The Drake Diamonds: His Ballerina Bride. Teri Wilson
brother, even if it marked the moment when he’d discovered that Dalton had been the only Drake heir who’d been entrusted with a key to the family business while still in prep school.
He wished it hadn’t mattered. But it had. In truth, it still did, even though those feelings had nothing to do with the business itself.
He’d never had any interest in hanging around the shop on Fifth Avenue. To the other Drakes, it was a shrine. To the world, it was a historic institution. Drake Diamonds had been part of the Manhattan landscape since its crowded, busy streets teemed with horse-drawn carriages. To young Artem, it had always simply been his father’s workplace.
And now it was his. Same building, same office, same godforsaken desk.
What was he doing? Dalton didn’t need him. Not really. Wasn’t his brother in a better position to save the company? Dalton was the one familiar with the ins and outs of the business. His bedroom in Lenox Hill was probably wallpapered with balance sheets.
All Dalton’s life, he’d worn his position as a Drake like a mantle, whereas to Artem it had begun to feel like a straitjacket. Now that his father was gone, there was no reason why he couldn’t simply shrug it off and move on with his life. In addition to his recent promotion, he’d been left a sizable inheritance. Sizable enough that he could walk away from his PR position with the company and never again have his photo taken at another dull social event if he so chose. There was no reason in the world he should willingly get out of bed at an ungodly predawn hour so he could walk to the store and sit behind his father’s desk.
Yet here he was, climbing out of the back of his black town car on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street.
He told himself that his decision to stay on as CEO, at least temporarily, had nothing to do with Ophelia. Because that would be preposterous.
Yes, she was lovely. Beyond lovely, with her fathomless eyes, hair like spun gold and her willowy, fluid grace. And yes, he’d lost more sleep than he cared to admit thinking about what it would feel like to have those impossibly graceful legs wrapped around his waist as he buried himself inside her.
Her simplest gestures utterly beguiled him. Innocent movements, like the turn of her wrist, made him want to do wholly inappropriate things. He wanted to wrap his fingers around her wrists like a diamond cuff bracelet, pin her arms over her head and trace the exquisite length of her neck with his tongue. He wanted that more than he’d wanted anything in a long, long time.
Artem was no stranger to passion. He’d experienced desire before, but not like this. Nothing like this.
He found it frustrating. And quite baffling, particularly when he found himself doing things like sitting behind a desk, adopting animals and dismissing a perfectly good date, choosing instead to go home and get in bed before midnight. Alone.
His temples throbbed as he stepped out of the car and caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the storefront window. He’d dressed the part of CEO in a charcoal Tom Ford suit, paired with a smooth silk tie in that dreadful Drake Diamond blue. Who are you?
“Good morning, Mr. Drake.” The store’s doorman greeted him with a tip of his top hat and a polite smile.
Standing on the sidewalk in the swirling snow, clad in a Dickensian overcoat and Drake-blue scarf, the doorman almost looked like a throwback to the Victorian era. Probably because the uniforms had changed very little since the store first opened its doors. Tradition ruled at Drake Diamonds, even down to how the doormen dressed.
“Good morning.” Artem nodded and strode through the door.
He made his way toward the elevator on the opposite side of the darkened showroom, his footsteps echoing on the gleaming tile floor. Then his gaze snagged on the glass showcase illuminated by a radiant spotlight to his right—home to the revered Drake Diamond.
He paused. Against its black velvet backdrop, the diamond almost appeared to be floating. The most brilliant star, shining in the darkest of nights.
He walked slowly up to the showcase, inspecting the glittering yellow stone mounted at the center of a garland necklace of white diamonds. Upon its discovery in a South African mine in the late 1800s, it had been the third largest yellow diamond in the world. Artem’s great-great-great-great-great-grandfather bought it on credit before it had even been properly cut. Then he’d had it shaped and set in Paris—in a tiara of all things—before bringing it to New York and putting it on display in his new Fifth Avenue jewelry store. People had come from all over the country to see the breathtaking diamond. That single stone had put old man Drake’s little jewelry business on the map.
Would it really be so bad to let it go? Drake Diamonds was world famous now. Sure, tourists still flocked to the store and pressed their faces to the glass to get a glimpse of the legendary diamond. But would things really change if it were no longer here?
He glanced at the plaque beneath the display case. It gave the history of the diamond, its various settings and the handful of times it had actually been worn. The last sentence of the stone’s biography proclaimed it the shining star in the Drake family crown.
Artem swallowed, then looked back up at the diamond.
Ophelia’s face materialized before him. Waves of gilded hair, sparkling sapphire eyes and that lithe, swan-like neck...with the diamond positioned right at the place where her pulse throbbed with life.
He blinked, convinced he was seeing things. A mirage. A trick of the mind, like a cool pool of glistening water before a man who hasn’t had a drink in years.
It was no mirage. It was her.
Standing right behind him, only inches away, with her exquisite face reflected back at him in the pristine pane of glass. And damned if that diamond didn’t look as though it had been made just for her. Placed deep in the earth billions of years ago, waiting for someone to find it and slip it around her enchanting neck.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Her blue eyes glittered beneath the radiant showroom lights, lighting designed to make gemstones shimmer and shine. Somehow she sparkled brighter than all of them.
Beautiful, indeed.
“Quite,” Artem said.
She moved to stand beside him, and her reflection slipped languidly away from the necklace. “Sometimes I like to come here and look at it, especially at times like this, when the store is quiet. Before all the crowds descend. I think about what it must have been like to wear something like this, back in the days when it was actually worn. It seems almost a shame that it’s become something of a museum piece, don’t you think?”
“I do, actually.” At the moment, it seemed criminal the diamond wasn’t draped around her porcelain neck. He could see her wearing it. The necklace and nothing else. He could imagine that priceless jewel glittering between her beautiful breasts, an image as real as the snow falling outside.
He shoved his hands in his pockets before he used them to press her against the glass and take her right there against the display case until the gemstone inside fell off its pedestal and shattered into diamond dust. The very idea of it made him go instantly hard.
And that’s when Artem knew.
Ophelia did, in fact, have something to do with his decision to stay on as head of Drake Diamonds. She may have had everything to do with it.
He ground his teeth and glared at her. He didn’t enjoy feeling out of control. About anything, but most especially about his libido. Artem was a better man than his father had been. He had to believe that.
Ophelia blinked up at him with those melancholy eyes that made his chest ache, seemingly oblivious to the self-control it required for Artem to have a simple conversation with her. “Is it true that it’s only been worn by three women? Or is that just an urban myth?”
“Yes, it’s true.” He nodded. A Hollywood star, a ballerina back in the forties and Diana Kincaid Drake. Only three. That fact was so much a part of Drake mythology that Artem wouldn’t have been able to