The Princess Problem

“Seriously?”

The animal’s googly eyes peered up at Dalton. He sighed mightily.

“Aurélie!” He stormed into the living room without bothering to deal with the mess. “Your charge requires attention.”

The television was blaring and the sofa was piled with pillows and blankets, but Aurélie wasn’t there. Dalton’s temples began to pound. She’d run off? Again?

The puppy squirmed in his arms and let out a little yip, so Dalton lowered him to the floor. He scampered toward the kitchen, tripping over his own head a few times in the process.

“Mon petit chou!”

Dalton didn’t know whether to feel relieved at the sound of Aurélie’s voice or angry. Angry about the dog. About the near heart attack he’d just experienced when he’d thought she’d run off again. About every ridiculous thing she’d done since she’d breezed into his life less than twenty-four hours ago.

He settled on relief, until he followed the dog into the kitchen and caught his first glimpse of Aurélie’s appearance.

She stood leaning against the counter with her mass of blond hair piled in a messy updo, wearing nothing but her luminous strand of gold pearls and a crisp men’s white tuxedo shirt. His tuxedo shirt, if Dalton wasn’t mistaken. But it wasn’t the idea that she’d slept in his freshly pressed formal wear that got under his skin. It was the sight of her bare, willowy legs, the curve of her breasts beneath the thin white fabric of his shirt, the lush fullness of her bottom lip.

All of it.

He went hard in an instant, and the thought occurred to him that perhaps the only ghost inhabiting the apartment in the past few years had been him.

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

“Bonjour.” Aurélie smiled. “Look at you, all dressed and ready for work. Why am I not surprised?”

Dalton shook his head. He was aroused to the point of pain. “We’re not going to the office.”

“Non?”

Non. Very much non. Suddenly, there was a more pressing matter that required attention—clothing the princess living under his roof before he did something royally stupid.

“Get ready. We’re going shopping.” He lifted a brow at the puppy in her arms. “As soon as you clean up after your dog.”

* * *

After more cajoling than Aurélie could have possibly anticipated, Dalton finally acquiesced and agreed to take the subway rather than using his driver. He appeared distinctly uncomfortable doing so.

Aurélie couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since he’d ridden any form of public transportation. Granted, he was rich. That much was obvious. And just in case it hadn’t been so glaringly apparent, the Google search Aurélie had conducted of Drake Diamonds on her phone the night before had confirmed as much.

According to Forbes, the flagship store on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 57th Street was the most valuable piece of real estate in the entire country. The building and its contents were worth slightly more than Fort Knox, where America’s official gold reserves were held.

So yes, Dalton Drake was quite wealthy. And as he took such pleasure in pointing out over and over again, he was also busy. But this was New York. She’d assumed that everyone rode the subway, even rich workaholics like Dalton Drake.

Aurélie was also tempted to ask him how long it had been since he’d set foot in a building that didn’t bear his name. She couldn’t help but notice the discreet script lettering spelling out The Drake on the elegant black awnings of his apartment building. He seemed to spend every waking moment inside his sprawling penthouse or his jewelry store, where the name Drake was splashed everywhere, including across the structure’s granite Art Deco exterior.

She didn’t ask him either of those things, though. Instead, she soaked up every detail of riding the city’s underground—the click of the silver turnstiles, the bright orange seats, the heady feeling of barreling through tunnels. The train sped from stop to stop, picking up and letting off people from all walks of life. Students with backpacks. Mommies with infants. Businessmen with briefcases.

None of those businessmen, however, were quite as formidable as the man standing beside her. No matter how much she tried to ignore him, Aurélie was overly conscious of Dalton’s presence.

As fascinated as she was by the hordes of New Yorkers, the bustling subway stations, even the jostling movement of the train, she couldn’t fully focus on any of it. Her gaze kept straying to Dalton’s broad shoulders, his freshly shaven square jaw, his full, sensual mouth.

If only she could ignore him properly. But it proved an impossible task, no matter how hard she tried. During the frantic disembarking process at one of the stops, someone shoved Aurélie from behind and she found herself pressed right up against Dalton’s formidable chest, her lips mere inches from his. She stiffened, unable to move or even breathe, and prayed he couldn’t feel the frantic beating of her heart through the soft cashmere of his coat.

She’d been so overwhelmed by the sheer closeness of him that she couldn’t quite seem to think, much less right herself. Until he glared down at her with that disapproving gray gaze of his. Again.

Right. He was a serious CEO, and she was nothing but a spoiled, irresponsible princess. Duly noted.

“We’re here,” he said, as the doors of the train whooshed open.

Aurélie glanced at the tile mosaic sign on the wall. Lexington Avenue. “Wait, this isn’t...”

But Dalton’s hand was already in the small of her back and he was guiding her through the station and out onto the snowy sidewalk before she could finish her thought. As usual, he was on a mission. Aurélie was just along for the ride, but at least when he noticed how enraptured she was by the opulent shop windows, he slowed his steps. When she stopped to admire a display of dresses made entirely of colorful paper flowers, she caught a glimpse of Dalton’s reflection, and it looked almost as though he were smiling at her.

Then their eyes met in the glittering glass and any trace of a smile on his handsome face vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

He cleared his throat. “Shall we continue?”

That voice. Such a dark, low sound that sent a dangerous chill skittering up Aurélie’s spine, for which she heartily admonished herself. She shouldn’t be attracted to Dalton Drake. She couldn’t. He had too much leverage over her as it was. Besides, she had enough men in her life. More than enough.

“Yes.” She breezed past him as if she knew precisely where they were headed, when in fact, she hadn’t a clue. “Let’s.”

“Aurélie,” he said, with a hint of amusement in his tone. “We’re going that way.”

He pointed over his shoulder. This time, he most definitely smiled, and his grin was far too smug for Aurélie’s taste.

Fine, she thought. No, not fine. Good. He was much easier to despise when he was being arrogant. Which, to Aurélie’s great relief, was most of the time.

They walked the next few blocks in silence until they reached a sleek black marble building that appeared to take up an entire city block. Like both of Dalton’s namesake buildings, it had a doorman stationed out front. And gold-plated door handles. And a glittering, grand chandelier Aurélie could see through the polished windows. She squinted up at the sign. Bergdorf Goodman.

Without even setting foot inside, she could tell it was elegant. Tasteful. Expensive. Everything she didn’t want.

She shook her head. “Non.”

Beside her, Dalton sighed. “I beg your pardon?”

Aurélie pretended not to notice the hint of menace in his deep voice. “No, thank you. I’d rather go someplace else.”

“But we haven’t even gone inside.” He eyed her.

Let him be mad. Aurélie didn’t care. The rest of her life would be spent in designer dresses and kitten heels. This was her holiday, not his. She had no intention of spending it dressed like a royal. “I don’t need to go in. I can tell it’s not the sort of place where I want to shop for clothes.”