A Game With One Winner

by Lynn Raye Harris

They’d talked often of what they should have done, but they’d both known they wouldn’t have done anything differently. Jon’s parents were ultraconservative, and they would have cut him off without a dime had he confessed his sexual orientation. They’d bought him a wife with their investment in Sullivan’s, and once he was married and had a child on the way, they’d assumed everything was well and he was on the proper path.

  But you couldn’t buy off a cancer diagnosis.

  “We both did what we had to do.” She pulled in a deep breath. “And to answer your question, Jon is Ryan’s father. It would be too confusing for Ryan if he suddenly had a new daddy.”

  “Ryan was so young when Jon died. He barely remembers him.” Blake looked sad. “People often remarry after their spouse dies. Kids get new parents. I’m sure this man would understand the need to protect Ryan until he’s old enough to know the truth.”

  Her heart was a cold lump in her chest at the idea of telling Roman he had a son after all this time. How would she do that? Hey, Roman, about that last night we spent together before I told you I didn’t want you in my life anymore...

  By the time she’d realized she was pregnant, several weeks later, Roman had disappeared from her life as if he’d never even existed. He’d left no forwarding address. She knew because she’d asked Jon to check with Human Resources.

  Until two years ago, she’d had no idea what had become of him. By then it was too late to dredge up the past. She and Jon and Ryan were a family, and Roman was a man working his way through women and companies like a rocket blazing across the sky.

  “I’m not marrying Roman Kazarov, Blake. Whatever we once had is dead and buried. He despises me now. And I’m not especially fond of him, either.”

  “He has a right to know about his child, don’t you think?”

  Caroline turned and grabbed her wrap. Her fingers shook as she put it around her shoulders and smoothed the fabric. “I think it’s too late for that. I don’t imagine he’d take the news well after all this time. And what if he tried to take Ryan away from me?” She shook her head as a wave of panic swelled inside her. “I can’t risk that, Blake.”

  He sighed heavily. “I know, sweetie. I just wish there was a way.”

  “I don’t think there is,” she said with a touch of sadness. “He left before I knew I was pregnant. And then I married Jon. Whatever happened between us is in the past now. And it needs to stay there.”

  A few minutes later, the car Roman had sent for her arrived. Caroline kissed Ryan good-night, told him to be a good boy for Uncle Blake, and went out to get in the car. The air was warm tonight, but she pulled her wrap tighter and settled into the back seat of the limo. They didn’t head south toward the financial district, as she’d expected, but north, toward Central Park. When the car finally stopped, it was in front of an exclusive hotel that faced the park.

  Caroline went inside, expecting to find Roman waiting for her in the restaurant, but a uniformed attendant directed her to an elevator instead. She hesitated on the threshold, but then stepped inside. Whatever Roman was up to, it wasn’t going to turn out the way he thought.

  The elevator disgorged her at the entrance to an opulent suite. Soft music filled the area and a dining table sat near a gently flickering fire. A woman in a crisp uniform came forward and offered to take her wrap as Caroline walked into the room.

  “Thank you,” she murmured as she handed it over.

  Roman sat at a desk nearby, a phone to his ear as he talked to someone in Russian. He didn’t sound stressed. No, he laughed—and she almost hated him for it. How smug, how cool, how superior and in control.

  He’d always been that way, except that he’d seemed to lose a tiny bit of that control whenever she’d walked into the room. And before long, she remembered, he’d lost the rest of it. Caroline shuddered with the memories that assailed her at that moment: hot skin, cool sheets, and the glorious perfection of his lovemaking.

  Things she most definitely did not want to think about.

  She accepted the glass of champagne someone handed her, and turned away from the man at the desk. She could see Ryan in him, and it disconcerted her. Last night, she’d been so rattled at seeing him again that she hadn’t paid as much attention to the quirks of movement or the features that he’d given to his son.

  Tonight, in just a few seconds of looking at him, it was all there. The slope of the nose, the blue eyes, the stray lock of hair that insisted on falling forward over his brow, and the way he raked it back again with an impatient hand. Her heart felt like a lead weight in her chest. She’d never thought to see Roman again when he’d left five years ago, and now he was here.

  But what was she supposed to do? Confess everything to him and put her child in jeopardy? Would Roman try to take Ryan away from her? Or would he reject his son? Oddly, the thought of him rejecting her precious little boy was somehow worse than the thought of him wanting to take Ryan away.

  Roman ended the call and stood, all lethal grace and sexiness in his dark trousers and deep crimson shirt. A suit jacket was slung over the back of a chair, a tie loosened and lying on top of it. He looked so graceful and cool under pressure, and she resented him for it. He had no idea what a maelstrom of emotion he was stirring up in her life. And, she suspected, he wouldn’t care if he did.

  No, strike that. He would care. He would congratulate himself on it.

  “I am happy you could make it,” he said in way of greeting.

  Caroline stood tall in her platform pumps and cocked a hip as if she were bored. “I don’t believe you gave me a choice,” she said. “So here I am.”

  His eyes slid over her. “Yes, here you are.”

  His gaze felt like a caress, a sensual stroking of her nerves, and she took another sip of champagne to mask her discomfort. “Having your apartment fumigated?” she asked, glancing around the hotel suite with cool disdain.

  Roman laughed. “Not at all.” He took a glass of champagne from the waiter standing nearby with a tray, and held it high, studying the pale liquid, before taking a sip. “I don’t entertain women in my home, sorry to say.”

  Icy blue eyes speared her with a coldness that made her shiver inside.

  “How fascinating,” she replied, maintaining her bored tone, though she was anything but. No, her heart thrummed and her skin prickled with heat beneath her dress. She only hoped that little beads of sweat weren’t glistening across her brow.

  “Yes, and it’s all due to you, I might add.”

  She nearly choked on the champagne. “Me?”

  He turned and flicked a hand toward one of the servers. The team melted away, disappearing through a door and leaving them alone in the room.

  When Roman turned back to her, his eyes were a curious mixture of heat and coolness—and hatred. Caroline darted her tongue over her lower lip.

  “I prefer to keep my affairs away from home these days,” he said. “Her bed, her apartment, a hotel. You taught me that.”

  Caroline swallowed as she thought of all the times they’d made love in his bed, only for her to leave him at the end of it and go back home again. She’d been afraid of what her parents would think if she didn’t come home. She’d annoyed him more than once with her refusal to spend the night. She’d hated leaving, but it had been necessary.

  “I’m glad I was good for something then,” she said evenly. What else could she say?

  “You were good for a few things. You could be again.”

  “I won’t be your mistress, Roman,” she said firmly, refusing to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about. What he was insinuating.

  “Really? Last night, as I recall, you practically begged me to take you to my bed.”

  Yes, she had. And though it had started out as an act, by the end of the night, when he’d kissed her on the terrace, she’d almost been ready to beg him for real.

  “A mistake,” she said. “One I won’t be repeating.”

  Roman laughed again, and she found that
the sound scraped over her nerve endings and left her trembling.

  “This is far more interesting than I’d expected it would be,” he said, as he came over and took her arm. Her entire body became attuned to that one spot that he touched, sizzling and aching and wanting more than she’d dared to want in five long years.

  How could she be thinking like this when he was a threat to her? When she was absolutely furious with him?

  She pulled her arm from his grasp and stepped out of his reach. He merely smiled and swept out his hand with a flourish, pointing to the table. “After you then.”

  Caroline went over and yanked out a chair. But Roman was there, ever the gentleman, pushing the chair in for her as she sat. Then he took a seat on the opposite side.

  As if they had some kind of radar tuned to Roman, the waitstaff returned at that moment and served dinner, before disappearing again. There was red wine, rack of lamb, delicate new potatoes tossed in cream and butter, and grilled summer squash.

  “Eat, Caroline,” Roman said, as she hesitated to pick up her fork.

  Her stomach was so twisted into knots that she wasn’t sure she would be able to eat a bite, but after she tasted the first forkful, she nearly moaned with pleasure as the flavors exploded on her tongue. With the current state of affairs at Sullivan’s, she’d been eating on the run for weeks—salads, half sandwiches, the occasional slice of pizza. A real meal, eaten leisurely, was heaven.

  Or would be if she had a different dinner companion.

  She looked up to find Roman watching her. She dropped the fork as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t, and glared at him.

  He grinned. “We won’t talk business yet,” he said. “Enjoy the meal.”

  “It’s fine,” she told him, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest. “Why waste time? The sooner we talk, the sooner I can go.”

  He lifted his wineglass and took a long sip before setting it down again. “You look as if you’ve done nothing but business for months. Eating is a pleasure, Caroline. It should be enjoyed, savored. Business will wait.”

  He cut into his food. She waited for him to say something else, but when he didn’t, when he ate as if he was sitting there alone, she picked up the fork and took another bite of lamb. It was absolutely delicious—rosemary, thyme, salt, a hint of garlic, and the fresh flavor of the meat combined into the perfect sensory experience.

  Yes, eating was a pleasure. Jon had been a great cook, so good that they’d never hired a chef until he’d gotten ill and needed specialized care. Even now she employed a personal chef, but mostly to feed Ryan something other than takeout. She often ate on the run, while multitasking, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat down and enjoyed a meal simply for the food alone.

  Her free time was spent with Ryan, not savoring meals.

  “I don’t see how you’ve managed to create an empire if you stop for leisurely meals three times a day,” she said after a long silence. There was sarcasm in her tone, certainly—but also envy.

  “Don’t forget sex,” he told her, his blue eyes suddenly sharp on hers. “I stopped for that, too.”

  A dull pain rolled through her at the thought of Roman with other women. Ridiculous. She knew he’d not been celibate over the last few years. There wasn’t a tabloid alive that hadn’t detailed his exploits with the various models, actresses, beauty queens and heiresses he dated.

  “You are a man of many talents,” she said, lifting her wineglass high. “I salute you.”

  He watched her drink, his gaze following the slide of her throat as she swallowed. A flood of heat rushed through her system, but whether it was due to the alcohol or him she wasn’t quite certain.

  “Does it make you feel good?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and studying her like a specimen under a microscope.

  Caroline blinked. “What? The wine?”

  “No. The rebellion.”

  She lifted her chin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Rebellion? Against whom?” She laughed as she shook her head. “You are nothing to me, Roman. Why would I need to rebel against you? In fact, I find the entire notion insulting. I don’t need your permission—or your approval—to be exactly who I am.”

  “How did Jon Wells ever handle you?” he murmured.

  Ice crackled through her system then. “Do not speak of Jon,” she said, her voice hard. “He has nothing to do with this.”

  Roman’s gaze sharpened as he watched her. “You loved him.”

  “Of course I loved him! I married him, didn’t I?” She didn’t know why she said that last. It hadn’t been necessary, or even a real reason for her marriage to Jon. Not that Roman knew that. The fire in his eyes banked momentarily before flaring again, fueled by fury and loathing.

  Was this really how she wanted to deal with the man who owned her loans? Was it necessary to antagonize him, when he already had so many reasons to despise her?

  Caroline folded her arms and willed her temper to subside. “Why are we sitting here pretending to have a civilized conversation, when we both know it’s impossible?”

  Roman looked so cool it irritated her. “Like it or not, solnyshko, I own your loans.”

  “And what dirty trick did you have to perform to get Leland to sell them to you, I wonder.”

  Roman’s eyes glittered. “You are terribly reckless, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t like to be controlled.”

  He laughed, the sound soft and somewhat menacing. “Is this how you would behave with Leland Crawford? Or any other bank manager who controlled your debt? Would you accuse them of trickery or be so openly hostile?”

  “Leland wouldn’t ask about my relationship with my husband,” she retorted. “Nor would he imply I needed to sleep with him in order to save Sullivan’s.”

  Roman looked utterly dangerous in that moment. “I’ve never implied that sleeping with me would save your precious stores. I said I wanted them. And you. That is not quite the same thing, is it?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Where Is Frank Sullivan? While Rome Burns,

  He’s Nowhere to Be Seen

  HER PRETTY EYES went wide, but she lowered her lashes, hiding them from him before Roman could discern her thoughts. Oh, he knew she was angry. And frustrated. Perhaps it wasn’t very nice of him, but he enjoyed it.

  Since last night, when he’d kissed her, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about before, about all the nights when she’d burned up in his arms. She might be trying so hard to be an ice queen now, but he knew what lay under that cool facade. Heat, fire, incineration.

  It angered him to be thinking this way about her, after everything she’d cost him, but perhaps it was poetic justice. This time, he would be the one to take—and the one to walk away unscathed. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

  “I have a son,” she said, her voice firm. “And as much fun as it is to play this game with you, I have to think of him first. I’m not going to be your mistress, Roman. Not for any price.”

  “Is that so?” He liked her fire, her defiance.

  Her cheeks flushed as she stared at him. “If you were a decent man, you wouldn’t even think such a thing.”

  He laughed. “I never said I was decent, Caroline.” He leaned forward then, spearing her with a glare. “But I am honest, which is more than you have ever been, da?”

  She dropped her gaze for the barest of moments, her throat working. And then she was staring at him again, her chin up, her eyes flashing. “I can’t change your opinion of me. I’m not going to try.”

  “That would be a fruitless endeavor,” he said coolly. “Especially since you are not being honest now, either.”

  She looked as if he’d slapped her. Her mouth fell open as she drew back in her chair. She wrapped her fingers around the strand of pearls at her neck and worked them back and forth for several moments before she seemed to realize what she was doing. She dropped her hand to her lap and kept it there, he
r ice queen demeanor a bit tattered around the edges now.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said haughtily.

  Her superiority made him want to lash out. “Regardless of what lies you tell yourself, you wanted me last night. Had I not been the one to put a halt to it, you would have begged me to make love to you.”

  Was that relief he saw in her eyes? Guilt? It was gone far too quickly for him to be sure. “You are much too full of yourself, Roman. I had a moment of weakness, but it wouldn’t have gone anywhere.”

  “Shall we test this theory again?” he growled, a sharp feeling clawing through him. Not for the first time, the feeling she was hiding something prickled to life inside him.

  Her eyes flashed. “Is this how you would treat any of the other business colleagues you invite for dinner?” She leaned forward suddenly, her expression fierce. “Would you try to force any other rival to sleep with you, or I am a special case?”

  He’d forgotten how passionate she could be when anger brightened her features. It made the ache in his groin sharper than ever. “I’ve never said I would force you, Caroline.”

  She blinked, her righteous indignation stonewalled for the barest moment. “Haven’t you?”

  He took a sip of wine, enjoyed the rich complexity of the rare vintage as it went down. He loved being able to afford whatever he wanted. He’d grown up with nothing, less than nothing, and he’d watched his parents fight over every little thing. He and his brothers had run wild, stealing food and clothing, fighting with other kids for recreation. Nothing had been easy in his life. Nothing had been handed to him on a silver platter the way it had been to her.

  He’d never despised her for it. What he’d despised her for was making him feel, once more, like the son of a violent brute who could barely spell his own name, much less count the coins in his pocket.

  When Roman had lost his work visa, he’d lost everything.

  And he’d failed his mother, in the same way his father had done when he’d drunk his paycheck every week. There was never enough food, never enough money to pay the bills, yet she’d worked tirelessly to make sure her sons had what they needed. Roman thought of her wasting away in that tiny bed in the grungy apartment he’d had to move her to, and felt like breaking something.