Читать книгу The Princess Problem - Teri Wilson, Teri Wilson - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Right around the time he was on the verge of losing his mind, Dalton spotted Aurélie on the outskirts of Central Park. She was standing beneath a portable blue awning at the corner of Central Park South and 59th Street, directly across the street from the Plaza Hotel. She was holding a dog. Not a hot dog, but an actual dog. Which for some reason only exacerbated the pounding in Dalton’s temples. The woman was impossible.

What had she been thinking? She didn’t want to be discovered, yet she’d walked right out the door. Unaccompanied. Unprotected. Undisguised. It was enough to give Dalton a coronary.

At least he’d been able to find her with relative ease. All told, it had only taken about a quarter of an hour. Still, those fifteen minutes had undoubtedly been the longest of Dalton’s life.

To top things off, a street musician had parked himself right outside the entrance of Drake Diamonds with his violin and his tip bucket. This marked the third time in less than a month that Dalton had ordered him to leave. Next time, he’d call the cops.

He squinted against the winter wind and shoved his bare hands into his trouser pockets. He’d been in a panic when he’d spun his way out of the store through the revolving door and onto the snowy sidewalk. Filled with dread and angry beyond all comprehension, he hadn’t even bothered to grab a coat, and now, three blocks later, he was freezing.

Freezing and absolutely furious.

He dashed across the street without bothering to wait for the signal at the pedestrian crossing, enraging a few cab drivers in the process. Dalton didn’t give a damn. He wasn’t about to let her out of his sight until he’d returned her safely to his office. And then...

What?

He wasn’t actually sure what he’d do at that point. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now he simply planned on escorting her back to his store on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 57th Street while administering a searing lecture on the dangers of disappearing without giving him any sort of notice whatsoever.

“Aurélie!” He jogged the distance from the curb to where she stood, still holding onto the damn dog.

She didn’t hear him. Either that, or she was intentionally ignoring him. It was a toss-up, although Dalton would have greatly preferred the former.

“Aurélie,” he said again, through gritted teeth, when he reached her side.

An older woman wearing a hooded parka and fingerless mittens stood next to her. There was a clipboard in her hands and a small playpen filled with little dogs yipping and pouncing on one another at her feet. The woman eyed Dalton, giving him a thorough once-over, and frowned.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Aurélie said blithely, without tearing her gaze from the trembling, bug-eyed dog in her arms.

It stared at Dalton over her shoulder. He stared back and decided it was possibly the ugliest dog he’d ever set eyes on. Its pointed ears were comically huge, which might have been endearing if not for the googly eyes that appeared to be looking in two completely different directions. And it had a wide, flat muzzle. Not to mention the god-awful snuffling sounds coming from the dog’s smashed little face.

“Hello.” The woman with the clipboard nodded. “Are you the boyfriend?”

Boyfriend?

Hardly.

He opened his mouth to say no—God no—but before he could utter a syllable, Aurélie nodded. “Yes, here he is. Finally.”

Dalton didn’t know what kind of game she was playing, and frankly, he didn’t care. If she wanted to pose as some kind of couple in front of this random stranger who could possibly recognize her from the tabloids, then fine. Although, the idea was laughable at best.

“Yes, here I am.” He turned sharp eyes on her with the vague realization that he wasn’t laughing. Not even close. “Finally. Surely you’re aware I’ve been looking for you, sweetheart.”

At last she met his gaze. With snowflakes in her eyelashes and rosy, wind-kissed cheeks, she looked more Snow Queen than princess.

And lovelier than ever.

Nature suited her. Or maybe it was winter itself, the way the bare trees and dove-gray sky seemed to echo the lonely look in her eyes. Seeing her like this, amidst the quiet grace of a snowfall, holding onto that ugly dog like a child hugging a teddy bear, Dalton got a startling glimpse of her truth.

She was running from something. That’s why she’d left Delamotte. That’s why she’d shown up in men’s clothes and begged him not to call the palace. She wasn’t here on holiday. She was here to get lost in the crowd.

Not that her reasons had anything to do with Dalton. He was simply her means to an end, and vice versa.

“What’s our address again? Silly me, I keep forgetting.” She let out a laugh.

Dalton fought to keep his expression neutral. Surely she wasn’t planning on moving into his apartment. That’s what hotels were for. And there were approximately 250 of them in New York.

Then again, who knew what sort of trouble she could get into unsupervised.

His headache throbbed with renewed intensity. “Our address?”

“Of course, darling. You know, the place where we live.” Quicker than a blink, her gaze flitted to the woman with the clipboard. “Together.”

Struggling to absorb the word darling, he muttered the address of his building in the Upper East Side. The woman with the clipboard jotted it down.

Who was this person, anyway? And why did Aurélie think she had any business knowing where they lived? Where I live. Not we. Good God, not we.

He leaned closer to get a look at whatever form she appeared to be filling out. The bold letters at the top of the page spelled out Pet Adoption Agreement.

“Wait,” Dalton said, as something wet and foul-smelling slapped against the side of his face. He recoiled and realized, with no small degree of horror, that it was the googly-eyed puppy’s tongue.

Marvelous. He wiped his cheek with the cuff of his suit jacket, and aimed his fiercest death glare at Aurélie. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“We are adopting a dog, darling.” Again with the darling.

And again with the we.

“I believe this is the type of thing we should discuss,” he said, trying not to imagine the dreadful dog snoring like a freight train in his office while he tried to run the company.

Or, God forbid, snoring in his bed. Because if adopting homeless animals was the sort of thing she did on a whim when he wasn’t looking, she’d need to stay with him. Who knew what kind of trouble she could get into if he left her all alone in a hotel room for a fortnight?

He’d been wrong when he’d described her to Artem as impulsive. Impulsive didn’t even begin to describe Aurélie. She was full-blown crazy. Either that or the most manipulative woman he’d ever met.

“But we did discuss it. This morning.” Her bow-shaped lips curved into a beguiling smile that hit Dalton square in his libido, despite the deafening clang of warning bells going off in his head.

She was business. She was irritating to no end. And what’s more, she was far too headstrong for his taste. He shouldn’t be attracted to her in any way, shape or form. Nor should he be thinking about that troublesome mouth of hers and the myriad ways in which he’d prefer to see her use it.

She rested a hand on his bicep and gave it a firm squeeze. “Surely you remember our agreement?”

Unbelievable. She was using the secret egg to blackmail him into adopting a dog. She wasn’t crazy at all. Cunning. Most definitely.

Dalton Drake didn’t take orders. Nor did he allow himself to be manipulated in such a manner. Aurélie would learn as much soon enough. But not until he’d taken the pathetic animal home, apparently.

“Well?” The clipboard-wielding woman tilted her head. “What’s it going to be? Do you want to adopt him or not?”

Aurélie nodded furiously. “Absolutely. We do. Right, darling?” She looked at him expectantly. So confident. So certain he’d acquiesce to whatever she demanded.

He had a mind to refuse and put her on the next plane back to the French Riviera, along with the dog and all of the Marchand family jewels. Yes, they had a deal. But it didn’t encompass sending him on a wild goose chase. Nor did it include sharing his apartment. With her, or the dog.

He hadn’t taken a woman into his home since Clarissa. But that had been a long time ago. He’d been a different man.

Think of the egg. What it could do for business.

He looked at Aurélie for a long moment, and for some ridiculous reason, Artem’s warning came flooding back.

Whatever you do, don’t take her to bed.

He wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. The very fact that Artem had seen fit to mention the possibility was preposterous. Dalton wasn’t the one who’d bedded half the women in Manhattan. That had been Artem’s doing. Dalton’s self-control was legendary.

But looking into Aurélie’s aching emerald eyes did something to him. That vulnerability that she hid so well was barely noticeable, but very much there. And it made him wonder what she’d look like bare in the moonlight, dressed in nothing but pearls.

Damn you, Artem.

Then, before he could stop himself, he heard himself say, “Fine. We’ll take the dog.”

* * *

What kind of person didn’t like animals?

The kind who was seething quietly beside Aurélie, evidently.

Dalton hadn’t uttered a word since he’d paid the adoption fee and slipped the receipt into his suit pocket. He’d simply aimed a swift, emotionless glance at Aurélie, cupped her elbow in the palm of his hand and steered her back in the direction of Drake Diamonds. Now, less than a block later, he was walking so fast that she struggled to keep up with him. She had a mind to give up entirely and pop into the Plaza for afternoon tea, but looking at the tense set of Dalton’s muscular shoulders as he marched in front of her, she got the distinct feeling there’d be hell to pay if she didn’t fall in step behind him.

Plus she didn’t have any money. Or credit cards. Which meant she was totally dependent on the very cranky Dalton Drake.

Besides, every three or four paces, he glanced over his shoulder, probably to assure himself of her obedience. It was infuriating, particularly when Aurélie recalled the archaic Delamotte law that stated royal wives must walk a minimum of two paces behind their husbands in public. No doubt a man had come up with such a ludicrous decree.

She held the trembling little dog tight against her chest and hastened her steps. She wasn’t Dalton’s lowly subordinate, and she refused to act like it. Even if, as they said in Delamotte, la moutarde lui monte au nez. The mustard was getting to his nose. In other words, he was angry.

Fine. So was she. And she wasn’t spending another second scurrying to keep up with him.

“Arrête! Stop it.” She tugged on his sleeve, sending him lurching backward.

Dalton’s conservative businessman shoes slid on the snowy pavement, but he righted himself before he fell down. Pity.

He exhaled a mighty sigh, raked his disheveled hair back into place and stared down at her with thunder in his gaze. “What is it, Aurélie?”

She blinked up at him, wishing for what felt like the thousandth time, that he wasn’t so handsome. His intensity would be far easier to take if it didn’t come in such a beautiful package.

His gray eyes flashed, and a shiver coursed through Aurélie. As much as she would have liked to blame it on the cold, she knew the trembling in her bones had nothing to do with the weather. He got to her. Especially when he looked at her like he could see every troublesome thought tumbling in her head. “What do you want?”

What did she want?

Not this. Not the carefully controlled existence she’d lived with for so long. Not the future awaiting her on the distant shores of home.

She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted, only that she needed it as surely as she needed to breathe. She couldn’t name it—this dark, aching thing inside her that had become impossible to ignore once her father had sat her down and laid out his plans for her future.

Palace life had never come easily to Aurélie. Even as a child, she’d played too hard, laughed too loudly, run too fast. Then that little girl had grown into a woman who felt things too keenly. Wanted things too much. The wrong things.

Just like her mother.

Aurélie had learned to conduct herself like royalty, though. Eventually. It had been years since she’d torn through the palace halls, since she’d danced with abandon. She’d become the model princess. Proper. Polite. Demure.

But since the awful meeting with the Reigning Prince and his advisors a month ago, her carefully constructed façade had begun to crack. She couldn’t keep pretending, no matter how hard she tried.

What do I want? She couldn’t say, but she’d know it when she found it.

Dalton glowered at Aurélie.

She inhaled a breath of frigid air and felt as if she might freeze from the inside out. “Are you always this cranky?”

He arched a single, accusatory brow. “Are you always this irresponsible?”

“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.”