The Princess Problem Page 9

  Thankfully, Dalton didn’t look any more inclined than she was to get back into the elevator. He glanced at his watch and his frown deepened.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Dalton slipped out of his overcoat and placed it around her shoulders. “Here.”

  Despite the stormy disapproval in his gray gaze, or maybe because of it, an undeniable thrill coursed through Aurélie at the intimacy of the gesture. She turned her head as she obediently slid her arms into the sleeves of his coat, because it was just too much, this sudden closeness. His coat was impossibly soft—cashmere, obviously—and warm from the heat of his body. Dalton’s face was right there, just inches away from hers as he buttoned her up, and all at once she was enveloped in him. His woodsy clean scent. His sultry warmth. All of him.

  Aurélie’s heart thundered against her ribs, and she prayed he couldn’t hear it. She didn’t trust herself to look at him, so she focused instead on the dazzling array of jewels behind him, sparkling and shimmering in their illuminated display cases. Treasures in the dark.

  “There,” Dalton muttered with a trace of huskiness in his voice that seemed to scrape Aurélie’s insides.

  She had to say something. If she didn’t do it now, she might never go through with it.

  The revolving doors were flanked on either side by two large banners advertising the upcoming exhibit of the Marchand imperial eggs. The first and oldest egg of the collection, known as the jeweled hen egg, was pictured on a pristine white background. This particular egg stood out from the rest as the simplest in design. On the surface, it looked almost like an actual egg. But in reality, it had been crafted from solid gold and coated in creamy white enamel. Upon close inspection, a barely discernible gold line was visible along the egg’s center, where its two halves were joined. Once the hidden fitting was opened, a round gold yolk could be found nestled inside. And inside the yolk, a diamond-encrusted platinum crown. A precious, priceless secret.

  Aurélie stared at the image of her family heirloom looming larger than life over Dalton’s shoulder. So many secrets.

  She was thoroughly sick of all of them.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” she heard herself say.

  Dalton arched a single eyebrow. “So you said.”

  She swallowed. The words were gathering in her throat. She could taste their ripeness on the tip of her tongue and still she wasn’t quite sure what form they would take.

  You’re right about me. I’m every bit as silly and irresponsible as you suspect.

  I’m engaged to be married.

  I’m leaving.

  “I...” she started, but a sharp bark pierced the loaded silence. Then another, followed by a wholly impatient canine growl.

  Aurélie looked down at Jacques, who’d stretched himself into a downward dog position that would have made even the most die-hard yogi green with envy. He woofed again and wagged his stump of a tail.

  “Hold that thought,” Dalton said. “I’ve already cleaned up after your little monster enough times today.”

  He strode toward the revolving door with Jacques nipping at his heels, and Aurélie had no choice but to follow. They made their way down the block to Central Park and back without uttering another word. There was something about the gently falling snow and the quiet city streets awash with white that forbade conversation.

  A chill coursed through her, and she slipped her hands in the pockets of Dalton’s overcoat. The fingertips of her right hand made contact with something buried in the silk pocket lining. Something small. Round. Familiar.

  She knew without even looking at it that the object in her hand was one of her mother’s pearls. A broken reminder of their kiss.

  Aurélie was painfully aware of each passing second. Time seemed to be moving far more quickly than usual, in a twilight violet-hued blur. She couldn’t help but wonder if Dalton felt it, too, especially when the echo of his footsteps on the bluestone slate sidewalk seemed to grow further and further apart.

  They could walk as slowly as they wanted, but they’d never be able to stop time. Midnight was approaching, and if she didn’t ask for her egg back now—right now—it would be too late. Even if she wanted to stay, she couldn’t.

  She glanced up at the amethyst sky and the billowing snow, like something out of a fairy tale, and told herself to remember this. Remember the magic of the bustling city. Remember what it felt like to be wrapped in borrowed cashmere with frost in her hair. Remember the music falling down from the stars.

  Music?

  She blinked. “Do you hear that?” she whispered.

  “Hear what?” Dalton paused alongside her.

  “Music.” Aurélie slowed to a stop, and Jacques plopped into a lopsided sitting position at her feet. “Listen.”

  She couldn’t quite grab hold of it, and for a split second she thought she must have only imagined the plaintive sounds of a violin floating above the distant blare of horns and the thrum of city’s heartbeat center. But then she closed her eyes and when she did, she found it again.

  “Do you hear it? Vivaldi.” Her eyelashes fluttered open, and beyond the puff of her breath in the frosty air, she saw Dalton watching her with an intensity that made her cheeks go warm. She swallowed. “Where do you think it’s coming from?”

  He looked at her for a moment that seemed to stretch far too long, then he took her hand. “I’ll show you.”

  She started to protest before she realized they were covering familiar territory, treading the now-familiar path back toward Drake Diamonds. They passed the entrance to the Plaza Hotel with its grand white pillars and crimson steps, and as they walked beneath the ghostly glow of gas lamplights, the music grew louder and louder. It swelled to a crescendo just as the violinist came into view.

  He was situated right beside the entrance to Drake Diamonds with a tip bucket at his feet. Eyes closed, hands covered with fingerless mitts, he moved his bow furiously over the instrument. He was just a street musician, but Aurélie had never seen a violinist play with such passion, not even at Delamotte’s royal symphony. He was so lost in his music that a lump formed in Aurélie’s throat as she stood watching him, grinning from ear to ear.

  For a perfect, precious moment, she forgot she was supposed to be saying goodbye. She forgot she shouldn’t be standing in the dark, holding Dalton’s hand. She forgot that when she looked up at him, she’d find the sculpted planes of his face so beautiful that she’d go breathless. He reminded her of all those diamonds glittering in their lonely display cases in the dark. Hard. Exquisite. Forever beyond her reach.

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” she breathed.

  At the sound of her voice, the music abruptly stopped.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Drake.” The violinist bent to return his instrument to its case.

  Clearly he’d been forewarned against occupying the precious sidewalk space in front of Drake Diamonds. As if Dalton owned the entire walkway where they were standing.

  He probably does.

  “Don’t stop, it’s okay. Please continue.” Without tearing his gaze from Aurélie, Dalton reached into his suit pocket for his wallet, pulled out a thick wad of bills and tossed them in the musician’s tip bucket. He angled his head toward her. “Anything in particular you’d like to hear, Princess?”

  Princess. His voice didn’t have the bite to it that she’d grown accustomed to. On the contrary, he said the word almost as if it were an endearment.

  Tell him. Just say it—I’m leaving.

  Maybe she could have if his gaze hadn’t gone tender and if he’d looked less like a tragic literary hero all of a sudden rather than what he was—a ruthless, self-contained diamond heir. Instead, she heard herself say, “How about some Gershwin?”

  His handsome face split into a rare, unguarded grin. “Gershwin? How very New York of you.” He shrugge
d and called out to the violinist. “You heard the lady. I don’t suppose you know any Gershwin?”

  The familiar, sweeping strains of “Rhapsody in Blue” filled the air, and Aurélie couldn’t even bring herself to look at Dalton, much less utter a goodbye. So she focused intently on the violinist instead.

  “He’s quite good, isn’t he?” Dalton said.

  She nodded and pretended not to notice the overwhelming magic of the moment. “Perfect.”

  The song had always been a favorite of hers, but she’d never heard it like this before. Not with the notes rising and floating over the city as snowflakes danced and spun in the glow of the streetlights. It was at once altogether beautiful yet hauntingly sad.

  She turned toward Dalton. He had that look about him again, a fleeting tragic edge that drew her fingertips to her throat in search of her mother’s pearls even though she knew they were no longer there.

  “About earlier...in the tenth floor showroom,” he said, his gaze searching.

  The tenth floor showroom. Engagements. So he’d noticed her unease at being surrounded by all those wedding rings? Of course he had.

  He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “For what it’s worth, Engagements isn’t my favorite department, either.”

  She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but it certainly hadn’t been that. “Non?”

  He shook his head. “I despise it, actually.”

  They had something in common after all. She couldn’t help but wonder why he felt that way. Despise was an awfully strong word. But she didn’t dare ask, lest he reciprocate with questions of his own.

  She offered only a wry smile. “Not the marrying type?”

  He didn’t respond, just stared straight ahead. Whatever tenderness she’d seen in his gaze earlier had evaporated, replaced by the cool indifference she’d come to know so well over the past few days.

  She rolled her eyes. “Right. Why am I surprised when you’re so clearly married to your work?”

  “Something like that.” The coldness in his voice made her wince, and he kept his gaze fixed on the musician. Then, as if the awkward exchange had never happened, he said, “Shall we dance?”

  She let out a laugh. Surely he’d meant the offer as a joke. “Isn’t there a spreadsheet somewhere that needs your attention?”

  His eyes flashed in the darkness. “I’m dead serious. Dance with me.”

  He slid one arm around her waist and took her hand with the other. He pulled her close, so close that she could feel the full length of his body pressed against hers. A tight, hard wall of muscle. She wasn’t at all prepared for such sudden closeness. The confidence with which he held her and the warmth of his fingertips on her wrist was disorienting, and before she knew what was happening, they were floating over the snowy sidewalk.

  The world slowed to a stop. In a city of millions, it felt as if they were the only two people on earth. Aurélie was scarcely aware of the violinist’s presence, nor of Jacques’s leash winding itself slowly around their legs. Tears gathered in her eyes. She had to stop herself from burying her face in his chest and pressing her lips to the side of his neck.

  She wanted to cry, because how could she possibly walk away now, when this would undoubtedly be the most romantic moment of her life?

  “You’ve gone awfully quiet all of sudden,” he whispered, and his voice rumbled through her like distant thunder.

  It was strange the things people remembered when they found themselves at an impasse. Aurélie’s mind should have been on the pink enamel egg coated in seed pearls that was sitting inside the Drake Diamonds vault. She should have been trying to figure out a way to get herself back home. Instead, she suddenly remembered something Artem had said earlier in the kitchen.

  Don’t you have something you need to discuss with Aurélie, Dalton?

  She’d been so nervous about announcing her early departure that she’d forgotten the way Dalton’s jaw had hardened in response to Artem’s question. She glanced up at him now. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me?”

  He fixed his gaze with hers, and Aurélie saw something new in his eyes. A fleeting hesitancy. Above them, the darkness of the night sky felt heavy, swollen with so many words left unspoken between them. Everything they wouldn’t, couldn’t, say.

  “It can wait,” he said.

  She nodded, and somehow she knew there would be no goodbyes. Not now. Not tonight.

  Their legs became too entangled in the dog leash to keep dancing, so they slowed to a stop until they were standing still in one another’s arms. The music may have gone quiet. Aurélie wasn’t even sure. She’d slipped into a hazy, dreamlike state, drunk on music and sensation.

  Dalton reached, wove his fingers through hers and brushed his lips against the back of her hand. “Let’s go home.”

  Aurélie took a deep breath. If she didn’t leave for the airport right now, she’d miss her flight. She’d never get to Paris in time to catch a connection to Delamotte. She’d miss her appointment with Lord Clement.

  The palace would undoubtedly come looking for her, and there would be no turning back. Not this time.

  One more day. Just one more day.

  Dalton released her hand and bent to untangle Jacques’s leash. He walked a few steps in the direction of his apartment building with the little bulldog trotting alongside him, then turned and stopped. Waited. “Are you coming, Princess?”

  “Oui. Une seconde.” She reached into the pocket of Dalton’s coat for the lonely gold pearl, held it tightly in her closed fist then dropped it in the violinist’s tip bucket, where it swirled to an iridescent stop in the moonlight.

  No turning back.

  Chapter Nine

  This is a mistake.

  Dalton was fully aware of what would happen when he made the fatal choice to take Aurélie back to the apartment instead of to the airport. He knew what he was doing was wrong. Reckless. Probably even downright dangerous.

  He’d been so prepared to tell her it would be best if she went back home. He’d waited all day for her to show up so he could break the news to her in person. Her little holiday was over. He was a busy man. He didn’t have time to babysit a princess. Especially a princess who wore her heart on her sleeve the way that Aurélie did.

  She wasn’t anything like the other women who’d been in Dalton’s life. More specifically, the women who’d been in his bed. If the problem had been as simple as sex, and sex alone, he would have broken down and succumbed to temptation by now.

  But he had the distinct feeling that sex with Aurélie would be anything but simple. She got emotional over street musicians and homeless puppies and hot dogs.

  To Dalton’s complete and utter astonishment, he found it charming. Sexy. Altogether irresistible, if he was being honest.

  Which was precisely the problem. Aurélie wasn’t a woman he could just sleep with and then move on. She’d only been in his life for a few days, and in that small span of time, she’d thrown his entire existence into an uproar. She was sentimental to her core. She was also a runaway royal princess.

  But he couldn’t seem to resist taking her hand and leading her home. He had to stop himself from kissing her on the grand steps of the library under the watchful gaze of the stone lions, their manes laden with snow. Patience and Fortitude. Dalton had neither at the moment. But he knew if he kissed her then, beneath the moon and the stars and the ethereal lamplight glow, he’d be unable to stop.

  At his building, the doorman nodded a greeting. Dalton must have said something in return, but he couldn’t imagine what. He couldn’t hear a thing over the roar of blood in his ears and the annoying howl of his conscience.

  This is a mistake.

  Dalton no longer believed in mistakes. Not tonight. Not now, when Aurélie was looking at him wit
h eyes full of bejeweled longing. Not when it seemed as if the walls of the cool marble lobby hummed with desire and the wild percussion of their hearts.

  He didn’t wait for the elevator to deposit them on the penthouse floor. Couldn’t. The doors slid closed with a sultry whisper, and he held Aurélie’s glittering gaze until he was sure—absolutely certain—that she wanted this as badly as he did.

  Then he moved toward her with a growl—a deep, primitive sound he’d never heard himself make before—and crushed his mouth to hers.

  Aurélie melted into him with a slow, drawn-out inhale and slid the palms of her hands languidly up his chest. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the warm wonderland of her mouth and the quickening flutter of her breath as the kiss grew deeper.

  More demanding.

  The ground beneath them stirred as the elevator lifted them closer to the stars, farther and farther from the real world down below. Aurélie’s delicate form felt weightless, feather-light in his arms, and he was hit with a momentary panic at the thought that she might float away.

  He leaned closer, closer, until he’d pressed her against the elevator wall. His hands moved to her slender wrists and circled them loosely like bracelets. Her body softened. The dog’s leash slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. She whispered his name, and the aching hunger in her voice was so raw, so sweetly vulnerable, that it nearly brought him to his knees.

  Everything went white hot. Like a diamond burning away to smoke.

  Dalton was harder than he’d ever been in his life. He was seconds away from sliding his hand under her dress, up the luxurious length of her thigh, and stroking his way inside her with his fingers.

  He wanted to make her come. He wanted to watch her go someplace she’d never been, knowing he was the one who’d taken her there. The only one.

  He was fairly certain she was a virgin, which only multiplied the severity of the mistake he was about to make. She was a princess, and seemed to have lived a sheltered existence. She had an air of innocent charm about her. He could still think coherently enough for that fact to register somewhere in his consciousness. But he no longer gave a damn about right and wrong. About who either of them were.