“Mr. Kazarov,” she said, her voice a little too shrill, a little too brittle.

Roman tsked. “After all we were to each other, Caroline? Is this how you greet an old friend?”

“I wasn’t aware we were friends,” she said, remembering with a pang the way he’d looked at her that night when she’d informed him they couldn’t see each other anymore. He’d just told her he loved her.

Roman shrugged. “Then we are certainly old acquaintances.”

One eyebrow arched as his gaze slid down to where she clutched the wrap over her breasts. She’d worn a strapless black dress tonight, but she felt as if she were naked under the silk from the way his eyes took their time perusing her. Heat flared in her core. Unwelcome heat.

“Old lovers,” Roman said as his eyes met hers again.

SCANDAL IN THE SPOTLIGHT

The truth is more shocking than the headlines!

Named and most definitely shamed, these media darlings have learnt the hard way that the press always loves a scandal!

Having a devastatingly gorgeous man on their arm only adds fuel to the media frenzy. Especially when the attraction between them burns hotter and brighter than a paparazzo’s flashbulb …

More books in the Scandal in the Spotlight miniseries available in eBook:

GIRL BEHIND THE SCANDALOUS REPUTATION

by Michelle Conder

BACK IN THE HEADLINES

by Sharon Kendrick

NO MORE SWEET SURRENDER

by Caitlin Crews

Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

LYNN RAYE HARRIS read her first Mills & Boon® romance when her grandmother carted home a box from a yard sale. She didn’t know she wanted to be a writer then, but she definitely knew she wanted to marry a sheikh or a prince and live the glamorous life she read about in the pages. Instead, she married a military man and moved around the world. These days she makes her home in North Alabama, with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon® is a dream come true. You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com

Recent titles by this same author:

 REVELATIONS OF THE NIGHT BEFORE

 UNNOTICED AND UNTOUCHED

 MARRIAGE BEHIND THE FAÇADE

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Game with One Winner
Lynn Raye Harris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For MPP

CHAPTER ONE

Russian Billionaire Rumored to Be Acquiring Troubled Department Store Chain

SHE WAS HERE. Roman Kazarov knew it as surely as he knew his own name, though he had not yet seen her. The woman at his side made a noise of frustration, a tiny little sound meant to draw his attention back to her. He flicked his gaze over her, and then away again.

Bored. The woman was beautiful, but he was bored. One night in her bed, and he was ready to move on.

Her fingers curled possessively around his arm. He resisted the urge to shake them off. He’d brought her here tonight on impulse. Because Caroline Sullivan-Wells would be here. Not that Caroline would care if he had a woman on his arm. No, she’d made it very clear five years ago that she didn’t care about him in the least.

Had never cared.

Once, her rejection had cut him to the bone. Now, he felt nothing. Nothing but cold determination. He’d returned to New York a far different man than he’d left it five years ago.

A rich man. A ruthless man.

A man with a single goal.

Before the month was out, he would own Sullivan’s, the luxury chain of department stores founded by her family. It was the culmination of everything he’d worked so hard for, the symbolic cherry on top of the ice-cream sundae. He did not need Sullivan’s, but he wanted it. Once, he’d been an acolyte at the feet of Frank Sullivan. And then he’d been unceremoniously tossed out, his work visa terminated, his dreams of providing a better life for his family back home in Russia shattered.

All he’d dared to do was fall in love with Caroline, but that one act had been the same as strapping on wings made of wax and flying too close to the sun. He’d fallen far and fast.

But now he was back. And there was nothing Caroline or her father could do about what he’d set in motion.

As if in answer to some hidden command, the crowd parted to reveal a woman standing on the other side of the room. She was deep in conversation. The glow from the Waterford chandelier overhead shone down in just such a way that it appeared to single her out, wreathing her golden-blond head and milky skin in a nimbus of pale light.

Roman’s gut clenched. She was still beautiful, still ethereal. And she still affected him, which only served to anger him further. He had not expected it, this jolt of remembered lust and bittersweet joy. He stood there and willed the feeling away until he could look at her coldly, critically.

Yes, much better. That was what he wanted to feel—disgust. Hatred.

His jaw tightened. She chose that moment to look up, almost as if she’d sensed something was wrong, as if there was a disturbance in her well-ordered circle of friends. There was a crease in the smooth skin over her hazel eyes, as if she was annoyed at being interrupted.

But then she saw him. Her eyes widened, her pink lips dropping open. She put a hand to her chest, then thought better of it and dropped it to her side—but not before he saw how he affected her. For a long moment, neither of them looked away. She broke the contact first, saying something to the person she’d been talking to, before she turned and fled through a door behind her.

Roman stiffened. He should feel triumphant, yet he strangely felt as if she’d rejected him again. As if his world were about to come crashing down just as it had five years ago. But that was not possible, not any longer. He had the upper hand now. He was the victor, the conqueror.

And yet bitterness coiled inside him, twisting and writhing on the floor of his soul, reminding him of how far he’d fallen, and how hard. Reminding him of how much that fall had cost him before he’d been able to pull himself up again.

“Darling,” the woman at his side said, drawing his attention from the door through which Caroline had disappeared, “can you fetch me a drink?”

Roman gazed down at her. She was pretty, spoiled, an actress with a face and body that usually drove men wild. She was used to commanding attention, to having her whims obeyed without question.

But what she saw in his face must have given her pause. She took a step back, her fingers sliding over the sleek fabric of his bespoke tuxedo. She was already calculating, already trying to recover from her mistake.

Too late.

“I do not fetch,” he told her coolly. And then he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet. He took out five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills and pressed them into her hand. “Enjoy yourself for as long as you wish. When you are finished, take a cab home.”

She reached for him as he turned. “You’re leaving me?”

Her eyes were wide, her confidence in her beauty shaken. He would have felt sorry for her, except that he was certain loads of interested men would swarm around her as soon as he walked away. Roman took her hand from his sleeve, lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “It is not meant to be, maya krasavitsa. You will find another who deserves you.”

And then he left her standing alone as he went in search of another woman. A woman who would not escape him this time.

Caroline took the elevator down to the first floor and hurried out to the sidewalk. Her heart hammered in her head, her throat, and she clutched her wrap to her body and tried to breathe evenly. Roman.

She blinked back the sudden tears that hovered, and gave the doorman a shaky smile when he asked if she’d like a taxi.

“Yes, please,” she said, her voice a touch breathless from her flight. Of all the people to be in that room tonight. And yet she should have expected him, shouldn’t she? She’d read that he was back in town. The newspapers couldn’t seem to leave the subject of Roman Kazarov alone. Or his mission.

Caroline’s fingers tightened on the silk wrap. It would be hopelessly wrinkled when she was done, but she hardly cared. She’d known she would have to see him again, but she hadn’t expected it to happen quite yet. No, she’d expected to face him in a boardroom—and even that thought had been almost enough to make her lose her lunch at the time.

How could she face him again? How? One moment, one look from across the room, and she was a jittery wreck of raw emotion. He had always had that effect on her, but she was nevertheless stunned that he still did. After all this time. After everything.

“Caroline.”

Her spine melted under the silken caress of her name on those lips she’d once loved so much. Once, but no more. She was a woman now, a woman who had made her choice. She’d do the same thing again, given the circumstances. She’d saved Sullivan’s then; she would save it now, too.

No matter that Roman Kazarov and his multinational conglomerate had other ideas.

She turned with a smile on her lips. A smile that shook at the corners. She only hoped it was too dark for him to notice.

“Mr. Kazarov,” she said, her voice a little too shrill, a little too brittle.

She needed to find her strength, her center—but she was off balance, her system still in shock from the surprise of seeing him in that room tonight.

Her heart took a slow tumble over the edge of the shelf on which it sat, falling into her belly, her toes. She felt hollow inside, so hollow, as she gazed up into those bright, ice-blue eyes of his. He was still incredibly handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and the kind of chiseled features that made artists itch to pick up their palette knives and brushes.

Or made photographers snap-happy. Yes, she’d seen the photos of him since he’d burst onto the scene a little over two years ago. She still remembered the first time, when Jon had handed her the paper over breakfast and told her she needed to see who was featured there.

She’d nearly choked on her coffee. Her husband had reached for her hand and squeezed it. He was the only one who knew how devastating news of Roman would be to her. In the years that followed, she’d watched Roman’s rise with trepidation, knowing in her gut that he would return one day.

Knowing that he would come for her.

Roman tsked. “After all we were to each other, Caroline? Is this how you greet an old friend?”

“I wasn’t aware we were friends,” she said, remembering with a pang the way he’d looked at her that night when she’d informed him they couldn’t see each other anymore. He’d just told her he loved her. She’d wanted to say the same words back to him, but it had been impossible. So she’d lied. And he’d looked … stunned. Wounded. And then he’d looked angry.

Now, he looked as if he could care less. It disconcerted her. She was off balance, a mess inside. A churning, sick mess, and he looked cool, controlled. Calm.

But why was she a mess? She’d done what she’d had to do. She would do it again. She tilted her chin up. Yes, she’d done the right thing, no matter the personal cost. Two people’s happiness had been nothing compared to the well-being of the countless people whose livelihoods had depended upon Sullivan’s.

Roman shrugged. “Then we are certainly old acquaintances.” One eyebrow arched as his gaze slid down to where she clutched the wrap over her breasts. She’d worn a strapless black dress tonight, but she felt as if she were naked under the silk, the way his eyes took their time perusing her. Heat flared in her core. Unwelcome heat. “Old lovers,” Roman said, as his eyes met hers again.

She turned and stared across Fifth Avenue toward the park, her insides trembling. Traffic was jammed up, barely moving due to some unseen obstruction, and she knew her cab would be a long time in arriving. How would she endure this?

She’d hoped beyond hope that she would never see him again. It would be easier that way. Safer.

“You do not wish to be reminded?” Roman asked. “Or have you decided to pretend it never happened?”

“I know what happened.” She would never forget. How could she when she had a daily reminder of the passion she’d once shared with this man? Panic threatened to claw its way into her throat at the thought, but she refused to let it. “But it was a long time ago.”

“I was sorry to hear about your husband,” he said then, and her stomach twisted into a painful knot.

Poor Jon. Poor, poor Jon. If anyone had deserved happiness, it had been him. “Thank you,” she said, the lump in her throat making her words come out tight. Jon had been gone for over a year now, but it still had the power to slice into her when she thought of those last helpless months when the leukemia had ravaged his body. It was so unfair.

She dipped her head a moment, surreptitiously dashing away the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Jon had been her best friend in the world, her partner, and she missed him still. Thinking of Jon reminded her that she had to be as strong as he’d been when facing his illness.

Roman was a man, and men could be defeated. “It won’t work,” she said, her voice fiercer than she’d thought she could manage at that moment.

Roman cocked an eyebrow. So smooth. “What won’t work, darling?”

A shiver chased down her spine. Once, he’d meant the endearment, and she’d loved the way his Russian accent slid across the words as he spoke. It was a caress before the caress. Now, however, he did it to torment her. The words were not a caress so much as a threat.

She turned and faced him head-on, tilting her head back to look him in the eye. He stood with his hands in his pockets, one corner of his beautiful mouth slanted up in a mocking grin.

Evil, heartless bastard. That was what he was now. What she had to think of him as. He wasn’t here to do her any favors. He would not be merciful.

Especially if he discovered her secret.

“You won’t soften me up, Roman,” she said. “I know what you want and I plan to fight you.”

He laughed. “I welcome it. Because you will not win. Not this time.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Funny, I would have never thought your father would step down and leave you in charge. I always thought they would carry him from his office someday.”

A shard of cold fear dug into her belly, as it always did when someone mentioned her father these days. “People change,” she said coolly.

And sometimes those changes were completely unexpected. A wave of love and sadness filled her at the thought of her father, sitting in his overstuffed chair by the window and staring at the lake beyond. Some days he recognized her. Most days he did not.

“In my experience they don’t. Whatever was there at the start will continue to be there in the end.” His gaze slid over her again, and her skin prickled. “People sometimes want you to think they’ve changed, in order to protect themselves, but I find it’s never true.”

“Then you must not know many people,” she said. “We all change. No one stays the same.”

“No, we don’t. But whatever the essence was, that remains. If one is heartless, for instance, one doesn’t suddenly grow a heart.”

Caroline’s skin glowed with heat. She knew he was speaking of her, speaking of that night when she’d thrown his love back in his face. She wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him the truth, but what good would it do? None whatsoever.

“Sometimes things are not as they seem,” she said. “Appearances can be deceptive.”

As soon as she said it, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. His icy eyes grew even frostier as he studied her. “I have no doubt you would know this.”

Fury and sadness warred inside her. The only thing to do was to pretend not to understand his meaning. Caroline gave a superior sniff. “Nevertheless, Daddy has reevaluated his priorities. He’s enjoying himself at his country estate these days. He worked hard for it, and he deserves it.”

There was a lump in her throat. She gritted her teeth and turned to look hopefully for a taxi, willing herself not to cry as she did so. She wasn’t ordinarily overcome with emotion, but thinking about her father’s illness in the presence of this man she’d once loved was a bit overwhelming.

“I had no idea you were interested in taking over the business someday,” Roman said, his tone more than a bit mocking. “I’d rather thought your interests lay elsewhere.”

She whipped around to look at him. “Such as shopping and getting my nails done? That was never my plan.”

It had been her parents’ plan, however. It was simply not done for a Sullivan woman to work. They married well and spent their days doing charitable work, not dirtying their hands in the business. No matter that she’d wanted to learn the business, or that her father had indulged her a bit and let her intern there—because business experience would do her good in her charitable duties, he’d said over her mother’s protests. Jon had always been the one intended to run the department store chain once her father retired.

Which Frank Sullivan would not have done anytime in the next twenty years had the choice not been taken from him. Now that Jon was dead, there was no one else but her. And she was good at what she did, damn it. She had to be.

“You’ve had a bad year,” Roman said softly, and her heart clenched. Yes, she’d had a bad year. But she still had Sullivan’s. More importantly, she had her son. And for him, she would do anything. Sullivan’s would be his one day. She would make sure of it.

“It could always be worse,” she said, not meeting Roman’s hard gaze. She’d told herself repeatedly that things could always be worse just so she could get through the day—but she really didn’t want to know how much worse. Losing a husband to cancer and a father to dementia was pretty damn bad in her book.

“It is worse,” he said. “I’m here. I don’t arrive on the scene until a company is struggling, Caroline. Until profits are squeezed tight and every month is a struggle to pay your suppliers just enough so they’ll keep the shipments coming.”

Caroline blinked. The stores. Of course he was talking about the stores. For a minute, she’d thought he was being sympathetic. But why would he be? She was the last person he’d ever show any compassion for.

And she could hardly blame him, could she? They hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms.

Though her heart ached, she feigned a laugh that was as light as the evening breeze. It tinkled gaily, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, when in fact she felt the weight of her cares like an anvil yoked to her neck.

“Oh Roman, really. You’ve done quite well for yourself, but your information cannot always be correct. This time, you are wrong. Dead wrong. You won’t get Sullivan’s, no matter how you try.” She waved a hand toward Fifth Avenue, encompassing the park, the horse-drawn carriage with its load of tourists passing by, and the logjam of cars and trucks packing the avenue. “Times have been bad everywhere, but look around you. This city is alive. These people are working, and they need the kind of goods Sullivan’s provides. They want what we have. Our sales are up twenty percent this quarter. And it will only get better.”

She had to believe that. Her father had made some bad decisions before anyone realized he was ill, and she was working her hardest to fix them. It wasn’t easy, and she wasn’t assured of success, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet, either.

Roman smirked. Literally smirked. “Twenty percent in one store, Caroline. The majority of your stores are suffering. You should have sold off some of the less profitable branches, but you didn’t. And now you are hurting.”

He took a step toward her, closed the space between them until she could feel his heat. His power. She wanted to take a step back, to put distance between them, but she would not. She would never give an inch of ground to this man. She couldn’t. She’d made her choice five years ago and she would stick by the rightness of it until the day she died.

“Thank you for your opinion, as unsolicited as it might have been,” Caroline said tightly. The nerve of the man! Of course she’d thought of selling off a few of the stores, but when she’d tried, the offers hadn’t exactly been forthcoming. It should have been done two years ago, but she hadn’t been the one in charge then. By the time she’d taken the lead, the economy had tanked and no one wanted to buy a department store. She was doing the best she could with the resources she had.

“I’ve done my research,” Roman said. “And I know the end is near for Sullivan’s. If you wish to see it continue, you’ll cooperate with me.”

Caroline tilted her chin up again. She’d been strong for so long that it was as natural to her as breathing. She might have been young and naive five years ago, when she’d loved this man beyond the dictates of reason or sense, but no longer.

“Why on earth would I do that? Are you saying I should just trust you? Sign over Sullivan’s and trust that you’ll ‘save’ the stores that have been in my family for five generations?” She shook her head. “I’d be a fool if I did business that way. And I assure you I am no fool.”

Miraculously, a taxi broke through the traffic and pulled to the curb then. The uniformed doorman drew open the door with a flourish. “Madam, your taxi.”

Caroline turned without waiting for an answer and entered the cab. She was just about to tell the driver where to take her when Roman filled the frame of the open door.

“This is my taxi,” she blurted as he shifted her over with a nudge of his hip.

“I’m going in the same direction.” He settled in beside her and gave the driver an address in the financial district. Caroline wanted to splutter in outrage, but she forced herself to breathe evenly, calmly. Her heart was a trapped butterfly in her chest. She couldn’t lead Roman to her door. She couldn’t bear to have him know where she lived. If Ryan came outside for some reason …

No. Caroline gave the driver the address of a town house in Greenwich Village. It wasn’t her town house, but she could walk the two streets over to her own house once the cab was gone.

“How did you know we were going in the same direction?” she demanded as the taxi began to inch back into traffic.

He shrugged. “Because I’m in no hurry. Even if you went north, I could eventually go south again.”

Caroline tucked her wrap over one shoulder. “That seems like a terrible waste of time.”

“I hardly think so. I have you alone now.”

Her heart thumped. Once, she would have been giddy to be alone with him for a long cab ride. She would have turned into his arms and tilted her head back for his kiss. Unwelcome heat bloomed in her cheeks, her belly. How many clandestine kisses had they shared in taxis such as this one?

Caroline didn’t want to think about it. She slid as far away from him as she could get, and turned to stare out the window at the mass of humanity moving along the sidewalks. A young woman in a yellow dress caught her eye as she walked beneath a streetlamp, her arm looped into the man’s beside her. When she threw her head back and laughed, Caroline felt a pang of envy. When was the last time she’d laughed so spontaneously?

Arrested by her laugh or her beauty, or some unidentifiable thing Caroline couldn’t see, the man drew the girl into his arms. Caroline craned her neck as the taxi moved past, watched as the girl wrapped her arms around the man’s neck and their lips met.

When she turned back, she could feel Roman’s eyes on her in the darkened taxi.

“Ah, romance,” he said, the words dripping with cynicism.

Caroline closed her eyes and swallowed. She bit her lip against the urge to say she was sorry for any pain she’d caused him. They’d said everything five years ago. It was too late now, and she wasn’t the same person she’d been then.

“What do you want from me, Roman?” Her voice sounded strained to her own ears. If he noticed, he didn’t comment.

“You know what I want. What I came here for.”

She turned to look at him, and barely stopped herself from sucking in her breath at the sight of him all dark and moody beside her. After five years, was she still supposed to be this affected by his dark male beauty?

“You’re wasting your time. Sullivan’s isn’t for sale at any price.”

There was silence between them for a long moment. And then he burst into laughter. His voice was rich, deep and sexy, and a curl of heat wound through her at the sound.

“You will sell, Caroline. You will do it because you can’t bear to see it cease to exist. Be stubborn—and watch when your suppliers cut off your line of credit, one by one. Watch as you have to close one store, and then another, and still you cannot fill your orders or keep your stores supplied with goods. Sullivan’s is known for quality, for luxury. Will you cease to order the best, and settle for second best? Will you tell your customers they can no longer have the Russian caviar, the finest smoked salmon, the specialty cakes from Josette’s, the designer handbags from Italy or the custom suits in the men’s haberdashery?”

A shiver traveled up her spine, vibrated across her shoulder blades. Her stomach clenched hard. Yes, it was that bad. Yes, she’d been studying the list of her suppliers and wondering how she could cut corners and still keep the quality for which Sullivan’s was known. The specialty food shop was hugely expensive—and yes, she’d thought of downsizing that department, of eliminating it in some markets.

She’d wanted to ask her father. She’d wanted to sit at his feet and ask him what he thought, just as she’d wanted to turn to Jon and ask him for his opinion. But they were unavailable, and she would not choke. She would make the hard choices. For Ryan. She would do it for Ryan.

Family was everything. It was all she had.

“I won’t discuss this with you, Roman,” she said, her voice as hard as she could make it. “You don’t own Sullivan’s yet. If I have anything to say about it, you won’t ever get that chance.”

“This is the thing you fail to understand, solnyshko. You have no say. It is as inevitable as a sunset.”

“Nothing is inevitable. Not while I have my wits. I intend to fight you with everything I have. You will not win.”

His smile was lethally cold. And dangerously attractive if the spike in her temperature was any indication.

“Ah, but I will. This time, Caroline, I get my way.”

Her heart thumped. “And what’s that supposed to mean? Surely you aren’t still brooding over our brief affair. You can’t mean to acquire Sullivan’s simply to get revenge for past slights.”

She said the words as if they were nothing, as if the mere idea were ridiculous, though her pulse skittered wildly in her wrists, her throat.

The corners of his mouth tightened, and her insides squeezed into a tight ball.

“Brooding? Hardly that, my dear. I’ve realized since that night that my …” he paused “… feelings … were not quite what I thought they were.” His gaze dropped over her body, back up again. “I was enamored with you, this is true. But love? No.”

It should not hurt to hear him say such a thing, but it did. She’d loved him so much, and she’d believed that he had loved her in return.

And now he was telling her he never had. That it was all an illusion. The knowledge hurt far more than she’d have thought possible five years after the fact.

“Then why are you here?” she asked tightly. “Why does Sullivan’s matter to you? You own far more impressive department stores. You don’t need mine.”

His laugh was soft, mocking. “No, I don’t need them.” He leaned toward her suddenly, his eyes gleaming in the light from the traffic. Her stomach clenched in reaction, though she hardly knew what she was reacting to.

“I want them,” he growled. “And I want you.”

CHAPTER TWO

Kazarov Ruthless in Business and Bed, Beauty Says

HE HADN’T INTENDED to go that far, but now that he had, it was interesting to watch her reaction. Her breath hitched in sharply, her hazel-green eyes widening. She dropped her lashes, shielding her eyes from his as she worked to control her expression.

Since the moment she’d spun toward him on the pavement, he’d been remembering what it had been like with her. It annoyed him greatly. He had his pick of women. The kind of women who took lush gorgeousness to an art form, while Caroline’s beauty was less studied, less polished. Perhaps she was merely pretty, he decided. Not beautiful at all, but pretty.

But then she raised her lashes and speared him with those eyes, and he felt the jolt at gut level. She was an ice queen, and he wanted nothing more than to melt her frigid exterior. It angered him that he did. He’d had no intention whatsoever of touching her, yet here he was, threatening her with the prospect of once more becoming his mistress.

“Why?” she said, her voice laced with the same shock he felt at this turn of events.

Roman shrugged casually, though he felt anything but casual at the moment. “Perhaps I have not had enough of you,” he said. “Or perhaps I want to humiliate you as you humiliated me.”

She clutched her tiny evening purse in both hands. “You aren’t that kind of man, Roman. You can’t mean to force me into sleeping with you.”

Savageness surged within him. And the bitter taste of memories he’d rather forget. “You have no idea what kind of man I am, solnyshko. You never did.”

Her lip trembled, and it nearly undid him. But no, he had to remember how cold she was, how ruthless she had been when he’d laid his heart on the line and made a fool of himself over her. He’d trusted her. Believed her.

And she’d betrayed him.

Roman clenched his jaw tight. He’d fallen for her facade of sweet innocence—but it had been only a facade. He’d made the mistake of thinking that because he was the first man she’d given herself to, she felt more than she did.

I don’t love you, Roman. How could I? I am a Sullivan, and you are just a man who works for my father.

He hadn’t been good enough for Caroline Sullivan-Wells and her blue-blooded family. Forgetting that singular detail had been a mistake that had cost him dearly. Cost his family. When he’d been forced to leave the States, to return to Russia without a job or any money—because he’d sent most of it home in order to care for his mother—he’d lost much more than a woman he’d fancied himself in love with.

“I have a child, Roman. I don’t have time for anyone in my life besides him.”

Bitterness flooded him. Yes, she had a child. A son she’d had with Jon Wells, only months after she’d cut him from her life. She’d had no trouble moving on to the next man. Marrying the next man. Roman no longer cared that she had, but when he thought of what he’d been doing in those months after he’d left the States, the resentment nearly overwhelmed him.

His words came out hard. “I don’t believe I said anything about a relationship.”

Something flashed in her eyes then, something hard and cool—and something that spoke of panic shoved deep beneath the surface. His senses sharpened.

Interesting.

“I won’t sleep with you, Roman. Do your worst to me, to Sullivan’s, but you won’t gain what you think you will.”

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. And then, on impulse, he reached out and slid a finger along her cheek. The move clearly surprised her, but she didn’t flinch. A bubble of satisfaction welled within him as her pupils dilated and her skin heated beneath his touch. She was not unaffected, no matter that she pretended to be.

“How do you know what I wish to gain, solnyshko?” he purred.

Caroline couldn’t breathe properly. From the first second he’d touched her, sparks of sensation had been going off inside her like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Her body ached. Her limbs trembled. And liquid heat flooded her core without the slightest hesitation.

What was wrong with her?

Just because she hadn’t actually had sex in forever was no reason to respond to this man. Other men had touched her, yet she’d felt nothing. She’d tried to date a couple of times after Jon’s death, because everyone told her she should, and because she was so incredibly lonely without him in her life.

But each time her date leaned in to kiss her, she felt a wave of panic, not lust. The kisses were unremarkable, the touches not worth thinking about. She’d excused herself the first second she could, and she’d never accepted another invitation.

She was beginning to think she was meant to be alone, that she’d only experienced the passion she had because it had given her Ryan. Those days were long over.

Until now. Until the instant Roman had run his finger over her skin, she’d thought she was, for all intents and purposes, frozen inside.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. Not now. It was too complicated, and she couldn’t face the trouble it would cause her.

His ice-blue eyes were intent on hers, his presence overwhelming in the small space of the taxi. His gaze dropped to her lips, took a leisurely trip back up to meet her eyes.

“Why does anyone do anything?”

He was as she remembered, and yet he was different, too. Harder. More ruthless. In spite of what he’d said about not being in love with her, was it her fault that he’d changed? “I’m sorry, Roman,” she said, despite her determination not to. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His laugh stroked softly against her heightened nerves. “Hurt me? Nyet, my darling. You did not hurt me. Wounded my pride a bit, perhaps. But I quickly recovered, I assure you.”

Caroline swallowed. She’d been devastated after that night, but she’d borne it all with quiet stoicism. Jon had been the only one who’d known what it had cost her to marry him.

She dropped her gaze to where she still clutched her purse in her hands. She’d done what had to be done. She’d been the only one who could. When Jon’s parents had insisted on the match, when they’d threatened to sell their shares in Sullivan’s and deliver majority control to a rival who would gut the stores and scatter their employees, Caroline had stepped up and done her duty. She’d saved the family legacy and thousands of jobs. It was something to be proud of. And she was proud, damn it.

Too proud to cower before this man.

She lifted her chin and met his hard gaze. She refused to flinch from the naked anger she saw there. And the need. He let that show through for a moment, and it stunned her.

How could he still want her after all that had happened? After the horrible things she’d said in order to make him go away?

But he did. Worse, she realized that she wanted him, too. She wanted to lean in and kiss him, wanted to feel the hot press of his mouth against hers once more. She’d never felt so alive as when he’d kissed her.

But no, that was another time. She’d been younger, more carefree, and unaware of the profound sadness life could bring. She knew better now. If she kissed him—if she let herself fall into him—it would only hurt worse once she had to disengage again.

“I’m glad to hear it, Roman. We weren’t right for each other. You know it as well as I.”

He snorted. “You mean that you were too good for me. That Caroline Sullivan deserved someone far better than the son of a Russian laborer. The peasant blood that runs through my veins would sully your bloodline.”

“I was young,” she said, shame twisting inside her at the things she’d had to let him believe that night. But it had been the only way. She’d had to burn the bridge behind her or risk tiptoeing across it again. “And that was not precisely what I said.”

“You didn’t have to. I understood your meaning quite clearly.”

Caroline took a deep breath. There was too much pain here, too many memories. Too many what-ifs. “I know you don’t understand, but it was the only choice I had.”

It wasn’t an explanation, but it was more than she’d said five years ago.

He looked at her in disbelief. “You would dare to say such a thing? To suggest you had no choice in your actions that night? What sort of tale of woe do you intend to ply me with, Caroline?”

Before she could dredge up an answer, the taxi came to a stop and the driver announced over the tinny speaker that they’d arrived at the first destination. Caroline turned her head to stare blindly at the unfamiliar house, before she remembered that she’d purposely given the wrong address.

She drew in a calming breath and turned back to face the angry man beside her. “Good night, Roman.”

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said, his tone clipped, as she reached for the handle.

“No,” she blurted. “I don’t want that.”

“Then I will wait until you are safely inside before leaving.”

Caroline licked suddenly dry lips. “No, don’t do that. It’s fine. This neighborhood is quite safe. I sometimes take walks later than this just to clear my head.”

It wasn’t true—the walks, anyway—but she didn’t want him to stay, since she couldn’t enter the house they’d stopped in front of. She didn’t even know who lived here. She knew her immediate neighbors on her street, but not those any farther afield.

Why had she panicked when he’d gotten into the taxi? Why hadn’t she simply given her address instead of lying? Now she was caught like a fish on a hook, and he was watching her with more than a little curiosity in his gaze.

“I am not so coarse as to leave a lady on a darkened street. I insist.”

He reached across her, intending to pull the handle. She reacted blindly, turning into him and pressing her mouth to his throat. The first touch was shocking. His skin was warm, his pulse a strong throb in his neck, and something soft and needy quivered to life in her core.

She didn’t know what she was doing, except that she had to get him away from here before he figured out this wasn’t where she lived. She’d wanted to distract him before he could ask questions, but she hadn’t bargained on the feelings pulsing to life inside her. She felt as if she’d touched a hot iron. Logic dictated she pull away, but fear drove her onward. An irrational fear, certainly, but she was committed now.

Roman gripped her shoulders and pushed her back against the seat.

“What is this, Caroline? Moments ago, you proclaimed your intention not to sleep with me.”

She sucked in a breath. Her body was still sizzling with heat and need from that single contact. What she said next wasn’t precisely untrue in light of that fact. “I’m lonely, Roman. It’s been a long time, and—and I miss having a man in my bed.”

One dark eyebrow arched. “Really? How perfectly convenient.”

She reached for him, tried to put her arms around his neck and pull him closer, so she could blot out the maddening voice in her head that screamed she’d lost her mind. She hadn’t lost her mind, but she cared more about Ryan than she did herself. She would protect her child with every breath left in her body.

If she’d just given the correct address in the first place, she could’ve left Roman in the car. But she’d panicked, and if he found out she’d lied, he would wonder why. He would want to know what she was hiding.

Caroline choked on a silent laugh. God, she had so many things to hide, didn’t she? Ryan, her father, the state of Sullivan’s finances.

“Take me to your place,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. She only hoped he would chalk it up to desire and not fear.

Roman still held her at arm’s length, his dark gaze raking over her face as if he could ferret out all her secrets. She lifted her chin and stared back, willing him to believe her. And it wasn’t so hard, really, since a part of her did want him.

A part she could not indulge, no matter the dangerous game she played.

Roman let her go and told the driver to continue to the address he’d given. Caroline slumped against the seat. She’d thought she would be relieved, but instead the tension in her body wound tighter. She kept expecting Roman to reach for her, to enfold her in his arms and take what she’d been offering.

But he didn’t, and that disconcerted her. He should be trying to kiss her, not sitting beside her like a large, silent mountain.

Ten minutes later, the car stopped at another location, and Caroline’s pulse spiked. She had to get away from him, had to go home and lock herself away in her bedroom while she processed everything that seeing him again had made her feel.

“I’m feeling a little unwell,” she said, as Roman swiped a credit card through the reader. “Maybe I should go home, after all.”

Roman didn’t even look at her. “If you are unwell, then you must come up and let me get you something for your …”

“Head,” she blurted. “I feel a migraine coming on.”

“Pity,” he replied, as he took the receipt the driver handed to him, and ushered her from the car before she could think of how to get him to leave without her.

“You’ll just need to call another one,” she said as he led her toward the glass doors of a tall building. “I really should get home. My child needs me.”

“Funny you did not think of this when you were sitting in front of your doorstep.”

“I—I was overwhelmed.”

Roman punched in an entry code and the doors slid open. “By sudden desire for me, yes. I am very flattered.” Except that he didn’t sound flattered at all. He sounded bored. “Now come and take something for your head.”

Caroline hesitated a moment, but where would she go if she didn’t go inside? This was the financial district at night, not Times Square. The taxis were fewer, the bustle much less. Did she want to stand on the street in an evening dress and frantically wave at taxis?

In the end, she entered the building, walking in silence beside the man she’d once loved, as he led her past a desk staffed with a security guard, and into a private elevator. The ride up was quick, and she was hardly surprised when the doors opened at the penthouse. Roman exited the elevator. She followed, her heart hammering as she stepped inside the masculine space.

A wall of windows lined the entire front of the apartment, looking out over the Manhattan skyline. The space was open from one end to the other, each area flowing into the next: the kitchen with its huge marble-topped island and stainless appliances, the dining room, the living room in which they stood, and onward toward the bedroom she could see through the open door to her right.

Roman left her standing in the living room. She heard the clink of glassware, and then liquid being poured. He returned a moment later with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.

“For your headache,” he said, when she didn’t move to take them from him.

“Oh, yes,” she blurted. “Thanks.”

She took the water and then Roman shook two aspirin into her hand. She popped them in her mouth and swallowed them down. She truly did have a headache, but it was due to stress and not a migraine.

Roman went and opened a sliding door to a large terrace. After a moment’s hesitation, Caroline followed him outside. The night air was cool this high up, the breeze that ruffled her hair refreshing. She’d laid her small purse on a table inside, but she’d kept her wrap. She pulled it tighter and gazed out over the city.

“Is this yours?” she asked.

“Da. I bought it over a year ago.”

Her insides twisted. “You’ve come to New York before?”

He’d walked the same streets she had? Gone into the shops? What if she’d rounded a corner one day, with Ryan holding her hand, and bumped into Roman? A chill that had nothing to do with the night air skated over her soul. She felt as if she should have known he was here somehow, but the truth was that she hadn’t.

He turned to look at her, his eyes sparkling in the lights from the living room. “Of course. Did you think I would avoid it because you were here?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’m surprised I didn’t hear of it before. The press does seem to follow you around.”

She didn’t purposely seek information about him, but even she could not avoid the checkout stand headlines when they blared something about the sexy Russian and his latest conquest, be it female, business or real estate.

He shrugged. “I am interesting to them because I came from nothing. If I returned to nothing, they would abandon me in a heartbeat.”

He could never be nothing, this tall, enigmatic man who made her ache in ways she’d nearly forgotten.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” she said, trying to keep the subject somewhat safe.

Except there was no safety with him.

“Yes,” he said, his voice cool. “I know it must be a shock to you and your family. With enough polish, even the filthiest of mongrels can appear well-bred and sophisticated.”

His words smarted. She had never thought him beneath her, though she’d let him believe that in the end. Her mother, however, had never approved of her infatuation with him. Both her parents had been nearly frantic with the thought that Caroline would not do her duty and save the stores, when Jon’s parents had pushed for marriage.

She’d proved otherwise, but to this day her mother refused to speak of Roman, though she surely knew that her grandson didn’t resemble Jon Wells in the least.

“That was a long time ago,” Caroline said quietly. “I’d rather not speak of it anymore.”

He took a step toward her, closing the distance until she could feel the warmth emanating from his body. Her brain told her to run; her body told her to step into him. She was paralyzed with warring desires—but Roman was not.

He looped an arm around her waist casually, tugged her toward him until she was flush against his body. She shuddered with the burning memories the contact brought up. Flesh against flesh, hard against soft, heat and moisture and pleasure so intense she’d thought she would die.

“Do you wish to forget everything, Caroline? Have you forgotten this?”

His head dipped toward hers, and she closed her eyes, unable to turn away even if she’d wanted to. She didn’t want to.

For one brief moment, she wanted to feel this sensation again. She wanted to feel the incredible heat of desire for a man—this man—burning her from the inside out. She wanted to feel like a woman one more time.

His mouth claimed hers almost savagely, his tongue sliding between her parted lips to duel with her own. Caroline’s knees turned to liquid, until she was leaning into Roman and supporting herself with her hands gripping his strong arms.

He held her against him, his body responding to hers in ways that made her sigh with longing. He demanded everything in that kiss, and she gave it. She didn’t know how to do anything else. Roman was the only man she’d ever burned for; shockingly, she still burned for him.

He threaded a hand in her hair and dragged her head back to give him better access. Caroline’s hands slid along the opulent fabric of his tuxedo, wound around his neck, her body arching into his with abandon.

She was flung back through time to another moment, another kiss. The first time he’d ever kissed her, they’d been standing on a terrace like this one—only it had not belonged to him. It had been her family apartment on Fifth Avenue, and her parents were having a cocktail party. Roman, as her father’s star employee in the accounting and marketing department, had been invited. He hadn’t been a member of the upper crust, but he’d stood out in his tuxedo as if he’d been born to be there.

Caroline had never doubted his ability to fit into her world. She’d been flirting with him on and off for the last several weeks. She’d made a point to go through his department every time she’d gone to the Sullivan Group’s headquarters.

That night, however, she’d seen a different side to Roman Kazarov. He’d been utterly breathtaking and totally in control. Smooth, suave, compelling. She’d known, watching him talk with one of her mother’s society friends, that he was completely out of her league. She was the one who was not sophisticated enough for him.

And so she’d thrown herself at him when she’d found him alone on the terrace. To her surprise, he’d taken what she’d given. And asked for more. Their affair had been hot, passionate, and a little too out of control.

But oh, how exhilarating it had been!

Caroline tilted her hips into his, felt the overwhelming evidence of his arousal. Her knees were already liquid, but now her resolve was following into more flexible territory. Would it truly hurt to spend one more night with him? It had been so long, and she was lonely. That had not been a lie.

With a soft curse, Roman broke the kiss. He gripped her shoulders, held her at arm’s length. His eyes were hotter than she’d yet seen them. Her stomach clenched, both in confusion and fear. A thread of disappointment wound its way through her as her limbs regained their strength.

“What is this all about, Caroline?” he demanded. “What are you trying to hide?”

CHAPTER THREE

Is the Sullivan Heiress Kazarov’s Latest Squeeze?

HIS VOICE WAS harsh, hard, and she flinched from the coldness in it. A moment ago, he’d been kissing her as if nothing had ever gone wrong between them. And now he was back to hating her.

“I have no idea what you mean,” she said coolly. In spite of his lethal appeal, she would not fold. She would do nothing except what she wanted to do. And she would win this battle in the end. That’s all she cared about: winning.

Thank God he’d kissed her, she thought. Because now she knew she could survive it.

Roman let her go and shoved a hand through his hair. Her lips still tingled from his kiss, and her body still ached with want. It was disconcerting. She realized she was cold and turned to search for the wrap, which must have fallen when she’d gone into his arms. She found it and dragged it over her bare shoulders again, shoring up her resolve as she did so.

“You lied about your address,” Roman said.

Her heart seemed to stop in her chest for the longest moment before kicking hard again. Of course he’d known she hadn’t given the correct address. “I did. I admit it. But how did you know?”

“Because it is my business to know everything about the people whose companies I intend to acquire.” It was said without a trace of irony, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world for him to know where she lived after all this time. To not only know, but to let her try and deceive him without once saying a word. It made her furious. And anxious.

“You could have said something,” she told him tightly. “And saved me the trouble of continuing the lie.”

“And miss this charming interlude? I think not. But tell me why you did it.”

Caroline licked her lips. Ryan would be in bed by now, his little body tucked under his race car blankets. He would not come bounding out the door. Nor would he have if she’d let the driver take her home in the first place. She’d simply panicked at the thought, and look where it had gotten her. Fool.

She needed time to think. God knew she wasn’t thinking very well at the moment. She’d been stressed and overworked these last few weeks. There was so much to do, so much to work out, if Sullivan’s was to make their next loan payment to the bank. She should be at home, working on the projections before her meeting with the bank tomorrow, not sparring with this ruthless man.

Roman was watching her curiously. And she didn’t kid herself that he was anything less than a threat. Under the curiosity lay a tiger waiting to pounce. One sign of weakness, one more mistake in judgment, and she would be toast.

“I lied because I was angry. I didn’t want you taking me home.” She sniffed. “It was quite a shock seeing you again, I admit. And then you got into the taxi with me, though you were not invited.”

He looked dangerous. “That doesn’t explain what happened next.”

Caroline’s face flamed. No, it certainly didn’t explain the panic that had made her try to use the promise of sex to distract him. She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. Let him think the worst of her. She did not care. “It’s not the first time I’ve thrown myself at you. Perhaps I was feeling nostalgic.”

Roman snorted. “Of course. This explains everything.”

“And on that note, I think I should go home now,” she said, stiffening her spine and facing him with all the haughtiness she possessed. “Clearly, I made a mistake.”

His eyes narrowed as he continued to study her. “Da, you should go.” He strode past her and back inside, where he picked up her purse and handed it to her. Caroline gripped the clutch tightly, embarrassment and fury warring within her for dominance.

Once, he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Once, she’d gloried in the knowledge that she could make this man burn for her. Now, he was throwing her out. Which was what she wanted, of course—and yet it pricked her pride, too. No longer was she irresistible to him.

As if to prove the point, Roman’s gaze traveled insultingly slowly down her body before finding its way to her face again. “I find that, while you still have the ability to excite me, I’m not precisely moved to take you to my bed.”

“What a relief,” she snapped, though inside his words smarted. “Though I’m not stupid enough to presume you’ll be changing your plans for Sullivan’s, I am relieved to know they no longer include me in the bargain.”

His laugh was low, deep, sexy, and it sent tiny waves of rebellious delight crashing through her.

“Oh, I still have plans for you, solnyshko. Just none for tonight.”

Roman stood on the terrace once she’d gone, glass of Scotch in hand, and gazed out at the lights of Manhattan. Though he was on the top floor, he could still hear the sounds of traffic below—the screech of brakes, the sharp clarion of a siren. Somewhere in that traffic, Caroline rode toward her home in Greenwich Village, her perfect blond hair smooth, her lipstick refreshed, her composure intact.

Nothing touched Caroline for long. He’d learned that five years ago. When she’d been in his arms, in his bed, their bodies entwined and straining together, she’d been completely and utterly his.

When they’d dressed again and he’d put her in a cab home—because she’d insisted she could not stay overnight and rouse her parents’ curiosity—she’d left him completely behind, forgotten until the next time.

He, however, had lain awake thinking of her. Thinking of how he could make her his permanently. Such a fool he’d been.

Their affair had been brief, a matter of weeks only, but he’d fallen hard. And she had not fallen at all. He’d had a long time to think about why he’d done something so uncharacteristic. And what he’d decided, what he’d realized for the pitiful truth, was that she’d represented something golden and unattainable. He, Roman Kazarov, son of a violent, evil monster and a gentle woman who’d married down, before she’d realized she’d made a terrible mistake, had possessed the ultimate prize in his all-American golden girl.

He’d fallen for Caroline because she’d made him believe his circumstances didn’t matter, that his worth had nothing to do with where he’d come from. And then, once he’d believed her, she’d yanked the rug out from under him.

Roman took a sip of the Scotch, let the liquid scour his throat on the way down. She’d made him forget what was most important in his life. He’d lost sight of his reason for being in America in the first place, and it had cost him dearly. His mother’s last months were spent not in the lush nursing home he’d been paying for while he worked at Sullivan’s, but in a run-down two-bedroom apartment where he and his brothers did their best to care for her as she slipped further and further into sickness.

He didn’t blame Caroline for it; he blamed himself. Acquiring Sullivan’s wouldn’t bring his mother back from the grave, or change her last months of suffering, but he planned to do it anyway. To remind himself of the folly of allowing anything or anyone to come between him and his goals.

He thought of the kiss he and Caroline had shared tonight, and a tendril of heat slid through his groin. He had wanted her. But he’d be the one to decide where and when, not her. And it wouldn’t be in his home, the way it had always been before. There’d been something about the way she would come to him, and then leave him replete in his own bed, that had made him feel the difference between their circumstances more acutely.

He’d been the hired help, the poor supplicant in the one-bedroom apartment, while she’d been the heiress breezing in and out of his life. Taking her pleasure and going back to her gilded existence. And to her proper fiancé, as he’d learned too late.

He’d known Jon Wells, though barely. He’d been a quiet man, perhaps even a bit shy. Not the kind to handle fiery Caroline. Roman remembered thinking that she’d been joking at first. Except she’d never laughed, never strayed from what she was saying.

I’m marrying Jon Wells.

But you love me, he’d said, his heart crumpling in ways he’d never thought possible.

It’s been fun, Roman, but I don’t love you. I never did.

He could still see her face, so wooden and haughty; still hear the words falling from her poisonous lips. Roman drained the Scotch and went back inside. There, he took out the dossier he’d had compiled on the Sullivan Group, and flipped to the section about Caroline.

There was a photo, and a brief information sheet with her statistics and address. There was also a photo of her son, Ryan Wells. Roman forced himself to study the picture, though it always made him feel edgy inside to look at the face of her child with another man.

The boy was blond, like Caroline, and his eyes were blue. Roman looked at the information sheet again. Four years old.

It jabbed him in the gut every time.

With a curse, he put the photos away and began to read about the Sullivan Group’s latest problems with their loans. They’d taken on too much debt in an effort to staunch the flow of their losses. It wasn’t working. Without an influx of cash—major cash—Sullivan’s would be pushed to liquidate their assets in order to meet their obligations.

He should let it happen. He should walk away and let the place crumble into oblivion. But he couldn’t. He wanted Sullivan’s. He wanted every store in their possession—every cashmere sweater, every diamond, every pricey jar of caviar, every last bottle of exclusive champagne. Quite simply, he wanted it all.

But, mostly, he wanted to see the look on their aristocratic faces when he owned everything they’d once thought him not good enough for. He would be the one to destroy Sullivan’s. And there would be nothing they could do to stop him.

They only needed a little more time. Just a little, and she could pull this off. Caroline sat in the conference room with her chief financial officer and waited for the financiers from Crawford International Bank to arrive. She’d come in early this morning to work on the projections, and she bit back a yawn as she refilled her coffee.

She hadn’t slept well last night. No, she’d tossed and turned, thinking of that kiss with Roman. Thinking of every moment in the car with Roman, and then every moment in his apartment. It hurt to look at him. Physically hurt. He reminded her of everything she stood to lose. And everything she’d gained because of their affair five years ago.

Jon always used to tell her that everything would look better in the morning, once she’d slept on it. At first he’d believed it, and she had, too, when they kept hoping the chemo would make a difference and save his life. Finally, she’d had to admit that the clarity of morning did nothing to erase the doubt and pain of the day before.

Oh, she never told Jon she’d stopped believing, but she suspected he had, too. Toward the end, he’d said it less and less. Caroline bent her head and swiped at a stray tear. She didn’t have time to cry right now. She had to face the bank’s financiers and convince them Sullivan’s was on the right track to return to profitability and pay their loans. And then she had to deliver on that promise.

Easy peasy.

She waited anxiously while the clock ticked past the appointed hour. The doors didn’t open and no one came to announce the arrival of anyone from the bank.

At half past the hour, the phone rang. Caroline snatched it up on the second ring.

“There’s a call for you, Ms. Sullivan,” her secretary said. “A Mr. Kazarov. Shall I put him through?”

Caroline’s fingers flexed on the receiver. No, she wanted to shout. Never! But she knew, as surely as she knew her own name, that she had to take the call. Roman wasn’t calling to discuss last night, nor was he calling to ask about her health. He was calling at precisely this moment for a reason.

A reason she dreaded.

“Rob, can you excuse me?” she said to her CFO. He nodded and rose to leave. Caroline instructed Maryanne to put the call through as she sat back in her chair and prepared for battle. She didn’t know what Roman had done, or tried to do, but she wasn’t accepting it lying down.

“Dobroye Utro, Caroline.” Roman’s smooth voice came over the line, and a shiver skated across her skin at the sound of the Russian vowels and consonants. Such a sexy voice, damn him. “I trust you slept well?”

“Perfectly well, thank you,” she said coolly, though nothing could be further from the truth. “And you?”

“Like a baby,” he said cheerfully, and she wanted to reach through the line and strangle him.

“I assume you’re calling for a reason,” she said irritably. “Or did you wish to ask me out on a date?”

Roman laughed, and she chided herself for the flood of warmth that dripped down her spine like hot honey. There was a time when his voice over the phone had filled her with illicit urges. She could spend hours on the phone with him then, and had. God knew what they’d found to talk about for so long.

“So impatient. This was always your problem, solnyshko. Haven’t you ever heard that good things come to those who wait?”

“Really, Roman,” she scoffed. “Have you taken to speaking in clichés now? Has your English deteriorated? Or perhaps you’re just so busy gobbling up companies that you’ve become too lazy to be more creative.”

“I have quite a creative mind, I assure you,” he purred into the phone. A lightning bolt of desire shot through her. Her skin grew warm, her body tensing with a sexual ache that made her angry. It was just a voice, for God’s sake!

“As fun as this is,” Caroline said briskly, “you need to get to the point. I have an important meeting in five minutes.”

“Actually, you don’t,” he said. “If you are waiting for the bankers, that is.”

Fear fell over her like a heavy blanket, dousing the electricity stirring in her blood. She didn’t need to ask how Roman knew about her meeting. It was clear he did know, so asking would be a waste of breath.

“I suppose you wish to tell me something,” she said, cutting straight to it. “Shall I shave my head in preparation for the executioner’s ax? Or did you have a slower, more painful death in mind?”

“So dramatic, Caroline,” he chided her. “But that is part of your charm.”

Caroline ground her teeth in frustration. “And your ruthlessness is yours,” she said, so sweetly it made her teeth ache.

“Ah, you speak to me of ruthlessness? Interesting.”

Caroline clicked her pen open and closed. Open and closed. “Why is that interesting? You’ve been traveling the globe for the past two years, collecting companies, and still you aren’t satisfied. I’d call that ruthless.”

“Perhaps not as ruthless as stomping on a man’s heart,” he said evenly. There was no hint of emotion in that voice, no warmth or coolness, and she shuddered involuntarily.

“As if you haven’t made a second career of breaking women’s hearts,” she said, her pulse thrumming in her throat, her wrists.

“I learned from the best.”

Caroline closed her eyes, willing herself to stay focused. He was trying to rattle her—and he was doing a good job. Since the moment she’d seen him last night at that party, she’d been on edge. Fear, stress, anger, regret—they all coiled together in a giant lead ball in her belly.

“Tell me what you want, Roman,” she said. “Why are you calling me now, and how do you know my meeting is canceled?”

“I know because I canceled it.”

Her stomach dropped into her toes. “You canceled it. And how did you manage that?” she asked, though she feared she had a good idea what he was about to say.

“There is no longer a need to discuss your loans with the bank, solnyshko.”

“You bought the loans,” she said, a lump forming in her throat. She’d known it was a possibility that someone could buy their debt, but her family had been dealing with Crawford International Bank for years. Her father and Leland Crawford had been golf buddies, and she’d had no reason to think he would ever consider selling the loans without first coming to them.

The last time she’d seen Leland, he’d assured her he was in their corner. He hadn’t been happy with her father’s sudden “retirement,” though he did not know the reason behind it. No one did, other than her, her mother and Sullivan’s board of directors.

And she intended to keep it that way. Her family didn’t need the public scrutiny while their loved one suffered from a cruel disease that robbed him of his memory and his life. The board—some of whom had been sitting when she’d still been a little girl in a school uniform—supported her leadership. Leland knew that much, even if he didn’t know the reason. That he would sell the loans without giving her a chance stunned her.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. What was done was done.

This was a setback, but it wasn’t the end by any stretch.

“You bought the loans, but you haven’t bought Sullivan’s,” she said fiercely. “We are not in default and you can’t foreclose.”

Roman laughed again, a soft chuckle that made the hairs on her arms prickle in response. “You are not in default yet.”

Caroline gripped the phone. Hard. “We won’t default. I promise you that.”

“Very good, Caroline,” he said. “Fight me. I like a challenge.”

“Really? I would have thought you preferred your quarry to lie down and roll over before your overwhelming might.”

“Oh, I like that too. But only when it’s appropriate.”

Caroline sucked in a breath. How did he manage to infuse such an innocuous statement with blistering sex appeal?

“I have to go now,” she said tightly. “I have work to do.”

“Da, you have much to do. And when you are finished for the day, you will join me for dinner.”

“I think not,” Caroline said, hot anger rising in her throat, flushing her skin with heat. “You bought the loans. You did not buy me.”

“Think carefully, Caroline,” he growled. “It wouldn’t take much for your suppliers to cut off your line of credit. If that happens, you will surely default. And then I will own it all. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“You would go that far?” she said bitterly. “You would interfere with our supply chain in order to win?”

“I think you already know the answer to your questions.”

A moment later, the line went dead.

CHAPTER FOUR

Secret Tryst? Sullivan Heiress Spotted Entering Hotel

BLAKE MILLER THREW her a worried glance as she moved around her dressing room, searching for the right earrings to go with the pink Valentino sheath she’d chosen for the evening.

“Are you planning to tell him?” Blake asked.

Caroline yanked open a drawer and seized the pearl drop earrings she’d been looking for. She was absolutely furious. After her conversation with Roman, she’d had to change into her running gear and hit the company gym for an hour just so she would calm down.

It hadn’t worked as well as she would have liked. She was worn-out, but still angry.

She’d had no intention of jumping to Roman’s tune, but she’d finally realized that he had her right where he wanted her. She couldn’t let him interfere with Sullivan’s supply chain, not when she needed every trick at her disposal to make the loan payment on time.

She would go to dinner. But that did not mean she had to like it.

“Tell him what?” Caroline asked as she shoved one of the posts into her ear.

Blake frowned. “About Ryan.”

Caroline jerked, her gaze shooting toward the door. But Ryan wasn’t there, and she let out a sharp sigh.

“He’s watching a cartoon with a sponge character,” Blake said.

Caroline tried to smile, though she wanted to chew nails. But not because of Blake. She softened her tone. “You know very well what the name of the cartoon is. We’ve only had to watch it a gazillion times.”

He shrugged. “I know. But I’m refusing to acknowledge I do in hopes I’ll be able to forget those horrible songs.”

“Good luck with that,” she said. “I think they’re imprinted in my memory forever.”

She finished putting on her earrings and studied herself in the mirror. There were purple smudges beneath her eyes, and her cheekbones were looking a little sharp. She needed to work less and eat a little more often, but she’d been so stressed lately that sleep and eating were not her top priorities.

“Caroline.” She turned toward Blake to find him watching her worriedly. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She closed her eyes. “I know.” Then she came over and took his hands in hers. “I love you, Blake. You’re the best thing that ever happened to Jon, and I love that you’re a part of our lives. Without you, taking care of my little boy these days would be a lot harder.”

Blake shrugged. His green eyes seemed to overflow with sadness for a moment, but then he sucked it in and gave her a smile. “I love you and Ryan, too. You’ve kept me sane these last months since Jon died.” Blake squeezed her hands. “He wanted you to be happy, Caroline. He worried about you.”

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