The Princess Problem

“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.