A Game with One Winner

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.