He did. And when it was done, when they were both spent, he tugged her into his arms and settled on the couch with her, brushing her hair off her damp forehead and pressing his lips to her skin.
“So tell me what put you in such a good mood, solynshko.”
Caroline’s heart thumped. It was the moment she’d been waiting for, and now she wasn’t certain what to say. Wasn’t certain how he’d take the news.
Except if he took it badly, she’d know what that meant, wouldn’t she? She’d know that everything between them had been false, and that he wasn’t interested in her happiness so much as he was in winning. And as much as that prospect scared her, it was better to know it now rather than later.
She bit her lip and lowered her lashes. “We’re making the payment,” she said. “On time.”
His laugh startled her and her gaze snapped to his. But he wasn’t upset. This wasn’t disbelieving laughter. Warmth spread through her blood, her bones. He seemed happy. Really, truly happy.
“Well done,” he said, and then kissed her. “Sullivan’s carries on, and the Sullivan heiress wins the day.”
“You aren’t upset?” she asked, even though it was a redundant question at this point.
His smile was brilliant, his blue eyes sparkling. “How could I be? I will get my money, and the hassle of making Sullivan’s profitable still falls to you. It’s win-win for me.”
It hit her how perfect this moment was. They were naked on the couch, clothes strewn across the furniture and floors, and they were talking business. A bubble of happiness welled within her. This was what she wanted. A life with Roman. A life where she felt she was part of an equal partnership, where she was valued for her brain as much as her body or her pedigree. Her parents had had it wrong when they’d wanted to keep her from the business. Sullivan’s was in her blood.
And so was Roman. She pushed away the tiny thread of panic that insisted on weaving through the fabric of her happiness. It’s fine. He’s not upset. The bottom isn’t going to fall out.
“I was worried at how you would take the news,” she said. “You seemed to want Sullivan’s so badly.”
He shrugged. “I can think of something else I want even more.” He bent and kissed her, softly, sweetly. Desire, so freshly sated, throbbed to life inside her again. “We should marry, Caroline. For Ryan. For us.”
She sighed contentedly, stretching against him. This. This was what she should have had all along. This blissful, joyful, incandescent happiness. It was not going to fall apart. It was real, and true.
“We should,” she said. “We definitely should.”
He sat up and tugged her upright. “Get dressed. There’s a priest at the resort.”
Caroline laughed as she slid onto his lap and wrapped her legs around his waist. “We have time, Roman.”
His body hardened, his shaft rising heavy and thick between them. “Perhaps we do, lyubimaya moya,” he said, his accent becoming more pronounced again.
Caroline purred in approval. “You are a man of many talents, Roman Kazarov.”
* * *
They were married at sunset, on the beach where they’d made love. It was a private ceremony with only Blake, Ryan and the household staff for company. Caroline’s head was still spinning from how quickly it had happened. Once they’d made love and gotten dressed again, Roman had asked her once more if she would marry him here, today, on this island.
Her heart filled with love, she’d said yes. Finally, she and Ryan and Roman would be a family.
She kissed Roman when the priest told her to, and then turned to find Blake watching with tears in his eyes. Ryan looked so serious in his little button-down shirt and shorts, and she laughed as he broke free from Blake and ran into her arms.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she told him as she bent to catch him and realized she was crying. “Mommy is very happy.”
“Is Mr. Roman my daddy now?” he asked shyly, and Caroline tried not to break down with the happy, delirious tears that threatened.
“Yes, baby,” she managed to reply. “That’s right.”
She picked him up and held him tightly against her. He turned wide eyes to Roman, who watched them both so carefully that it made her heart ache. He was still unsure with Ryan, though he was getting better. She smiled to encourage him and he smiled back, his grin breaking wide.
Her heart felt as if it would stop then and there. Roman opened his arms, and she stepped into them. Ryan put his little arms around Roman’s neck, and Roman laughed.
“I am happy to be your daddy,” he said, and her heart squeezed tight.
They returned to the house and had a leisurely meal as a family, and then Blake took Ryan for his bath and bedtime. Caroline felt suddenly shy, which was ridiculous, when Roman came over and pulled her up from her seat.
“I want to make love to you,” he said, his voice a soft growl that slid through her nerve endings and made her quiver with longing. “As my wife.”
And then he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, while she hid her face against his crisp white shirt. He kicked the door closed and undressed her slowly, thoroughly exploring her, as if he had all the time in the world. Even after she was naked, he took his time, tormenting her with his lips and tongue and teeth, before he finally sank deep inside her and took them both to paradise.
As her orgasm hit her, Caroline felt the words overwhelming her, rushing out of her as if they had to break free or choke her. “I love you, Roman!”
“Caroline,” Roman said, holding her tightly. “My precious Caroline.”
It was as close to an admission of love as he’d come, and she sighed happily before she fell asleep in his arms.
This time, it would work. Nothing would come between them ever again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kazarov Wins Again! But at What Price?
THE PHONE RANG in the middle of the night. Caroline turned over, coming awake slowly, while Roman talked to whoever had disturbed them, his voice hard and commanding even as he tried to keep it quiet.
She wished she understood Russian at that moment, because Roman did not sound happy. Another few minutes and he ended the call.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, propping herself on an elbow beside him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, raking his hands through his hair and yawning.
At the sound of her voice, he turned. “It’s nothing,” he said, tipping her chin up and kissing her softly. “Business.”
“It didn’t sound like nothing.”
He sighed. “I have some things to take care of,” he said shortly. “I need to return to New York. I’ll be back in a day, maybe two.”
Her heart fell into her toes. Two days seemed like a lifetime now. “I’ll go with you,” she said. “I have things to do at Sullivan’s, anyway.”
“This is our honeymoon, angel moy. You should not be working.”
“Neither should you,” she said, sitting up beside him and running her palms over the smooth muscle of his back.
“It cannot be helped,” he said softly, turning and pushing her back onto the bed. His mouth found the hollow of her throat. “I’ll be back before bedtime tonight, how’s that?”
She sighed as her arms went around him. “It will have to do, I suppose. But Roman, maybe we should all go. There’s too much going on right now—”
“Shh,” he said. “You’ve won, solnyshko. The payment will be made on time, and you deserve a vacation after all your hard work. Worry about Sullivan’s next week.”
Caroline yawned and stretched. She was still so tired after a long day of phone calls, hot lovemaking and getting married. Still, she had every intention of dragging herself from the bed and going with Roman, but by the time she awoke again, he was long gone.
Caroline sat up in bed and blinked as the sun slanted through the blinds. Confusion clouded her brain, making everything fuzzy—and then she remembered last night and Roman’s phone call.
Uneasiness pooled in h
er belly, though she didn’t know why.
But she couldn’t lie in bed any longer, so she showered and dressed and went to find Blake and Ryan. Blake was eating breakfast, while her son played with a toy car on the wide veranda. Beyond, the sea sparkled like diamond-tipped turquoise and the sun beat down on the white sand, though it was early yet.
Caroline sat at the table and reached for a piece of fruit. Blake was watching her, one corner of his mouth tilted up in a knowing grin.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she said. “You are the nosiest nanny on the planet.”
His grin got bigger. “I am. And I’m happy for you.”
She was happy, too. Happy and even a little bit frightened. She had everything she wanted, but it had all happened so fast that her head was still spinning.
“Mrs. Kazarov,” the housekeeper said, and Caroline turned toward the large woman in the colorful print dress, who held up a phone. “You left this in the office. It’s been buzzing for twenty minutes at least.”
“Thank you,” Caroline replied, a bit chagrined as she took the phone. She’d forgotten that she’d left it plugged in last night when Roman had carried her to bed. She pressed the home button and her heart skipped a beat. There were missed calls, voice messages and even texts—both from her mother and from Rob.
That tiny feeling of panic she’d had earlier blossomed into a full-blown wave churning inside her.
With shaking fingers, she punched the first message and listened to it. She listened to three more, all some version of “Call me, there’s a problem,” until her nerves were wound so tight she shot up and went to the other end of the veranda to make a call.
Rob’s voice came over the line. “Caroline, thank God.”
“What’s wrong?”
She could hear the strain in his voice when he spoke. “The Europeans are pulling out of the deal,” he said, and her heart plummeted right through the wooden slats of the veranda. Too good to be true. She’d known it, hadn’t she? Felt it keenly.
Rob sucked in a breath and she knew he was dragging on a cigarette. A habit he’d given up, she’d thought. Cold determination settled in her gut. Whatever was coming next, she had to deal with it.
“What else?” she said, bracing herself for it, knowing what was coming even as she did so.
“It’s your father. The press—they know.”
She’d been wrong. She couldn’t prepare for that kind of blow. It wasn’t quite the same as when the doctors had delivered the bad news to her and Jon that day. But it was still bad. Gut-wrenching in ways that made her feel so helpless and angry.
Her entire body went numb as she sank onto the nearest chair. She wanted to howl, and she wanted to throw things. Instead, she couldn’t move. She’d been flattened. Around her, the world went on as before. But everything had changed.
Again.
* * *
Getting off the island was not simple, especially when she had to book a private charter just to get to Miami. Blake was tight-lipped beside her, while Ryan complained about having to sit still instead of run and play as he had on Roman’s plane.
Caroline sat with her arms folded and her head turned to stare out the window. She was completely numb. And furious with herself.
She thought back over the hours since that first phone call. Her initial thought had been to call Roman and ask for his help. But then Rob had told her that representatives from Kazarov Industries had arrived to oversee the transfer of Sullivan’s, and her belly had turned to ice.
Roman had gotten a phone call in the middle of the night. And he’d told her to stay on the island, that she wasn’t needed, that Sullivan’s was safe. So he could steal it out from under her?
She’d refused to let herself think such a thing, though her soul had gone numb at the mere idea. After she’d hung up with Rob, she’d tried to call Roman, her fingers shaking as she punched in the number. He hadn’t answered. Not entirely unexpected, since he could be in a meeting.
So she’d tried again. And again.
Then she’d left messages—countless messages.
He did not return her call. For hours, she didn’t hear a word.
Finally, as the day dragged on and she heard nothing from the man she’d married, she’d had to accept the truth. Just as she’d had to accept the truth when her father had told her she needed to marry Jon to save the stores, or when Jon’s doctor had told her the chemo wasn’t working and he was dying, or when her father had ceased to be the vibrant, brilliant man he’d always been and become a confused, frightened individual.
The truth hurt. She hated the truth. She didn’t want to believe it.
But one thing she’d learned in the last five years was that denying the truth didn’t make anything better. Just like ripping a Band-Aid from her skin, it was better to do it quickly. Better to accept the cold, hard, terrible truth than to pretend it wasn’t happening.
And the truth was that Roman had betrayed her. He hadn’t given up his notion of revenge at all. Why would he? She’d broken his heart, taken his child from him. Her father had cost him his livelihood and his ability to take care of his dying mother. That was an awful lot to forgive in such a short time.
He hated the Sullivans, regardless that he might want her physically or that he wanted their child. The truth of that statement was like a dagger to her heart.
Had he told her he loved her? No. He’d made no promises that he ever would. She’d let her heart fill in the blanks, had let herself believe what she wanted so desperately to believe: that it was possible.
Instead, he’d taken her information, her good news, and worked to thwart it. What other explanation could there be?
Worse, he’d leaked information about her father. He’d had to know news of that sort would scare her investors in the interim. That hurt most of all.
She’d called her mother, who was holding up well, though she’d had to barricade herself and her husband in the house in order to prevent prying photographers with telephoto lenses from capturing pictures. The story of Frank Sullivan’s Alzheimer’s was big news, and a current image of him looking vacant-eyed or gaunt would only serve to increase circulation of that day’s paper.
Caroline despised the vultures. But she despised herself even more. How could she be so gullible? So blind and stupid? How could she have let Roman into her life the way she had, knowing what he’d wanted from her in the first place? He’d never pretended to want anything different, except at the end. And she’d stupidly believed him. Stupidly trusted him.
Now she was married to him. He’d made sure of that before he’d left, hadn’t he? He’d made sure, so she couldn’t take Ryan from him once he’d snatched Sullivan’s out from under her. She remembered him telling her to relax, telling her she’d won, telling her to stay on the island and enjoy herself.
She’d relaxed her guard, and he’d brought the knife across her throat while she wasn’t looking.
Sullivan’s had defaulted at noon, eastern daylight savings time. She imagined Roman striding into the corporate office, his minions in tow. How smug he must be. How utterly gleeful.
It was nearly nightfall when Caroline’s small entourage finally landed at JFK. Blake flagged a taxi. Once she got him and Ryan home again, she instructed the driver to take her to the Sullivan Group headquarters. The store was still open, its shining storefront gleaming in the darkness. She walked inside and let the familiar scents wash over her. Everything smelled new, clean, luxurious. It reminded her of home, because it had always been a home to her.
And now it was no longer hers. Or Ryan’s.
Caroline went to the administrative area and took the private elevator up to the corporate offices. The workday was over for the business staff, but a few desk lights remained on as people continued to work well after quitting time.
Caroline stopped to stare at the stylized S of the logo etched into the glass doors. What would it become in the future?
She marched toward her office—to
do what, she didn’t know. Roman looked up from behind her desk when she walked in, and she saw red. Of everything she’d expected, that hadn’t even made the top ten. It was a shock to see him. And it hurt far more than she’d ever thought possible.
“Couldn’t wait to move in, I see,” she said bitterly.
He stood, his handsome face creased in a frown. “Caroline, what are you doing here?”
She knew she had to look like hell after all the travel, but she didn’t care. She tugged at her sundress, trying to remove the wrinkles, and lifted her chin to stare him directly in the eye. For the barest of moments, she wanted to rush into his arms. Wanted him to hold her and tell her it was all a mistake.
Better to rip the bandage off quick.
“Did you think I would stay on the island once I found out what you were doing?”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. His expression grew dark. “And what is it you think I am doing?” he asked, his voice containing a hint of danger that slid over her nerve endings and made the hair on her neck stand up.
She ignored the question. “My father,” she said finally, fighting for control over her emotions so she wouldn’t break down and sob. “How could you tell them about my father?”
He looked thunderstruck. “You are accusing me of telling the press about your father’s illness?”
“Who else?” she demanded, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off a sudden chill. “Who else stood to gain from it?”
She’d asked herself that question for hours now, and there was only one answer.
He came around the desk, his powerful form lethal and dark with suppressed energy. His face was a study in controlled rage. “How many people knew about your father?”
His voice was a whip in the quiet office, and she recoiled from the potency of it. But only for a moment. Her strength surged back, along with her anger, and she took a step toward him.
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