The Drake Diamonds. Teri Wilson

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СКАЧАТЬ You are my employee. Despite whatever you may have heard about my father, sleeping with the staff is not the way I intend to do business. Occasionally, the apple does, in fact, fall farther from the tree than you might imagine.”

      Ophelia had no idea what he was talking about, but apparently she’d touched a nerve. For the first time since setting eyes on Artem Drake—her boss, as he took such pleasure in pointing out time and time again—he looked less than composed. He raked an angry hand through his hair, mussing it. He almost looked like he’d just gotten out of bed.

      Stop. God, what was wrong with her? She should not be thinking about Artem in bed. Absolutely, definitely not. Yet somehow, that was the one and only thought in her head. Artem, dark and passionate, tossing her onto the mammoth-sized bed behind him. The weight of him pressing down on her as he kissed her, entered her...

      Her throat grew tight. “Good, because I have no interest whatsoever in sleeping with my boss.”

      Been there, done that. Got the T-shirt. Never again.

      Artem narrowed his gaze at her. “So you mentioned.”

      Ophelia nodded. She wasn’t sure she could manage to say anything without her voice betraying her. Because the more she tried to convince him that she didn’t want to sleep with him, the more she actually wanted to. Assuming it was possible to want two very contradictory things at the same time.

      But apparently he did not want to sleep with her, which was fine. No, not merely fine. It was good. She should be relieved.

      Then why did she feel so utterly bereft?

      “Now that we’ve established how ardently opposed we both are to having sex with one another—” His gaze flitted ever so briefly to her breasts, or maybe she only imagined it, since her nipples felt sensitive to the point of pain every time he looked at her “—perhaps you should show me your designs.”

      Her designs. The very reason she’d come here in the first place. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Yes, of course.”

      He motioned toward the sleek, dark table in the center of the room. Ophelia opened her portfolio and carefully arranged her sketches, aware of his eyes on her the entire time. She felt every glance down to her core.

      He picked up the first of her four large pages of bristol paper. “What do we have here?”

      She took a deep breath. This is it. Try not to blow it any more than you already have. “Those are a collection of rings. I call them ballerina diamonds.”

      The subtlest of smiles came to his lips. “Ballerina diamonds? Why is that?”

      “Each ring has a large center stone. See? That stone represents the dancer. The baguettes surrounding the center diamond are designed to give the appearance of a ballerina’s tutu.” She gestured around her waist, as if she were wearing one of the stiff classical tutus that she once wore onstage.

      “I see.” He nodded.

      She allowed herself to exhale while he studied her drawings. She hadn’t realized how exposed she would feel watching him go over her designs. These pieces of jewelry were personal to her. Deeply personal. They allowed her to keep a connection to her old self, her former life, in the only way she could.

      She wanted him to love them just as much as she did, especially since no one in the design department at Drake Diamonds would even agree to meet with her.

      “These are lovely, Miss Rose,” he said. “Quite lovely.”

      “Thank you.”

      “What do we have here? A tiara? It almost looks familiar.” He picked up the final page, the one she was the most nervous for him to see.

      “That’s intentional. It’s a modernized version of the tiara that once held the Drake Diamond.”

      He grew very still at the mention of the infamous jewel.

      Ophelia continued, “As you know, the original tiara was worn by Natalia Baronova. My collection calls for the stone to be reset in a new tiara that would honor the original one. I think it would draw a great number of people to the store. Don’t you?”

      He returned the sketch to the stack of papers and nodded, but Ophelia couldn’t help but notice that his smile had faded.

      “Mr. Drake...”

      “Call me Artem,” he said. “After all, we did nearly sleep together.”

      He winked, and once again Ophelia wished the floor of his lavish penthouse would open up and swallow her whole.

      She cleared her throat. “I want to apologize. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I jumped to conclusions. It’s just that I was involved with someone at work once before, and it was a mistake. A big mistake. But I shouldn’t have assumed...”

      Stop talking.

      She was making things worse. But she wanted to be given a chance so badly that she was willing to lay everything on the line.

      “Ophelia,” he said, and she loved the way her name sounded rolling off his tongue. Like music. “Stop apologizing. Please.”

      She nodded, but she wasn’t quite finished explaining. She wanted him to understand. She needed him to, although she wasn’t sure why. “It’s just that I don’t do that.”

      He angled his head. “What, exactly?”

      “Relationships.” Heat crawled up her neck and settled in the vicinity of her cheeks. “Sex.”

      Artem lifted a brow. “Never?”

      “Never,” she said firmly. “I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just not something I do.” Since my diagnosis...

      Maybe she should tell him. Maybe she should just spill the beans and let him know she was sick, and that’s why she’d been so adamant about not adopting the kitten. It was why she would never allow herself to sleep with him. Or anyone else. Not that she’d really wanted to...until now. Today. In this room. With him.

      She should tell him. Didn’t she have an obligation to be honest with her employer? To tell the truth?

      Except then he’d know. He’d know everything, and he wouldn’t look at her anymore the way he was looking at her now. Not like she was something to be fixed. Not like she was someone who was broken. But like she was beautiful.

      She needed a man to look at her like that again. Not just any man, she realized with a pang. This man. Artem.

      He gazed at her for a long, silent moment, as if weighing her words. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured. Serious. “A woman needs to be adored, Ophelia. She needs to be cherished, worshipped.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she forgot how to breathe. “Touched.”

      And, oh, God, he was right. She’d never in her life needed so badly to be touched. Her body arched toward him, like a hothouse orchid bending toward the light of the sun. She wrapped her arms around herself, in desperate need of some kind of barrier.

      “Especially СКАЧАТЬ