A Game With One Winner

by Lynn Raye Harris

  “There were a few, but none of them would tell.”

  “No health care workers, no gardeners at the estate, no secretaries or delivery people? My, how fortunate you are to control so much.”

  His words stung. And made her furious. “It has never been an issue until now. You are the one with the most to gain.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Gain? You think I have something to gain by informing the press that my wife’s father is a tragically sick man?”

  Wife. How that word hurt. She shoved it aside and spread her arms wide. “This. You had all of this to gain. Is it any coincidence that my new investors decided to back out on the very same day my father’s illness was leaked to the press? I may be the CEO in truth, but there are still those who believe my father is the power behind the throne.”

  Roman appeared ashen for just a moment—or maybe it was her imagination, because he suddenly looked very, very angry. “You believe I would do this. You truly believe it.”

  “Am I wrong?” she demanded. Part of her wanted him to deny it. Part of her wanted to believe those denials. But the evidence was overwhelming. They’d known each other such a short interval this time. How could she truly know what Roman Kazarov would do when he’d had five years to hate and plan?

  “What do you think?” he asked, turning it back on her. A muscle ticked in his jaw. A very fine, very tiny muscle that hinted at how close he skated to the edge of control.

  “I think you came to New York with a plan,” she said, her stomach twisting and churning with hurt and anger and sadness. “And I believe you were willing to do whatever it took to see that plan through.”

  “I see,” he said tightly.

  Her breath hitched in suddenly, and she worked to control it. If he’d stabbed her through the heart with the letter opener lying on her desk, it couldn’t have hurt worse. “You aren’t denying anything.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. For the first time, she noted that he looked a bit disheveled. His jacket and tie were gone, thrown over a chair, and his hair was mussed. His eyes, she noted, were bloodshot.

  She felt a pang of sympathy, but she hardened her heart against it. She would never feel sympathetic to him again. He probably looked haggard because he was working so hard to enjoy his triumph. No doubt he was already fielding offers for the real estate sitting beneath her stores, and counting his money gleefully.

  “Why should I?” he said in answer to her accusation. “You have already made up your mind.”

  How did he make her feel badly, when he was the one in her store? In her office? He held the smoking gun, and yet she felt as if someone had fed her a glass omelet. Her stomach was torn to shreds, along with her nerves.

  She felt so tired all of a sudden. Drained, and not because of the long day of travel. “Why are you here?”

  He shrugged. “You defaulted today. I am here to claim my prize.” His voice was so cold, so hard. He wasn’t the man she’d made love with last night. The man she’d stood on the beach with, the one who’d opened his arms and held both her and Ryan close, as if he cherished them. She felt as if she would be physically ill.

  “I don’t know why you’re angry,” she said, her throat aching as she forced the words out. “I called you a dozen times. I left messages. You never replied. And now you are here, in my office, with my company arrayed before you. How could there possibly be any other explanation except the one that seems so obvious to us both?”

  He turned and went back to the chair, sank down on it. His eyes glittered with heat and unspoken anger. Such deep, deep anger. She shivered—and refused to feel anything other than anger of her own.

  “There isn’t, of course. Because you know everything, Caroline.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. One spilled down her cheek. Her heart was breaking in two and he didn’t care. “I loved you, you idiot,” she said. And then she laughed. “Or maybe I’m the one who’s an idiot. An idiot for believing in you.”

  His hands were fists on the desk. Her desk. His eyes were bleak, harsh. “Yes, some belief. It lasted all of a few days, I think.”

  She felt a pinprick of guilt—and that angered her. “How dare you try to turn this around on me? I denied it when Rob told me your people were coming to oversee the transfer, and I denied all day that you would do this to me, until it was obvious you weren’t going to call me back and tell me I was wrong.”

  “So long? I am impressed.”

  He sounded cold, and it hurt that he could after they’d been so hot together only hours before. Caroline closed her eyes, searching for strength. She just wanted it all to go away. She wanted to rewind the clock and have this go much differently.

  “You’ve won, Roman. Congratulations.”

  He stood again and she took a step backward. Then she whirled and strode from her office as regally as she could manage. She made it to the elevator without him stopping her, and jumped behind the doors just as they started closed. She absolutely refused to break down until she was safely on her way to the ground floor.

  But even then, she was too numb to do so.

  * * *

  He was an ass. An incredible, stupid ass for allowing that to happen. Roman sank onto the chair and watched her go, his pride too wounded for him to follow as he should.

  What was the matter with him? He raked a hand through his hair and slumped in his chair. Her chair.

  He knew it looked bad, and yet he’d foolishly thought something fundamental had changed between them on the island. That she would believe in him because she loved him, and that she would wait for him to explain what was going on.

  Instead, she’d jumped to every rotten conclusion she could in the space of a few minutes. He told himself that he should have expected it, but foolishly he’d anticipated a different reaction from her.

  She’d said she loved him. She’d said she wanted to be a family. He’d thought that meant something. But instead of choosing him, choosing to believe in him, she’d chosen her family—the Sullivan family—once again. If something bad was happening to the Sullivans, and Roman Kazarov was around, then he must be the one to blame.

  Roman blew out a breath. He’d never expected her to leave the island and come here. He should have. He should have expected exactly that, because Caroline was too stubborn, too driven, to ever sit quietly while something was happening to her precious company.

  She believed the worst of him. She believed that he’d married her, made love to her, claimed her as his again and again, with the sole intention of duping her out of her legacy.

  Once, he might have done so. Once, before he’d realized he still loved her. That he’d always loved her, and that she was his soul mate. Not that he’d ever believed in such ridiculous crap, but he knew it was true with Caroline. She was the only woman he’d ever loved, the only one he’d ever felt this inexplicable kinship with. Even now, in spite of the hurt and rage, he wanted her.

  But she did not want him. That thought made the breath seize in his chest. Could that truly happen? Could she

  deny him?

  A chill skated over him then. She could. She had done so before.

  His inner beast wanted to smash things, but he refused to let it out. He still had work to do, papers to sign, and then he would go home and collapse on his couch with a shot of vodka.

  Alone. The thought made him want to howl.

  Go after her. Go now.

  Roman shook his head to rid himself of the voice. He had to give her time to think, time to cool down. And he had to give himself time to cool down, too.

  Because he was murderously angry, and that was no way to feel when he faced Caroline again. There was too much at stake, too many hurtful things that could be said. He wanted to face her rationally, calmly.

  And then he wanted to drag her into his arms and never let her go. Except, he acknowledged, he might very well have to.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A Happy Ending for Caro and Kazarov, After All?

 
THIS WAS NOT how she’d thought it would end for her and Sullivan’s. Caroline sat on the couch in her living room, staring at the television, though she wasn’t really paying attention to what was on. It had been two days since she’d left Sullivan’s, and she was still thinking about Roman, about the way he’d looked at her when she’d walked in and accused him of stealing her company out from under her.

  He’d looked...disappointed. And hurt.

  Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about him, about the way she’d lain in his arms their last night together, the way she said she’d loved him when he made her climax for the zillionth time. She couldn’t stop thinking about how he made her feel, or how he held Ryan’s little hand and went wherever their son wanted to tug him.

  Roman had seemed happy on the island. Happy with them.

  But, clearly, not happy enough to put a stopper in his thirst for revenge.

  She’d been deluded into thinking so. Whenever she thought about his reaction when she’d told him about her new investors, it made her heart hurt. The truth was that she’d seen what she wanted to see instead of what was really behind the curtain.

  And she should have known better. Life had dealt her almost nothing but heartache for five long years. Why would it suddenly hand her everything she wanted right when she most wanted it? It was simply another way of reminding her how fragile happiness was, how fleeting.

  “Are you planning to sit there all day again?”

  Caroline turned to look over her shoulder at Blake. He was dressed in shorts and a Willie Nelson T-shirt that would have made her laugh if she hadn’t been so sad. He was holding a backpack and his sunglasses were perched on his head.

  “Are you going to the park?” she asked.

  “We are, just as soon as Ryan figures out which toys he wants to take. Do you want to come?”

  Caroline shook her head, her long ponytail brushing her neck, reminding her that she hadn’t gotten dressed since she’d come home the other night. She’d sat in her pajamas day after day, watching television.

  Ryan came running down the hall then, chattering happily about the robot he was taking with him to the park. He ran to her side. “Mommy, do you want to come play with me and Uncle Blake? We’re going to have ice cream, too.”

  Caroline ruffled her son’s hair. He was so like Roman that it hurt to look at him. “Mommy’s going to stay home today,” she said. “But you have fun.”

  Ryan’s face screwed up in a frown. “Where is Mr. Roman? I mean Daddy,” he corrected, and her heart felt ripped in two. “I want to show him my robot.”

  Caroline sniffed. “He’s working, sweetie, but he’ll be back soon.”

  Blake was frowning at her, but what else could she say? She and Roman were still married, and for Ryan’s sake, they were going to have to figure out what came next. He would always be a part of Ryan’s life, even if he wasn’t a part of hers.

  The thought of him not being in her life made a fresh wave of tears press against the backs of her eyes. Stupid.

  Ryan and Blake left after a few more minutes of making sure they had everything they needed, and then Caroline called her mother. She’d been checking in every few hours, just to see how her mom was faring. Surprisingly, after the initial shock of her father’s diagnosis reaching the press, the coverage had leveled off quickly. There were a few photographers lurking outside the estate, but most of them had gone. The stories in the papers were thoughtful and serious now. The more Caroline read, the more she began to think of ways in which she could support Alzheimer’s research.

  There would be no cure for her father, but maybe one day others could be helped. It was a thought that buoyed her up during the conversation with her mother.

  When Caroline finished the call, the house was quiet. Too quiet.

  She had to get up. She had to stop moping, and figure out what to do next. She wasn’t a quitter and she despised sitting around and feeling sorry for herself. That ended here and now.

  After a quick shower, she tugged on jeans and a silk tee with sandals. Then she pinned her hair onto her head in a messy bun and swiped on lip gloss and mascara. She was presentable, at least. She grabbed her purse as she swept through the kitchen. Maybe she’d walk over to Milk & Cookies Bakery and get some of their fabulous homemade cookies, then go to the park and surprise Blake and Ryan.

  Ryan loved chocolate chip.

  Plan made, Caroline yanked open the front door—and came to a screeching halt at the sight of the man with gorgeous blue eyes staring up at her from the bottom step. She clutched the door as her heart throbbed.

  “What do you want?”

  Something flickered in his eyes, but then it was gone. Annoyance? Anger? Fear?

  “I want to talk to you.”

  She swallowed. “Fine, say what you need to say and go.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “There is a man across the street in a blue sedan. He is a photographer, and his lens has been pointed at us since you opened the door. Do you really wish to do this here?”

  She waited for the space of several heartbeats, her fingers pressing hard against the mahogany of her door. And then she stepped back and swung it open in silent invitation. Roman came up the steps and into her house. She shut the door behind him, shrinking back as he turned to face her.

  The look on his face was a mixture of anguish and rage. She’d let a lion into her den and now she would pay the price.

  “I have been thinking very hard, Caroline,” he began, his voice as cool as silk. “And no matter how I try, my anger refuses to abate.”

  Shock rooted her to the spot, but only for a moment. “Your anger? Your anger? I’m not the one who deceived you.”

  “Ah, but you did,” he said, his eyes flashing hotly. He took up all the space in her foyer, though it was huge. He took all the space because his presence was that big. And because he had been central to her life almost from the moment she’d met him.

  He took a step closer and she ducked toward the living room, putting a couch between them. She didn’t know why, but it seemed the safest course.

  “I have no idea what you mean, Roman. You’re talking nonsense.”

  “Am I? You said you loved me, Caroline. You lied.”

  “How dare you—”

  “I dare because it is true. If you loved me, you would not believe such bad things about me. If you loved me, you would give me a chance to explain without accusing me of ruining your life.”

  “I did give you a chance!” she yelled. “I called and called you that day!”

  For the barest moment, he looked chagrined. But then his anger was back, full force. “If you had trusted me, you would have learned the truth in good time.”

  “How dare you come here and say that to me?” she whispered. How dare he stand there, looking so much bigger than life, and tempt her with what she wanted most in this world—for everything to work out, for it to have all been a mistake.

  Life didn’t work that way.

  Or it didn’t for her. It never had.

  Without a word, he took a folded packet of papers from his back pocket and tossed it at her. At first, she only stared at it, lying on the floor between them.

  “What is that?”

  “Pick it up.”

  It seemed to take an age, as if she were afraid of what she’d find, but she finally bent and retrieved the thick envelope, smoothing it where it had been folded. She clutched it to her chest and stared at him.

  “Open it, Caroline.”

  She did as he said, her heart suddenly throbbing hot and quick. And then it stopped beating and she felt the color drain from her face.

  Roman took an alarmed step toward her, but she put her hand out and steadied herself on the back of the couch. Confusion swirled inside her. “You don’t own Sullivan’s.”

  His nostrils flared. “Nyet, this is true.”

  “But I thought...”

  “I know what you thought,” he snapp
ed. “You were wrong.”

  Her stomach twisted. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “You mean when you walked in and accused me of seducing you, lying to you and stealing your heritage?”

  She nodded, a lump forming in her throat.

  He shoved a hand through his hair. Roman was always so cool, so controlled, and yet he looked as if he hadn’t slept much in the past two days. His dark hair stood up in places. His eyes were red, as if he’d been drinking, and there were shadows under them.

  “I should have,” he muttered. “But I was stunned. And angry. I did not react well.” He met her gaze evenly. “Besides, when you walked in, I technically did own Sullivan’s. I was working to undo that.”

  She came around and sank down on the couch, her legs unable to hold her any longer. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Hope was an insistent spark inside her, though she cautioned it not to grow just yet. “Why didn’t you return my calls?”

  “I regret that,” he said softly. “But I was in meetings when you first called. By the time I knew you’d heard the Europeans had pulled out, I was working hard to fix it. They’d heard about your father and got cold feet. I was trying to talk them into investing anyway, because I wanted to give you good news when I called. I did not expect you to walk into the office.”

  “I wish you had just told me,” she said, her heart beating double time. If he’d told her, she wouldn’t have been so scared. And she wouldn’t have made a fool of herself.

  Or would she?

  “And what would you have done, Caroline? Would you have stayed on the island and waited for me, or would you have done exactly the same thing and come running back to New York?”

  She swallowed. They both knew the answer. “I wouldn’t have stayed.”

  “Yes. This is why I did not tell you.”

  She sat there and stared at the papers in her hand. He’d really given her back her company. They’d defaulted, but he’d worked to undo it all. And he’d handed it back with generous conditions. Sullivan’s would once again thrive, thanks to him.

  A new thought occurred to her then. She remembered him on the island in his suit. He’d left early and returned after a long day away. “You were the one who found the last minute investor, weren’t you?”