A Game With One Winner

by Lynn Raye Harris

  Really, Caroline, the things that people will buy these days and hang on their walls. Appalling.

  Caroline folded her arms and turned to stare out the window as the plane began to roll toward the runway. Within a few minutes, they were airborne, and she opened up her computer to get some work done. She’d just pulled up a spreadsheet when Ryan came bounding into the cabin. Blake was hot on his heels, looking exasperated and a little harried.

  “Mommy, Mommy,” Ryan cried.

  “What is it, baby?” Caroline said, pushing her computer aside and wrapping her arms around her son as he hurled himself headlong into her.

  “Sorry,” Blake said. “He got away from me.”

  “It’s fine,” Caroline replied, hugging Ryan tight. She glanced over at Roman. He’d gone very still as he watched her and Ryan, and her heart climbed to dizzying heights. Would he see what she saw every time she looked at her son? What Blake saw, if the way his gaze kept moving between the boy and the man was any indication?

  Caroline breathed in the sweet scent of her child and squeezed him to her. “What did you want, sweetheart?”

  He bounced excitedly. “Are we going to see Grandma and Grandpa in Florida?”

  Her stomach squeezed into a tight ball. Jon’s parents. Oh, God. They weren’t exactly on speaking terms anymore, but Ryan hadn’t forgotten them. Jon had confessed on his deathbed that Ryan wasn’t his. He’d insisted he had to tell the truth, and she’d understood.

  Richard and Elaine hadn’t taken the news very well, to say the least. They’d cut off all contact shortly after Jon died. Thankfully, they’d given their interest in Sullivan’s to Jon long before then.

  “No, sweetie, not this time. We’re going to California with Mr. Kazarov.”

  Ryan turned wide eyes on Roman, as if just realizing he was there. Then he stuck his thumb in his mouth. It was a habit he was getting too old for, but she didn’t correct him this time. Everything about this trip was disconcerting to him, so why add another layer of stress?

  “Say hello to Mr. Kazarov,” Caroline said. “This is his plane we’re riding on.”

  “Hello,” Ryan whispered, before turning his head into her shoulder again.

  “Hello...Ryan,” Roman said, his voice sounding tighter than she’d yet heard it.

  Ryan turned to stare at Roman. This time, his blue eyes were intent, his brow wrinkled as he studied the man who’d fathered him. It took everything Caroline had not to fall apart then and there.

  “Mommy, he talks funny,” Ryan said in a whisper that was not a whisper.

  “Mr. Kazarov is from Russia. It’s a big country very far away. And I bet he thinks we are the ones who talk funny.”

  Ryan looked puzzled, as if he hadn’t quite considered that possibility before. “Can your plane fly to Russia?” he asked.

  Roman looked like a man who wanted to be anywhere but here. He was clearly out of his comfort zone, and Caroline started to intervene. But just like that, something shifted in his expression and he was suddenly back in his element again.

  “It can,” he said. “I have done this many times.”

  “Can we go to Russia?”

  “Someday, perhaps,” Roman said. “But not today.”

  “Maybe we can go see Grandma and Grandpa, too.”

  “Yes, perhaps.”

  “Sweetie,” Caroline interjected. “Why don’t you go with Blake and play with the toys we brought?”

  “Will you come play, too?” he asked, his eyes so serious.

  Guilt was a hot sting in her heart. She’d been so busy lately, and while Ryan had Blake, Blake was not a substitute for her. “Of course I will. But give me a few minutes to talk to Mr. Kazarov first, okay?”

  Ryan nodded and then turned and blazed past Blake, on his way back to the other cabin. Once he and Blake were gone, Caroline looked over at Roman. He was watching her this time, his eyes steady and burning.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s only four, and more than a little energetic.”

  Roman shrugged as if it were nothing. “This is to be expected.” He paused a moment before speaking again. “He looks like you.”

  And you, she thought. God help her. But if she’d been worried he would see Ryan and know the truth, she’d just been proved wrong.

  “He has his father’s eyes,” she said softly. Roman’s expression hardened, and she felt as if her heart would burst. At that moment, the naked truth punched her with a force she couldn’t ignore.

  He deserves to know.

  He had a right to know. And yet how would she tell him? She swallowed. “I’m sorry if he disturbed you just now.”

  “It’s fine.” Roman turned back to his computer and tapped a key. Then he was still for a long moment. “I’m not good with kids. I don’t know what to say to them, or what they need.”

  Her throat ached. “They aren’t that difficult to understand. Sometimes, it doesn’t matter what you say, so long as you simply talk to them. You were a kid once, so think of that.”

  He swiveled toward her again, and she had to keep herself from recoiling at the look in his eyes. They were flat, dead of emotion. It stunned her, made her want to reach for him and ask him what had happened to put that kind of look on his face.

  She did not. Instead, she clasped her hands together and willed herself not to move.

  “My childhood was nothing to draw from in terms of how to treat children, believe me. My father was a drunk and a brute. We learned to stay hidden if we wanted to survive.”

  “Roman,” she said, her eyes prickling with sudden tears. “I’m so sorry. No child deserves that.”

  His gaze was hard, bleak. She wondered what else he might say. Instead, he waved a hand in dismissal, as if he hadn’t just said something devastating.

  “Go, Caroline. Play with your son. Leave me to work in peace.”

  * * *

  A car waited at the airport to take them straight to the Beverly Hills Hotel, where Roman had rented one of the presidential bungalows. It was a sumptuous space, with three bedrooms, a private pool and courtyard, a kitchen, and even an outdoor treadmill and shower. The bungalows were private, sequestered from the hotel in areas where other guests were not allowed. There were gardens, tropical plants and lush greenery that hid the bungalow from prying eyes. It was like having a home in the middle of L.A.

  After making sure Blake and Ryan were settled for the evening, Roman insisted they go to Sullivan’s now, incognito. It was late, but with the time change from New York, the store was still open for another hour. Caroline dressed in a pair of jeans and a silk tank top before putting on a dark blazer and jeweled gladiator sandals.

  She met Roman in the great room, her breath catching at the sight of him in jeans and a dark T-shirt. He looked younger, more carefree, and her heart ached for the man she’d once loved. He used to make her laugh, she remembered. He was serious, but he was funny, too.

  She hadn’t once seen his funny side since he’d returned. It surprised her how much she longed for it. And how much she still ached over his revelation on the plane. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him as a small child, cowering from the man who should have loved him instead of frightening him.

  They took a rented sports car and drove down Sunset Boulevard. Traffic wasn’t thick at this time of the evening, fortunately, though it was still somewhat heavy, and they arrived at the mall where Sullivan’s was located in good time. Roman left the car with valet parking and they walked into the store together, a pair of anonymous shoppers on an evening outing.

  The store was packed with people even at this hour, and Caroline felt a swell of something approximating pride and relief wash over her. Everything looked crisp and perfect. The salespeople were busy and efficient, and the store oozed the kind of upscale comfort Sullivan’s was known for.

  Roman went over and stood by the center railing, looking up and down the four levels of the store. People packed the escalators, carrying packages and bags, laughing
and talking. It reminded her of everything she loved best about Sullivan’s. She hadn’t spent much time on the floor lately, because she was always in her office worrying over the figures, but she realized, standing here, that she needed to get into the stores more often.

  They were in her blood, and it made her feel more alive than she had in a while to stand here and simply breathe in the atmosphere of happy shoppers and a thriving store.

  “Let’s go to the food shop,” she said suddenly, feeling as if she was twelve again and her mother had told her she could have a treat. “I want something chocolate and scrumptious.”

  Roman didn’t object, following as she led the way down the escalator to the lowest level. The food area was full of shoppers standing at the counters, purchasing the specialty cheeses, the salads, the meat and fish and lobsters, and the various delicacies Sullivan’s was known for. The chocolate counter was mobbed, but Caroline was determined. Finally, she managed get to the front and order some truffles. The staff moved efficiently, and though there was a small bit of grumbling here and there, everyone got served in good time.

  She and Roman cut through the crowd and made their way back to the escalators. Caroline dug into the signature gold-and-black bag and popped a truffle into her mouth as they stepped onto the escalator to the men’s department. “Oh God, that’s good,” she said, her eyes closing as she chewed.

  “Is it blueberry flavored?” he asked, and she snapped her eyes open to find him staring at her.

  “No,” she said, swallowing. Then she held the bag out. “Do you want to try?”

  He reached in and took a piece, sliding it between his lips and chewing oh so slowly. She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from his mouth, from the lips that had once kissed every inch of her body and brought her such unbelievable pleasure.

  “I like it better when you feed it to me,” he said, his voice silky and hot all at once. “Like the blueberries.”

  She dropped her gaze away from his, suddenly self-conscious. It seemed as if the noise and commotion around them had disappeared, as if it was suddenly just the two of them alone in the middle of the vast store. “I liked that, too.”

  Oh God, had she really just said that? It wasn’t what she’d meant to say at all. She’d intended to say something along the lines of how the past was the past, no matter how much she’d enjoyed it. But with that one utterance, she’d proved he was right when he’d said she still wanted him.

  She did, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. He was both the instrument of her destruction and the instrument of her greatest happiness.

  She should be furious with him. Furious over his arrogance and autocratic ways. Furious over his threats to her business.

  But right now, she couldn’t seem to summon much fury. No, she remembered him on the plane, his expression stark as he’d told her in a few words that his childhood had been anything but happy.

  She wanted to know that man, the one who ached. The one who was still human. The one she’d once loved.

  He lifted his hand and pushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her entire body focused on that one point of contact, as if lightning had been concentrated in his fingertips. Her blood hummed, her veins swelled and the very air around her seemed charged with electricity.

  “Feed me the next piece,” he told her, his eyes hot and bright. She hesitated but a moment, her heart thrumming a steady beat that threatened to make her dizzy. Then she dipped her fingers into the bag, withdrew a single piece of chocolate and pressed it between his lips, her fingers sliding into his mouth, over the silky heat of his tongue.

  He sucked the chocolate from her fingers, his hot eyes never leaving hers. He’d moved closer to her—or she to him—until she could feel the heat of his body burning into her, though they did not touch anywhere else.

  They reached the top of the escalator and she broke apart from him guiltily. Roman, however, took her hand and led her through the men’s department to the dressing rooms. There was no one standing nearby, so he dragged her straight into the nearest one and closed the door.

  The dressing room was big, but not too big, and the lighting was soft. There were mirrors on three walls, and she backed toward one, holding the bag of chocolate held against her chest. Roman grinned, his eyes bright, and she sucked in a breath as he advanced on her.

  “What are you doing?” she squeaked.

  “You know what I’m doing, Caroline. And you want me to do it.”

  Oh, she did. She definitely did.

  Her nipples felt tight, and her breath shortened in her chest. Worse, her feminine core throbbed with the ache of sexual arousal. Her body didn’t seem to realize there was too much water under the bridge, too much time and hurt between them. And her brain was beginning to think it didn’t matter.

  Roman backed her against a mirrored wall, one hand on either side of her head, creating a cage from which she knew she could escape if she wanted to.

  She didn’t want to.

  “Do you have any idea how I’ve longed for this?” he said in a growl, his head so close to hers, his lips firm and sensual as he spoke.

  She tilted her head back until it rested on the wall. Her mouth was near his. So near. “Tell me,” she said breathlessly.

  “You wish to talk?” he asked, moving forward again, his hips crowding into hers, his big body pinning hers to the wall. She could feel his hardness, the perfect leanness of his muscles as he pushed against her.

  And then, because she knew there had to be more to it than that, she flexed her hips against his—and felt the hardness she’d wanted to feel all along. He made a sound in his throat that should have frightened her, but didn’t. No, it only made the hunger in her body sharper.

  She moved her head back and forth against the mirror, answering his question.

  “I won’t kiss you,” he said, his eyes falling to the dip in her tank top, back up again. Hot eyes. Beautiful, ice blue eyes. “I won’t touch you at all, Caroline.”

  “Roman.” His name was a plea on her lips. She sounded like a stranger, and yet she was caught in the grip of this feeling. This need for him. It was as if the past didn’t exist. As if nothing existed between them except the here and the now.

  And right here, right now, she wanted him.

  “Kiss me, angel moy,” he whispered in a gravelly voice. “Touch me. It is the only way.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “They Were All Over Each Other,” Man Says—Kazarov and Caro Spotted Cozying Up in L.A. Department Store

  IT DIDN’T MATTER that she shouldn’t do this, that her sensible side was telling her to stop right this instant, that it was too complicated and too dangerous. Her wild side wanted to taste Roman Kazarov again. Her wild side wanted to remember what it was like to want a man, to need a man, to lose what was left of her sanity over a man.

  But not just any man. Only this one. It had always been only this one.

  And so she stood on tiptoe and touched her tongue to his bottom lip. Just that, so light and delicate. He tasted like chocolate, sweet and dark and delicious. And like Roman, heat and power and sizzling electricity.

  “More,” he said, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, sank into him, arched her body into his.

  And then she kissed him. It was light, tentative, searching.

  Roman would have none of it. His hands shifted from caging her in to holding her face while he took her mouth with all the power and devastation she knew he was capable of.

  This was not a kiss. It was a possession. A complete and total annihilation of her resistance. His tongue sought hers, demanded a response—and she gave it. She went wild with it, with the knowledge that she was in his arms once again, that she’d never wanted to be anywhere else.

  On some level, she knew her response had only been made possible by what had happened on the plane earlier. By his fear and wariness of Ryan, and by his stark testimony that his childhood had been nothing approximating normal.


  She hurt for Roman. It wasn’t reason enough to give herself to him, she knew that, but she hardly needed reason when instinct and biology seemed to be enough. She had never, ever been able to resist Roman Kazarov. From the first, she’d wanted him with a violence she’d never felt in her young life.

  And once she’d had him, once he’d been hers to possess again and again, the fire had only burned brighter and hotter.

  Roman Kazarov was a fever in her blood, a virus she couldn’t seem to shake.

  His big hands speared into her hair, shaped her head as he held her for his kiss. She made a noise of frustration, of helplessness, as she tried to press herself closer to him. Her body arched into his, and his hands left her head and traveled down her spine, over her buttocks, testing the feel and weight of her as he pulled her into his groin.

  He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist, held on tight while he kissed her with all the devastating skill that she knew he possessed. She was wild, wanton, and she didn’t care. All she wanted was to merge herself with him, to lose herself in him the way she once had.

  He flexed his hips, and she shuddered as lightning streaked through her. Then he pressed her into the wall and, with devastating precision, moved against her most sensitive core until she was wild with need for him.

  He was her ruin, her devastation. He was like a hot fire that threatened to burn her as he swept over her. Caroline wrapped her fists into his shirt and tugged it from his waistband.

  She didn’t want the barrier of clothing between them, didn’t want anything but skin and heat and passion.

  “Not here,” he said, tearing his mouth from hers suddenly. “Not like this.”

  “I don’t care,” she gasped.

  He set her away from him abruptly, though she nearly sobbed in protest. He held her at arm’s length, though she tried to move into his embrace again. Before her body cooled, before she forgot this feeling. Before reality intruded.

  His eyes looked almost as wild as she felt. It was a small comfort, but at least he was not unaffected. “You will care, angel moy. You will. Maybe not now, but tomorrow you would hate me for this.”