The Drake Diamonds: His Ballerina Bride

Ophelia braced herself for an ardent sales pitch. Beth obviously wasn’t buying the excuses she’d manufactured. Fortunately, before Beth went into full-on lecture mode, they were interrupted by none other than the adorable white cat they’d been discussing. The snow-white feline entered the room in the arms of a statuesque woman dressed in a glittering, sequined floor-length dress.

Ophelia was so momentarily confused to see a woman wearing an evening gown at the animal shelter that at first she didn’t seem to notice that the sequin-clad Barbie was also on the arm of a companion. And that companion was none other than Artem Drake.

Him.

Again? Seriously?

She could hardly believe her eyes. What on earth was he doing here?

For some ridiculous reason, Ophelia’s first instinct was to hide. She didn’t want to see him again. Especially here. Now. When he had a glamorous supermodel draped all over him and Ophelia was sitting in a plastic chair, chest covered in stained terry cloth while she bottle-fed a yelping orange tabby. And, oh, God, he was dressed in another perfect tuxedo. Had the man come strutting out of the womb in black tie?

She wondered what he’d look like in something more casual, a pair of soft faded jeans, maybe. Shirtless. Heck, as long as she was fantasizing, bottomless. Then she wondered why, exactly, she was wondering about such things.

“My, my, who do we have here?” Artem tilted his head.

Ophelia had been so busy dreaming of what he had going on beneath all that sleek Armani wool that she’d neglected to make herself invisible. Super.

“Um...” She struggled for something to say as his gaze dropped to her chest. Her nipples went tingly under his inspection, until she realized he was looking at the kitten, not her. Of course.

Why, oh, why hadn’t she gone straight home after work?

He lifted his gaze so that he was once again looking her directly in the eyes. “Miss Rose, we meet again.”

“You two know each other?” Beth asked, head swiveling back and forth between Ophelia and Artem.

Ophelia shook her head and centered all her concentration on not being attracted to him, while the orange kitten squirmed against her chest. “No, not really,” she said.

“Why, yes. Yes, we do,” Artem said at that exact instant.

The grin on his face was nothing short of suggestive. Or maybe that was just his default expression. Resting playboy face.

Heat pooled in her center, much to her mortification and surprise. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced anything remotely resembling desire. Unless this morning in the kitchen of Drake Diamonds counted. Which, if she was being honest, it most definitely did.

Beth frowned. Artem’s date lifted an agitated brow.

Ophelia clarified the matter before Ms. Supermodel got the wrong idea and thought she was one of his sexual conquests, which no doubt were plentiful. “We’ve met. But we don’t actually know one another.” Not at all.

Artem directed his attention toward Beth and, by way of explanation, said, “Miss Rose works for me.”

Worked, past tense, since he’d resigned from his family’s business. Who did that, anyway?

“Drake Diamonds.” Beth nodded. “Of course. Ophelia’s told me all about it. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what a treasure you’ve found in her. She’s one of our best volunteers. Such a hard worker.”

“A hard worker,” Artem echoed, with only a subtle hint of sarcasm in his smoky voice. Then, presumably to ensure that Ophelia knew he hadn’t forgotten about her indiscretion in the kitchen, he flashed a wink in her direction. “Quite.”

The wink floated through her in a riot of awareness. He’s not flirting with you. He’s goading you. There was a difference. Right?

Beth continued gushing, oblivious to Artem’s sarcastic undertones. “I don’t know what we’d do without her. She’s such a cat lover, here almost every night of the week. Weekends, too.”

So now she sounded like a lonely cat lady. Perfect. “Beth, I’m sure Mr. Drake isn’t here to hear about my volunteer work.” Again, why exactly was he here?

“Oh, sorry. Of course he isn’t. Mr. Drake, thank you so much for the generous donation on behalf of your family, as well as for being photographed with one of our charges. Having your picture in the newspaper with one of the animals will definitely bring attention to our cause.” Beth beamed at Artem.

So he’d given a donation to the shelter. A generous donation...and right when Ophelia had been wishing for something that would make him seem less appealing. Thank goodness she’d no longer be running into him at work. He was too...too much.

“My pleasure,” Artem said smoothly, and ran a manly hand over the white kitty still nestled in his date’s arms.

Ophelia’s kitty.

Not hers, technically. Not hers at all. But that didn’t stop the sting of possessiveness she felt as she watched the cat being cuddled by someone else. And not just anyone else. Someone who was clearly on a date with Artem Drake.

It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. Very much.

“That’s actually Ophelia’s favorite cat you have there.” Beth smiled.

“She’s awfully sweet,” Artem’s date cooed.

Ophelia felt sick all of a sudden. What if Artem’s companion adopted it? Her cat? She took a deep breath and fought against the image that sprang to her mind of the woman and Artem in the back of a stretch limo with the white kitten nestled between them. Did everything in life have to be so unfair?

“Is it now?” Artem slid his gaze toward Ophelia. “Your favorite?”

She nodded. There was no sense denying it, especially since she had that odd transparent feeling again. Like he could see straight into her heart.

“I keep insisting Ophelia should adopt her.” An awkward smile creased Beth’s face. Artem’s date still had a firm grip on the kitten. Clearly, Beth was hinting that Ophelia needed to speak now or forever hold her peace.

She needed to get out of here before she did something monumentally stupid like snatch the kitten out of the woman’s arms.

“I should be going.” Ophelia stood and returned the tiny orange kitten to the incubator. “It was lovely seeing you again, Mr. Drake. Beth.”

She nodded at Artem’s date, whose name she still didn’t know, and kept her gaze glued to the floor so she wouldn’t have to see the kitten purring away in the woman’s arms.

Artem ignored Ophelia’s farewell altogether and looked right past her, toward Beth. “How much is the kitten? I’d like to purchase it for Miss Rose.”

What?

“That would be delightful, Mr. Drake. The adoption fee is fifty dollars, but of course we’ll waive it for one of our generous donors.” Beth beamed.

Artem plucked the kitten out of his date’s arms. Ophelia had to give the woman credit; she didn’t hesitate to hand over the cat, but kept a firm grip on Artem’s bicep. Ophelia felt like reassuring her. He’s all yours. She wasn’t going home with her former boss.

Nor was she going home with the kitten. “Mr. Drake, I need to have a word with you. Alone.”

Beth weaved her arm around Artem’s date’s elbow and peeled her away. “Come with me, dear. I’ll give you a tour of our facility.”

Beth gave Ophelia a parting wink as she ushered the woman out the door toward the large kennels. Surely she wasn’t trying to play matchmaker. That would have been absurd. Then again, everything about this situation was absurd.

Ophelia crossed her arms and glared at Artem. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He shrugged. “Buying you a cat. Consider it an early Christmas bonus. You’re welcome, by the way.”