His Ballerina Bride

He looked distinctly displeased.

Let him be angry. Ophelia would never even see him again. That’s what you thought this morning, too. She lifted her chin. “I really should be going. And you should get back to your date.”

“My date?” He smiled one of those suggestive smiles again, and Ophelia’s insides went instantly molten. Damn him. “Is that what this is about? You’re not jealous, are you, Miss Rose?”

Yes. To her complete and utter mortification, she was. She’d been jealous since he’d waltzed through the door with another woman on his arm. What had gotten into her?

She rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”

“I’m not quite sure I believe you.”

Ophelia sighed. “Why are you doing this?”

“What exactly is it that I’m doing?”

“Being nice.” She swallowed. She felt like crying all of a sudden, and she couldn’t. If she did, she might not ever stop. “Trying to buy me a cat.”

He shrugged. “The cat needs a home, and you like her. Why shouldn’t you have her?”

There were so many reasons that even if Ophelia wanted to list them all, she wouldn’t have known where to start. “I told you. I can’t.”

Artem angled his head. “Can’t or won’t?”

He’d thrown back at her her own words from their encounter at Drake Diamonds, which made Ophelia bite back a smile. The man was too charming for his own good. “Mr. Drake, as much as I’d love to, I cannot adopt that cat.”

He took a step closer to her, so close that Ophelia suddenly had trouble taking a breath, much less forming a valid argument for not taking the kitten she so desperately wanted. Then he reached for her hand, took it in his and placed it on the supple curve of the cat’s spine.

The kitty mewed in recognition, and Artem moved their linked hands through her silky soft fur in long, measured strokes. Ophelia had to bite her lip to keep from crying. Why was he doing this? Why did he care?

“She likes you,” he said. And as if he could read her mind, he added, “Something tells me you two need each other. You come here nearly every day. You want this kitten. You need her, but you won’t let yourself have her. Why not?”

Because what would happen if Ophelia had another attack?

No, not if. When. Her illness was officially called relapsing-remitting MS, characterized by episodic, clearly defined attacks, each one more neurologically devastating than the last. Ophelia never knew when the next one would come. A year from now? A month? A day? What would she do with the cat then, when she was too sick to care for it?

The kitten purred, and the sensation vibrated warmth through Ophelia’s hand, still covered with Artem’s. God, this was tortuous. She jerked her hand away. “Mr. Drake, I—”

Before she could say another word of protest, he cut her off. “I’ll adopt the cat. You take care of her for me, and I’ll give you your meeting,” he said.

His voice had lost any hint of empathy. He sounded angry again, as if she’d forced him into making such a suggestion.

“My meeting?” She swallowed. It would have been an offer too good to be true, if it were possible. Thank God it wasn’t. “And how are you going to arrange such a meeting, now that you no longer work at Drake Diamonds?”

“I’m a Drake, remember?” As if she could forget. “And there’s been a change of plans. I do, in fact, still work there.”

“Oh,” she said, stunned. “I don’t understand.”

He offered no explanation, just handed her the kitten.

She held out her arms without thinking. What was happening? She hadn’t agreed to his ludicrous proposition, had she? “Wait. If you didn’t resign, what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means I’m still your boss.” He turned on his heel and brushed past her toward the kennels. He was leaving, just like that? He paused with his hand on the door. “Take that cat home with you, Miss Rose. I trust I’ll see you tomorrow in my office?”

She couldn’t let him manipulate her like this. At best, it was unprofessional. At worst...well, she didn’t even want to contemplate the worst-case scenario. She could not take the kitten, no matter how much she wanted to. Even temporarily. She couldn’t be Artem Drake’s cat sitter. She absolutely couldn’t.

He stood there staring at her with his penetrating gaze, as if they were engaged in some sort of sexy staring contest.

One that Ophelia had no chance of winning.

“Fine.”

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