you. He’s goading you. There was a difference. Right?
Beth continued gushing, oblivious to Artem’s sarcastic undertones. “I don’t know what we’d do without her. She’s such a cat lover, here almost every night of the week. Weekends, too.”
So now she sounded like a lonely cat lady. Perfect. “Beth, I’m sure Mr. Drake isn’t here to hear about my volunteer work.” Again, why exactly was he here?
“Oh, sorry. Of course he isn’t. Mr. Drake, thank you so much for the generous donation on behalf of your family, as well as for being photographed with one of our charges. Having your picture in the newspaper with one of the animals will definitely bring attention to our cause.” Beth beamed at Artem.
So he’d given a donation to the shelter. A generous donation...and right when Ophelia had been wishing for something that would make him seem less appealing. Thank goodness she’d no longer be running into him at work. He was too...too much.
“My pleasure,” Artem said smoothly, and ran a manly hand over the white kitty still nestled in his date’s arms.
Ophelia’s kitty.
Not hers, technically. Not hers at all. But that didn’t stop the sting of possessiveness she felt as she watched the cat being cuddled by someone else. And not just anyone else. Someone who was clearly on a date with Artem Drake.
It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. Very much.
“That’s actually Ophelia’s favorite cat you have there.” Beth smiled.
“She’s awfully sweet,” Artem’s date cooed.
Ophelia felt sick all of a sudden. What if Artem’s companion adopted it? Her cat? She took a deep breath and fought against the image that sprang to her mind of the woman and Artem in the back of a stretch limo with the white kitten nestled between them. Did everything in life have to be so unfair?
“Is it now?” Artem slid his gaze toward Ophelia. “Your favorite?”
She nodded. There was no sense denying it, especially since she had that odd transparent feeling again. Like he could see straight into her heart.
“I keep insisting Ophelia should adopt her.” An awkward smile creased Beth’s face. Artem’s date still had a firm grip on the kitten. Clearly, Beth was hinting that Ophelia needed to speak now or forever hold her peace.
She needed to get out of here before she did something monumentally stupid like snatch the kitten out of the woman’s arms.
“I should be going.” Ophelia stood and returned the tiny orange kitten to the incubator. “It was lovely seeing you again, Mr. Drake. Beth.”
She nodded at Artem’s date, whose name she still didn’t know, and kept her gaze glued to the floor so she wouldn’t have to see the kitten purring away in the woman’s arms.
Artem ignored Ophelia’s farewell altogether and looked right past her, toward Beth. “How much is the kitten? I’d like to purchase it for Miss Rose.”
What?
“That would be delightful, Mr. Drake. The adoption fee is fifty dollars, but of course we’ll waive it for one of our generous donors.” Beth beamed.
Artem plucked the kitten out of his date’s arms. Ophelia had to give the woman credit; she didn’t hesitate to hand over the cat, but kept a firm grip on Artem’s bicep. Ophelia felt like reassuring her. He’s all yours. She wasn’t going home with her former boss.
Nor was she going home with the kitten. “Mr. Drake, I need to have a word with you. Alone.”
Beth weaved her arm around Artem’s date’s elbow and peeled her away. “Come with me, dear. I’ll give you a tour of our facility.”
Beth gave Ophelia a parting wink as she ushered the woman out the door toward the large kennels. Surely she wasn’t trying to play matchmaker. That would have been absurd. Then again, everything about this situation was absurd.
Ophelia crossed her arms and glared at Artem. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He shrugged. “Buying you a cat. Consider it an early Christmas bonus. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“No.” She shook her head.
Was he insane? And did he have to stand there, looking so unbelievably hot in that tuxedo, while he stroked the kitten like he was Mr. December in a billionaires-with-baby-animals wall calendar?
“No?” His blue eyes went steely. Clearly, he’d never heard such a sentiment come out of a woman’s mouth before.
“No. Thank you. It’s a generous gesture, but...” She glanced at the kitten. Big mistake. Her delicate little nose quivered. She looked impossibly helpless and tiny snuggled against Artem’s impressive chest. How was Ophelia supposed to say no to that face? How was she supposed to say no to him? She cleared her throat. “...but no.”
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