The Princess Problem Page 8

  Upon closer inspection, something in the depths of Ophelia’s gaze told Aurélie that she was no stranger to heartache. Interesting.

  “Come with me. I know the perfect cure.” Ophelia wrapped an arm around her waist and steered her through the maze of wedded bliss and down the hall. In the time it took to leave Engagements behind, Aurélie decided she quite liked Ophelia. She liked her a lot.

  “Here we go. Grab a seat,” Ophelia said, ushering her into a small room filled with sleek silver appliances, trays of champagne and at least ten or twelve plates of tiny cakes.

  Aurélie looked around. “Is this a kitchen?”

  Ophelia nodded and slid a plate of petit fours onto the table in front of Aurélie. “I used to hide in here sometimes.” She waved a flippant hand toward Engagements. “When it got to be a little much out there, I’d sometimes sneak in here for some cake. This is where I met my husband, actually.”

  “Here in the kitchen?” Aurélie picked up a petit four, a perfect replica of the small Drake-blue boxes wrapped with white ribbon that customers carried home everyday. It looked too pretty, too perfect to eat.

  “Yes. In this very spot.” Ophelia frowned at the tiny cake in Aurélie’s hand. “Are you going to eat that or just stare at it? Because I’m eating for two and if it sits there much longer, I can’t promise I won’t snatch it right out of your hand.”

  Aurélie laughed. It felt good to laugh. Right. Easy. She hadn’t laughed much since she’d kissed Dalton. The past twenty-four hours or so had been spent mired in regret.

  She smiled at Ophelia and popped the petit four in her mouth. “Oh. My. God. This is delicious.”

  Ophelia shrugged. “Told you. It’s a wonder what just a little bite of cake can do sometimes.”

  Aurélie licked a crumb from her fingertip and shamelessly reached for another petit four. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” Ophelia leaned back in her chair and rested a hand on her belly the way blissful expectant mothers had a tendency to do.

  She was a lovely woman. Aurélie remembered reading in the brochure that Ophelia’s first designs for Drake Diamonds had been a dance-inspired collection because she used to be a ballerina. Her training showed. Even pregnant, she carried herself with the grace and poise of a former dancer.

  But it wasn’t her willowy limbs that made her beautiful, nor the elegance of her movements. It was the way she glowed. Ophelia was happy. Truly happy.

  Aurélie couldn’t help but feel a little envious. “Isn’t Artem the CEO? How is it that you first met him here instead of on the sales floor?”

  Ophelia’s lips curved into a smirk. “Let’s just say Artem wasn’t always so serious about this place. It took a while for him to adjust to the role.” She tilted her head and gave Aurélie a puzzled look. “I’m surprised Dalton hasn’t mentioned it to you. You’re staying with him, right? Artem’s work habits used to bother him to no end.”

  “Oui. I’m staying with him. But we don’t really talk much.” We just argue. And kiss. Then argue some more. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but Dalton isn’t exactly the chatty type.”

  “Oh, I’ve noticed.” Ophelia grew quiet for a moment. Pensive. “I’ve also noticed he seems a bit different since you arrived.”

  Aurélie sighed. “If he’s been extra cranky, I’m afraid that’s my fault. We rub each other the wrong way.” A bigger understatement had never been uttered.

  Ophelia’s brow furrowed. “Actually, I was thinking the opposite.”

  Aurélie opened her mouth, and for a few prolonged seconds, nothing came out of it. The opposite? Meaning that she and Dalton somehow rubbed each other the right way? Impossible. No. Just...no.

  Yet her heart gave a rebellious little lurch all the same.

  She cleared her throat and reminded herself that in a matter of hours she’d be on an airplane headed halfway across the world. As she should. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Ophelia smiled. “I’m talking about the dog in his office, for one thing.”

  Oh yes, that.

  “And his scarcity around here the past few days. Dalton doesn’t take time off. Ever.” She shrugged. “Unless Diana has a horse show in the area, like she does tomorrow.”

  Aurélie’s heart stuttered to a stop. So the horsewoman had a name. Diana.

  Well whoever Diana was, Aurélie pitied her. She couldn’t imagine being in a relationship with a man who was so clearly addicted to his work, was pathologically allergic to fun and hated rescue puppies.

  For some reason though, the storm of emotions brewing in Aurélie’s soul felt very little like pity. She swallowed around the lump that had taken up swift residence in her throat. “I...um...” Don’t ask about Diana the horse lover. Do not.

  “Diana is Artem and Dalton’s younger sister,” Ophelia explained. “The third Drake.”

  “Oh, I see.” It was ludicrous how delighted she sounded. Borderline thrilled. She prayed Ophelia didn’t pick up on it.

  Judging by her amused expression, she did. Mercifully, Artem strode into the kitchen before Ophelia could comment. He took one look at the empty plate in the center of the table and aimed a knowing grin at his wife. “Busted. Again.”

  Ophelia lifted a challenging brow. “I’m eating for two, remember?”

  As Aurélie watched Artem bend to give his wife a tender kiss on the cheek, she was struck by how different he appeared from Dalton, despite the fact that they had similar aristocratic good looks. Same dark hair, same chiseled features. But Aurélie had grown so accustomed to the thunder in Dalton’s gaze and the underlying intensity of his movements that witnessing Artem’s casual elegance was like seeing the flip side of a silver coin.

  “Sweetheart,” Ophelia said. “Have you met Aurélie?”

  Artem straightened and shook her hand. “Not officially, although I’ve heard quite a bit about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Enchanté.”

  Meeting Dalton’s family felt strange. She’d known Drake Diamonds was a family institution, but Dalton sure didn’t seem much like a family man. Probably because he so obviously wasn’t, the photograph on his laptop notwithstanding.

  His sister.

  Diana is Artem and Dalton’s younger sister. The third Drake.

  The woman’s identity didn’t change a thing. It didn’t change the fact that she had no business kissing Dalton. And it most definitely didn’t change the fact that Dalton had put an abrupt stop to her advances in the car. Or that she had a real life with real responsibilities on the other side of the world.

  Which made the extent of her relief all the more alarming.

  * * *

  Where the hell is she?

  Dalton checked the hour on his Cartier for what had to be the hundredth time. 8:45 p.m. Outside his office window, the sky had long grown dark. The store would be closing in less than fifteen minutes. Aurélie’s plane was due to board in just under three hours, and he still hadn’t managed to tell her she’d be on it.

  He sighed mightily. According to Sam, she’d left the apartment building an hour ago. She should have breezed into his office by now, but of course, she hadn’t. Dalton didn’t know why he was surprised. Aurélie wasn’t exactly a paragon of predictability. A rebellious spike of arousal shot through him, and he was forced to acknowledge that he found her lack of predictability one of her most intriguing qualities.

  Too bad it also drove him batshit crazy.

  By this time tomorrow, she’ll be out of your life for good. He just had to make it through the next few hours and see that Aurélie got on the plane. Surely getting her strapped into a first-class airplane seat on time was a doable task. Of course, it would help if he knew where she was.

  “What now?” Dalton groaned as he felt an all-too familiar nudge on
his shin. He looked down to find Aurélie’s dog staring up at him with its big, round googly eyes. Yet again. “You can’t be serious.”

  The puppy pawed at him again and let out a pitiful whine. Dalton had already been forced to have Mrs. Barnes walk the blasted thing twice since lunchtime when he’d done the honors himself. There had also been an unfortunate accident on his office floor, evidenced by a wet spot on the Drake-blue carpet that belied the dog’s small size. Tempted as Dalton was to ignore the persistent pawing on his shins, he knew better.

  He buzzed his secretary’s desk, but the call went unanswered. Which didn’t come as much of a surprise since she’d been officially relieved of her duties at 6:00. Sometimes she stayed late in case Dalton needed any after-hours assistance, but he figured puppy-sitting didn’t exactly fit into her job description.

  “Fine,” he muttered, scooping the tiny bulldog into the crook of his elbow. “Let’s do this.”

  The dog buried his oversized head into Dalton’s chest, made a few of the snuffling noises that Aurélie somehow found endearing and left a smear of god-knows-what in the middle of Dalton’s tie.

  Splendid. “Thanks for that,” he muttered.

  Jacques snorted in response. Dalton rolled his eyes and stalked down the hallway, intent on getting the business over with as swiftly as possible. But as he approached the kitchen, Jacques’s sizeable ears pricked forward. His stout little body trembled with excitement, and when they reached the doorway, the reason for his elation came into view.

  “Aurélie.” Dalton stopped in his tracks.

  There she was—sitting calmly at the kitchen table nibbling on petit fours like Marie Antoinette while her dog slobbered all over his Burberry suit. Why hadn’t he been notified of her arrival? And why were Artem and Ophelia chatting her up like the three of them were old friends?

  “You’re late,” he said without prelude or ceremony.

  Artem cleared his throat.

  “How is that possible when I don’t even work here?” Aurélie popped the remaining bit of cake in her mouth, affording Dalton a glimpse of her cherry pink tongue, a view that aroused him beyond all reason.

  She made no move to stand, instead remaining regally seated in her chair wearing one of the vintage dresses she’d chosen the day before—pale blue with a nipped in waist, voluminous skirt and large white polka dots. Wholly inappropriate for winter in New York, yet undeniably lovely. Dalton found himself wishing the dress were a shade or two darker. He’d like to have seen her dressed in Drake blue. His color...

  His.

  Mine. The word pulsed in his veins with a predatory fervor.

  He needed to get her out of his store, his life and back to Delamotte where she belonged. The fact that she’d yet to so much as look at him, focusing instead on the squirming puppy in his arms, did nothing to suppress his desire. Much to his frustration.

  The ways in which she vexed him were innumerable. He smiled tightly. “Apologies, Your Highness. I forget that work—or responsibility of any kind—is a foreign concept for you.”

  When at last she met his gaze, thinly veiled fury sparkled in the depths of her emerald eyes.

  “Okay, then,” Artem said with forced cheerfulness. “It’s getting rather late. I need to get my pregnant wife home. We’ll give you two some privacy, because don’t you have something you need to discuss with Aurélie, Dalton?”

  Artem shot Dalton a loaded glance.

  “Is that right?” Aurélie stood, and the folds of her pale blue skirt swirled around her shapely legs. “I have something to discuss with you as well. Something important.”

  “Very well.” Dalton nodded. “But at the moment, your dog requires attention. Shall we?”

  She reached for Jacques, and the dog went into a spastic fit of delight. Dalton was all but ignored, which should have been a relief. The fact that he felt the opposite was every bit as mystifying as it was infuriating.

  He smoothed down his dampened tie and waited as Aurélie gathered the puppy in her arms and walked past him, out the door. He glanced at his brother and sister-in-law, still sitting at the kitchen table, looking mildly amused. “Good night, Ophelia. Artem.” He nodded.

  Artem arched an expectant brow, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. Dalton got the message loud and clear. The time had come to tell Aurélie she was leaving. It was now or never.

  Chapter Eight

  Aurélie’s hands were shaking. Thank goodness she could hide them beneath the solid warmth of Jacques’s trembling little form. She’d rather die than let Dalton see the effect he had on her, especially after his dig about her work ethic. Or lack thereof.

  She really couldn’t stand that smug look in his eye, but what she despised even more was the fact that he’d been right. She’d never worked a day in her life. Not technically. Of course she’d always considered being royal a job in and of itself. But being here in New York and seeing how many people it took to keep Drake Diamonds running day in and day out, made her painfully aware of how easy she had it, her dreaded arranged marriage notwithstanding.

  Like it or not, Dalton had been right about her to some extent. She’d come to New York for a taste of real life, but holing up in a workaholic diamond heir’s luxury apartment wasn’t any more real than life in a palace.

  It feels real, though. At the moment, nothing in the world felt as real as the forbidden heat of Dalton’s palm in the small of her back as he escorted her down the hall. A tremble coursed through her, and for some ridiculous reason she felt like crying as the Engagements showroom came into view.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, much to her horror.

  Get it together, Aurélie. She refused to break down in front of Dalton Drake. She’d have nine uninterrupted hours to cry all she wanted on her flight back to Delamotte.

  “I’m perfectly fine,” she said as Jacques licked a tear from her cheek.

  Dalton stared at her for a beat, and a dangerous-looking knot formed in his jaw. He looked like he could grind coal into diamonds with his teeth. Tears made him angry? It figured, seeing as he seemed allergic to the full scale of human emotions.

  “You’re fine. Clearly,” he muttered and jabbed at the elevator’s down button.

  The elevator attendant, who felt almost like a friend by now, was nowhere to be seen. He must have gone home for the day. Aurélie stared straight ahead as the doors slid closed, despite the array of sparkling diamond engagement rings assaulting her vision. She didn’t dare venture another glance at Dalton while they were trapped together in a small, enclosed space. Not after what she’d done the last time they were in a similar situation.

  “Is it true that Gaston Drake invented the concept of the engagement ring?” she asked, purely for something to say to pierce the sultry silence.

  She wasn’t even sure where she’d picked up the bit of trivia about Dalton’s great-great-great-great-great-grandfather. Probably from one of the brochures she’d had time to all but memorize while Dalton left her unattended in his office.

  “Been reading up on the company, have you?” His voice carried a note of surprise.

  “I can read, you know. I have a master’s degree from the Sorbonne.” Granted, she’d completed most of her coursework long-distance. But Dalton didn’t need to know that. “Does that surprise you, Mr. Drake?”

  She couldn’t help herself, and glanced up at him for the briefest second. Big mistake. Huge.

  Instead of finding a superior glint in his eye, as she’d come to expect, he was appraising her with a penetrating stare. As if he could see every part of her, inside and out, and despite his penchant for mocking her, he liked what he saw.

  The corner of his lips curved into a half grin. “You have a habit of surprising me on a daily basis, Princess.”

  Aurélie blinked, and despite every effort to maintain re
spectable, chaste eye contact, her gaze dropped straight to his mouth.

  It was happening again. She was thinking about kissing him. She was thinking about his hands in her hair and the cold fury of his lips and the delicious ache that was beginning to stir low in her belly. Just under five minutes in the man’s presence was all it had taken.

  They didn’t even like each other. What on earth was wrong with her?

  Thank God for the squirming puppy in her arms. He was the only thing keeping her from making a complete and utter fool of herself. Again.

  Somewhere amid the fog of arousal, she was vaguely aware of a bell ringing and a whooshing sound, followed by Dalton’s voice saying her name.

  “Hmm?” she heard herself say.

  “We’re here. The ground floor.” He stood beside her, holding the elevator door open, eyeing her with concern. She’d been so lost in illicit thought that she hadn’t even noticed the elevator had come to a stop. “Are you quite sure you’re all right?”

  No. Not one bit. “Yes, of course.”

  She brushed past him, out of the elevator and into the gleaming lobby. She was immediately taken aback by the unexpected serenity of the showroom. There wasn’t a soul in sight, not even a salesperson. As soon as she set foot on the marble foyer floor, the overhead lights flickered and dimmed.

  The store was closing? Already?

  She still hadn’t uttered a word to Dalton about leaving. Nor had she even seen her egg since the day she’d arrived.

  “You forgot your coat.” Dalton paused in front of the revolving door and frowned down at her bare arms.

  She sighed. Time was running out. There was no way she was going to go all the way back to the kitchen for her coat, especially if it meant another ride up and down the elevator with Dalton, filled with sexual tension.

  She plopped Jacques on the floor, wrapped his leash around her wrist and crossed her arms. “I’ll be fine like this. We’ll hurry.”