lose his head.
“I was engaged once,” he said, nodding at the neat row of rings beneath the glass.
What was he doing? He hadn’t planned on telling Aurélie about Clarissa. He hadn’t even considered it. But once it slipped out, he felt instantly lighter. Just a little bit. Just enough that he could breathe again.
“She died,” he continued. “By her own hand, but I was to blame.”
He took a deep inhale and paused. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe he was waiting for her to respond in horror. Maybe he’d held onto the words for so long that his voice was rebelling. But he forced them out. If he didn’t say them now, he knew he never would. To anyone. He’d carry his horrible secrets to his grave, and he couldn’t bear the weight of them any longer.
“She called me for help, but I didn’t answer. If I had, she might still be alive today.” He covered his face with his hands. It hurt to be this open, this vulnerable.
“I should have been there for her, but I wasn’t. I was here. Right where I always am.” He forced himself to look at Aurélie. As much as he feared seeing a look of disappointment on her face—or worse, pity—he needed to gaze into those glittering green eyes.
The compassion he saw in their emerald depths kept him going. And once he began, he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. His tongue tripped over them, and he told her the entire story. He even told her little details he’d thought he’d forgotten, like the shooting star he’d seen on the way home that night and the way he’d felt like the world’s biggest fraud when the mourners at Clarissa’s funeral offered their condolences. He talked until there was nothing left to say.
Then he finished, breathless, and waited for her to say something. He hoped to God she didn’t try and tell him it wasn’t his fault. He’d been having that argument with himself for six years. He didn’t want to have it with her, too.
She didn’t tell him he was blameless, though. She didn’t try to make him feel better, nor did she look at him like he was some kind of monster. She said the only thing he was willing to hear. The right thing. The perfect thing.
“Dalton, I’m so sorry.” She placed a gentle hand on his forearm.
His name was like a prayer on her lips, her touch like a balm. The tenderness of the moment ripped him open, crushed what was left of his defenses. Without the shelter of his secrets, he was no longer capable of hiding his desperation.
He ached for her.
Keeping his distance from her had been torture. The only thing stopping him from kissing her right here, right now, were those six words he’d been trying to forget since the moment she’d uttered them just hours after he’d taken her to bed.
I don’t think it should happen again.
Dalton had never once come close to forcing himself on a woman. He thought men who did that were despicable. He couldn’t...wouldn’t...kiss her without her consent. But by God, if he stood much longer in that room, drowning in engagement rings, he was liable to do something he’d come to regret. He may already have.
“Princess,” he whispered as he reached to cup her face, drawing the pad of his thumb across her lovely lower lip.
She didn’t say a word, didn’t even breathe as far as he could tell, just gazed at him with her sparkling emerald eyes.
Dalton remembered a story his grandfather had told him when he was a little boy. He’d said that in ancient Rome, the Emperor Nero watched gladiator battles through a large emerald stone because he found the color soothing. Since the very first emerald had been dug out of the ground, people believed healing could be found in their glittering green depths. They were once called the Jewel of Kings.
It was a fitting thing to remember in the presence of royalty.
Dalton could have been Nero in that moment. Soothed and whole. Everything he wanted, everything he needed was right there in those eyes. Acceptance. Life. Passion.
He wanted her. He wanted her again. And again and again.
Walk away.
Walk away while you still can.
“Kiss me.” She turned her head just slightly, just enough for his thumb to make contact with the wet warmth of her mouth. “Please.”
Please.
Dalton went rock-hard even before his lips crashed down on hers. Had it only been a day since he’d been inside her? Impossible. It felt like years since he’d buried himself between her thighs and felt her lithe body shuddering beneath him. Too long. Much too long.
He circled an arm around her, pulling her against him as her lips opened for him and he licked his way inside her mouth with teasing strokes of his tongue. He kissed her with all the dark intensity that made him who he was. A shock of pure, primal pleasure shot through him when she whimpered and melted into him.
This, he thought.
This right here was what he wanted. What he’d missed.
She tasted like promise and hunger and hope, things Dalton had given up on long ago. And the way she responded to his touch was enough to bring him back to life.
He pinned her against one of the taller display cases and kissed her until she began to tremble violently. Until the diamonds behind her shook on their glass shelves. He liked it. He liked it far too much.
He wasn’t going to rush things this time. Not even if she urged him to hurry. Not even if she begged. Hell, he wanted her to beg. He wanted her wet, helpless and desperate for him by the time he pushed inside her. He wanted this to mean something, so when daylight came, it would be impossible for her to look him in the eye and call this a mistake.
“Dalton,” she whispered against his mouth. Her hand moved from his chest to his fly, finding him through his clothes. Exploring. Caressing. Stroking with just the right amount of pressure.
His vision blurred. He groaned. For a moment he thought he saw stars, but then he realized it was the light from the diamonds shimmering softly behind her.
“I want you,” she murmured. The next sound he heard was the slide of his zipper, then her delicate hand was around his shaft, pumping slowly. He closed his eyes, lost to the pure, hot bliss of her touch. On
ly for a moment. Only long enough for his desire to take on an edge of desperation.
He opened his eyes.
“Not now, princess. Not yet.” Not even close.
He dropped his lips to the curve of her neck and worked his way down, down to the hollow of her throat, casually unbuttoning her dress as he went.
“Turn around,” he said in as even a tone as he could manage.
She released her hold on his cock and obeyed, turning slowly, peering at him coyly over her shoulder. But there was heat glimmering in her emerald gaze. Molten desire.
“Put your hands over your head,” he told her, his voice raw with need.
Again she did as he said without a moment’s hesitation, and that alone was nearly enough to make him lose control. His hands shook as he gathered the soft folds of her dress and lifted it carefully over her head. He tossed it aside, and waves of golden curls spilled over her shoulders and down her supple back.
So gorgeous.
He drank in the sight of her exquisite curves, surrounded by the luminous diamond glow and clothed in nothing but tiny wisps of lace. She was the most beautiful woman Dalton had ever set eyes on. Always would be. He couldn’t say how, or why, but he knew with absolute certainty that there would never be another woman in his life like Aurélie. Whatever this was between them came around only once in a lifetime. If that.
“Be still,” he said. “Be very still.”
Her hair rippled gently beneath his breath. He twirled a long, lovely lock of it around his fingertips before trailing his hand ever so softly down the length of her spine. His touch left goose bumps in its wake.
She shivered.
He leaned in, pressed a tender kiss between her shoulder blades, and a slow smile of satisfaction came to his lips when she arched her back.
So needy.
Now we’re getting somewhere.
* * *
What was he doing to her?
This wasn’t like before. This was something different entirely. Something far more intense.
He’d been holding back last night. She realized that now. She’d asked him not to be gentle, not to go slow. And he hadn’t. But tonight, Dalton was the one in control. He was setting the pace. And the deliberate slowness of his movements seemed designed to send her into sensual distress.
Aurélie could barely keep herself upright. Her legs were on the verge of buckling, and Dalton had barely touched her. There’d been just a few brushes of his fingertips and one or two lingering kisses, but it was the wicked edge to his voice that was reducing her to a quivering mass of need. He sounded so serious. So imposing.
It shouldn’t have aroused her. It absolutely shouldn’t have, but it did. It inflamed her in a way she didn’t understand. Couldn’t, even if she’d been capable of trying. Which she wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t speak. When he ran his hands down her sides, grabbed hold of her hips and gently turned her around so she was facing him again, she could barely even look at him.
She peered up at him through the thick fringe of her lashes and her face went hot. His lips curved into a knowing grin as she struggled to catch her breath. She glanced down. Her breasts were straining the lacy cups of her bra, arching toward him. Her thighs were pressed together in an effort to quell the tingling at her center. This was too much. Too much heat. Too much sensation. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t speak. She didn’t need to say a word. Her body was pleading with him, begging him to touch her. Take her. Fill her.
She would have been mortified if she hadn’t been so violently aroused.
He raised a single, dark eyebrow and pushed the hair back from her eyes. Her pulse rocketed out of control, and his gaze dropped to her throat. He knew. Dalton Drake knew perfectly well what he was doing to her.
She licked her lips and willed herself not to beg. Please, Dalton. Touch me.
Love me.
Love me.
At last he moved closer, unhooked her bra and slid its satiny straps down her arms. Before it even fell to the floor, his mouth was on her breasts, licking, sucking, biting. Then he pressed a languid, openmouthed kiss to her belly. She was vaguely conscious of her panties sliding down her legs. Everything had gone so seductively fuzzy around the edges. She looked around, and she saw Dalton’s image reflected in the cool facets of the diamonds twinkling under the shimmering lights. Everywhere. Like a starry winter’s night.
Her legs trembled as he parted her thighs, his mouth moving lower, lower still.
The scrape of his five o’clock shadow along the soft flesh of her inner thigh was nearly enough to send her over the edge. What was happening? This was too intimate. Too intense. There would be no coming back from this. She’d never be able to pretend this didn’t matter. Not to herself. Not to him.
He’d told her his deepest, darkest secret. And now he was uncovering hers, exposing her desire for the wanton, yearning thing that it was. She couldn’t be this vulnerable to him. Not when she would eventually have to walk away.
She’d stolen another day. But this wouldn’t last forever. It couldn’t. She’d be lucky if it lasted until the gala.
The impossibility of the situation bore down on her. She looked at Dalton settled between her thighs, pleasuring her with his skillful mouth and she felt like crying. But instead she heard herself crying out in pleasure, saying his name as though she had a right to it. As though it belonged to her.
He’s not yours.
He’s not yours, and he never will be.
“Dalton,” she murmured. She had to tell him. He’d been so honest with her. So real. And he still didn’t know why she’d been so desperate to leave home.
“Let go.” There it was again—that unflinchingly authoritative tone. Her favorite sound. “Just feel, princess.”
Surrender was her only choice. It was too late for anything else. She clung tightly to him, her hands moving through his hair as she writhed against him.
Just feel, princess.
Her head fell back as she fully, finally gave herself up to him. She couldn’t fight it anymore. It was no use. He slipped a finger inside her, moving it in time with his mouth. She gasped, blinking in shock at the astonishing pleasure. Her mind had caught up with her body, stripped bare and open. Everything around her shimmered. Her eyes fluttered shut, and the row of dazzling engagement rings in the case beside her was the last thing she saw before her climax slammed into her and she came apart.
Dalton caught her as she slipped toward the floor. He tucked an arm beneath her legs and carried her out of the room, down the hall to his office. She tried to wrap her arms around his neck, but they’d gone impossibly heavy. Instead she nestled her head in the warm space between his neck and shoulder.
He set her down gingerly on the sofa and undressed while she watched, memorizing every detail of his sculpted body and the way it glistened like fine marble in the moonlight streaming through the window. She wanted to hold onto what she was feeling right then—the heady thrill she felt when he looked at her bare body.
He sees me.
He always has.
He stretched out next to her, and she moved to sit astride him. She gazed down at him, this man who’d found her when she hadn’t even realized how lost she’d been. He rose up to kiss her, his mouth gentle and seeking. It was a reverent kiss. Worshipful, almost. The tenderness of it caught her off guard. A wistful ache squeezed her heart.
&n
bsp; She reached for him and guided him to her entrance. She needed him to fill her again. Now, before whatever was happening between them slipped through their fingers like her mother’s golden pearls.
With an excruciatingly sweet ache, he pushed inside her. Slowly, slowly, and she arched to take him in. He curled his strong hands around her hips, thrust harder. And harder. Until the sweetness gave way to blazing heat, and fire bloomed between them once again.
Diamond bright.
Chapter Fifteen
Dalton slept like the dead.
With Aurélie’s head on his chest and his fingers buried in her hair, he slept the peaceful, dreamless slumber of a man who’d managed to outrun his demons. His eyes didn’t open a fraction until he heard voices. Familiar voices.
“Good morning.”
“I understand. There’s been a family emergency, but the moment I’m able to reach Mr. Drake, I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Was that Mrs. Barnes? What was his secretary doing in his apartment?
He pressed his eyes closed, determined not to care. He wasn’t waking up. Not yet. He wanted to stay right where he was, wrapped in Aurélie’s graceful limbs as long as he could. He turned, slid behind her and burrowed into her soft orchid scent. Memories from the night before came flooding back. Tastes. Sounds. The glorious sight of her sitting on top of him with her hair tumbling over her shoulders and moonlight caressing her beautiful breasts. He ran his hands over the soft swell of her hips, pulled her close to grind against her bottom and was rewarded with a sultry moan.
“Good morning, love,” he whispered, already hard, already wanting her. God, what was happening to him? He was insatiable.
“I understand the urgency of the situation, but it’s really not best that you come here, Your Highness.”
Somewhere beneath the liquid heat of his arousal, a prickle of unease snaked its way into Dalton’s consciousness.
His eyes drifted open, and he took in his surroundings. His desk. His chair. The Drake-blue walls.
