A Virgin for His Prize

CHAPTER THREE

MAXWELL DRANK A glass of very good champagne and watched Romi Grayson fulfill her role as maid of honor for Madison Beck, née Archer, with her usual flair.

Adorned with a tiara every bit as ornate, if significantly smaller than Madison’s, Romi’s smooth bob of hair glistened in a fall of black silk around her face. Large but tasteful diamonds in a classic setting twinkled in her earlobes. She wore no other jewelry with the designer silk gown of blue that exactly matched her pretty eyes and was cut to complement Madison’s 1950s vintage gown.

Romi flicked a look at him and he made no effort to hide the fact he watched her. Pleasure zinged through him at the blush that tinted her cheeks.

She looked away, but her azure gaze returned to meet his almost immediately.

He let one eyelid slide closed in a slow wink, allowing his lips to almost tilt into a smile.

The blush darkened and he could see the breath she took. Imagining he could hear the soft gasp of air that followed, he started across the room toward her.

A hand landed on his arm and he barely broke stride to shake his head decisively at a woman he’d flirted with previously on a couple of occasions. The sister of a man who owned one of the major companies in Silicon Valley, she was a contact worth cultivating.

But not right now.

Romi had not moved so much as an inch since he’d started toward her, waiting as if she stood inside a bubble of her own.

No one approached her when she’d spent the last hours talking to everyone. But there was something ethereal about her in that moment and Maxwell knew he wasn’t the only one who felt it.

He stopped in front of her, his hand out. “Dance with me.”

This time he heard the small catch of air. “I…”

“You know you want to.”

“We don’t always want what is best for us.”

He shook his head, not buying it. “No word games right now, Romi. Just dance with me.”

“You are demanding.”

He shrugged and pulled her into his arms, not surprised when she didn’t object and not even a little shocked when her body unhesitatingly molded to his. They reacted to each other in a physical way that was almost mystical.

If he believed in that sort of thing.

The music was slow and he pulled her body close into the shelter of his own so they could move together in a special kind of intimacy.

“Did you enjoy the wedding?” she asked in the soft tone that haunted his dreams.

“How did you know I was in attendance?” The invitation to the reception had not surprised Maxwell, but the invite to the wedding had.

He knew it was Viktor’s doing. Or perhaps the older Becks. They considered Maxwell family by dint of their shared heritage and years spent as friendly neighbors.

“I seem to have some kind of homing device where you are concerned,” Romi admitted in a voice that didn’t sound either particularly happy or bothered by that reality. “I’m pretty sure Maddie didn’t know you were there.”

“It was predominately family.” The other heiress wouldn’t have been looking for his face among her other guests.

“Yes.” It was a statement, but with a question underlying the agreement.

“I grew up with Viktor.”

“I didn’t know that.” Romi looked up, her blue eyes searching his face. “It should be hard to imagine you as a child, but it isn’t.”

“I do not know why. Everyone is a child at some point.”

“Are you sure?” she teased.

He frowned, but he wasn’t actually even a little annoyed. “I spent time in diapers and playing in sandboxes just like anyone else. I promise.”

“No popping fully formed into existence as a corporate tycoon?” she taunted.

“You are feeling feisty, aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “I just like teasing you.”

“I noticed.” No one else but his mother ever had.

And Natalya Black was too practical to be playful all that often, even with her only child.

“I was a child like everyone else,” he assured her. “You said yourself you could picture it.”

Her smile was nothing short of wicked. “A child surely, but not like everyone else. Not you.”

“I was. I even wanted to be a fireman when I was a little boy.” A common aspiration among his classmates.

Romi grinned. “I wanted to be a princess.”

He was charmed. “Right now, you look like you got your wish.”

She laughed, the sound joyous and instantly addictive. He couldn’t help but join her.

“Did you really say something so naff?”

“What is naff about it?” But he knew. In any other instance, he’d think another man telling a woman she looked like a princess was completely cheesy.

The truth made it something else.

“You said I look like a princess,” she pointed out with patent disbelief and a lot of leftover humor.

“I did.”

Her eyes widened innocently, and she asked, “Aren’t you even a little embarrassed?”

“Corporate kings don’t get embarrassed, didn’t you know that? Especially when we speak the truth.”

She gasped and went silent for several seconds before asking, “When did you realize you’d rather be king than a firefighter?”

Oh, she did like avoiding things that made her uncomfortable. He only let her get away with it sometimes. This would be one of them.

It should be an easy question to answer, but Maxwell realized he wasn’t sure when he’d given up his aspirations of saving lives and instead decided he wanted a different kind of power. “Somewhere between wanting to be a super hero and realizing Batman had to be as rich as the royal family to do the things he did.”

“Did you ever stop wanting to be a superhero?”

“Corporate kings don’t save the world.”

“Don’t they?” She was very serious all of a sudden. “Black Information Technologies is one of the most sustainable of the Fortune 500 companies.”

“It’s a matter of practicality.”

“Why did I know you’d say something like that?”

“Because I grew out of my desire to be Batman.”

“Good. His backstory is too dark anyway.”

He laughed, once again delighted by her outlook.

Romi grew serious. “I can’t imagine a company like BIT springing up out of a half-baked idea and a lot of ingenuity.”

“No. I planned the start of the company and its trajectory very carefully from the very beginning.” He’d begun the plans the day he learned of the final concession his mother had negotiated from his father.

A multimillion-dollar settlement for Maxwell on his eighteenth birthday.

Maxwell wasn’t supposed to know who his father was. Growing up, all he’d been able to guess was the man had been rich and powerful enough to facilitate his former mistress’s immigration to America.

Maxwell had assumed his father had been American as well, though his mother’s plans to move to this country could well have had nothing to do with the homeland of her son’s father. Maxwell had learned he was right when he’d hired Sebastian Hawk’s international security and detective agency to find out who the man was.

Hawk’s agency was the organization to go to for security and information. Maxwell had gone to them when he’d first opened his company and had met the owner a year later. Sebastian Hawk was a self-made millionaire who still took an interest in how his company was run.

Maxwell had more than doubled his initial capital and wanted to return the settlement to the father who had never had an interest in meeting, much less recognizing, his son.

Maxwell had discovered his father was a high-ranking diplomat from a very powerful and obscenely wealthy American family with public servant ties back to the revolutionary era. Married, with children older than his illegitimate son, the man had had a great deal to lose if Maxwell’s existence came to light.

Pointedly changing the direction of his own thoughts, Maxwell said, “I stopped wanting to be a fireman after visiting the fire station on a school field trip.”

“That’s funny.” Romi tilted her head to the side and observed him with interest even as her body moved against his to the rhythm of the music. “That’s when kids usually decide they want to be one.”

“Most of the other children in my class did. I’ve never wanted to be part of a crowd.”

“So you decided you couldn’t be a fireman because everyone else wanted to be one?” she asked, humor lacing her lovely voice.

“Exactly.”

She grinned. “You wanted to be special.”

“Are you saying I am not?”

“Oh, no, Your Majesty,” she said facetiously. “You are definitely in a class all by yourself.”

“Not alone maybe, but not like everyone else.”

“Firefighters are actually a very small percentage of our population.” She pointed out that fact like maybe he didn’t know.

“Yes, they are a rarified breed as well, and definitely to be admired and respected. However, I like control far too much to have a job dealing with either nature’s vagaries or that of human error, which I have no power to prevent.”

“There is that.” Romi shook her head. “Have you always been such a control freak?”

“My mother would say yes.”

Romi didn’t appear bothered by that admission. “I kind of like you this way.”

He wondered if she would say that after he laid out his latest plan for her.

“I am glad,” he said.

“Although I think the more appropriate term would be Corporate Tsar rather than King.”

“You think so? Because I was born in Russia?”

“Because you have the heart of a tsar, I think.”

He could not deny it.

He kept her in his arms by the simple expedient of continuing to dance for another thirty minutes. Even during the faster music and she never complained.

A couple of men tried to cut in, but Maxwell refused to offer the polite retreat and simply danced her away. When a woman tried the same, wanting to dance with him, he turned her down as well.

“You really aren’t controlled by social niceties, are you?” Romi asked after the last one.

“You knew this about me.”

She nodded with something like satisfaction. “I’ll admit, I don’t mind in this instance.”

“I’m glad to hear that, but admit to being curious as to why.” Just something about the way she’d spoken, he thought there was a story behind her words.

“Have you ever danced with JD?” she asked, referring to the last man Maxwell had simply ignored in his attempt to partner Romi.

Maxwell gave a short bark of laughter. “No.”

“He’s grabby. Though I suppose if he danced with you he wouldn’t be.” Her giggle was very smug.

“You think you are funny, don’t you?”

“Why yes, I do.”

Maxwell’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying he tried to touch you?”

“Nothing serious. He just pretends he doesn’t realize my waist is several inches above the curve of my behind.”

“I’ll break his hand.” Maxwell was shocked by the words.

Not the sentiment. He knew he was unacceptably protective of this woman, but to express it out loud wasn’t something he usually did.

“Not necessary.” She snuggled in. “I can be a very klutzy dancer when I need to be.”

The effort it took to hold back further imprecations did not make him happy.

* * *

Romi allowed herself to relax in Maxwell’s arms while they danced longer than she probably should have. But it felt so good, so safe.

Eventually, she had to look up and scan the room for her dad.

He was talking to Jeremy Archer, his movements animated, on the verge of exaggerated, and his expression belligerent.

Not good.

Stifling her regret at the action, Romi pushed herself away from Max. “I need to go check on my father.”

The self-made tycoon didn’t argue, for which she was grateful.

She wasn’t sure how she felt a second later, though, when he said, “I’ll come with you.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said by rote rather than from feeling.

He didn’t bother to reply, just took her arm and started toward Jeremy and Romi’s dad.

Harry Grayson’s voice was elevated, his speech slightly slurred. “I don’t need your advice, Jeremy. One of us actually grieved the passing of his wife. It’s affected my business, but I’m far from bankrupt.”

This was not good. Anytime her dad started talking about Romi’s deceased mother, things had a way of sliding downhill fast.

Preparing to intervene, Romi was nonplussed when Max’s deep voice dropped into the tense silence. “Good evening, gentlemen. May I offer my congratulations, Jeremy? Madison makes a beautiful bride and Viktor Beck is a very good man.”

His eyes widened in surprise, but the business mogul nodded his gray head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Black.”

Romi ignored Jeremy Archer in favor of her own father, and not just because it was clear the time had come to go. But she hadn’t forgiven Jeremy for the way he treated Madison when the whole Perry debacle happened.

Romi had never thought the man was much of a father before that, but her opinion of him had dropped even lower.

“Dad,” she said to Harry Grayson, “I’m getting tired. I’d like to go, if that’s all right.”

Her father turned a confused gaze on her. “You were having fun dancing.”

“But I wore her out,” Max smoothly inserted, with one of those conspiratorial smiles men seemed so adept at giving each other.

Particularly the men she knew.

Her dad gave Jeremy an angry look and then nodded at Romi. “Okay, kitten. I’ll call for the car.”

“No need. I’m happy to drop you both off.”

“In your Maserati?” While he no longer drove the two-door, purely sporty model, and this one had a backseat, Max had been drinking champagne before they started dancing.

“I’ve got a car and driver and I’ve already texted him. He’ll be waiting for us when we get outside.”

“You’re very efficient.” And Romi wasn’t sure she meant that as a compliment.

The wry twist to Max’s lips said he guessed that. “Oh, I am.”

“A little too coldly efficient, if you ask me,” Jeremy Archer had the audacity to say.

“Says the man with antifreeze instead of blood pumping through his veins,” her dad said with surprising clarity, both of thought and speech.

Jeremy’s face contorted with annoyance. “You need to go home and let your daughter pour you into bed, Gray.”

“What I need—” her father started to say.

“We’ll chalk this conversation up to the tactlessness that can come from longstanding friendship,” Max said in a tone that warned his patience was not limitless. “Agreed?”

In a move that shocked Romi, both her dad and Jeremy nodded. Grudgingly, but they agreed all the same.

“Good.” Max gave Jeremy a look that Romi couldn’t quite interpret. “From now on, you don’t need to worry about the viability of Grayson Enterprises. It is not up for grabs, nor will it be facing bankruptcy anytime in the near or distant future.”

Wow. That was quiet a promise. And an odd one for Max to make.

Her dad hadn’t said anything about BIT and Grayson going into business together, but his expression didn’t look nearly as confused as Romi felt.

In fact, the expression he’d turned toward his oldest friend and sometimes rival was nothing short of triumphant. “That’s right, and Romi’s not my investment capital in this deal, either.”

What deal? What had her father and Max been talking about?

Jeremy looked first startled and then concerned. “You’re merging?”

But her dad didn’t answer, finally showing some sense of discretion. He even congratulated Jeremy on his daughter’s marriage. “They’re a good, solid couple, no matter how they got together.”

Romi believed that, too. It was the only reason she’d accepted Maddie’s request to be her maid of honor. Her SBC deserved the best and a chance at true happiness.

Romi believed Viktor Beck was that for Maddie.

Maddie didn’t try to convince her to stay longer when Romi told her they were leaving. She didn’t even voice concern at the fact Romi and her father were doing so in the company of Maxwell Black.

Maddie just hugged her hard and thanked Romi for being the best sister a woman could ever choose or be born with.

When they arrived at her home, Max walked to the door with Romi and her father.

He stopped outside. “I’m not going to come in tonight, but I’ll be by tomorrow morning to talk.”

Romi wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or her dad, but Harry nodded so she figured it was him.

“I’ll look forward to it,” her dad said before stepping inside.

Max nodded, his masculine lips set in a firm line. Then he turned to Romi. “I would like to take you to lunch afterward.”

“Oh, I—”

“The time for running is done, Ramona. We have things we need to discuss.”

She didn’t bother telling him she didn’t like being addressed by her full name. That minor annoyance was nothing compared to the threat of talking. “We did all our discussing a year ago.”

“Circumstances change.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold the heat in. “I’m pretty sure ours haven’t.”

“And yet I am requesting your company all the same.” He reached out and tucked her wrap more tightly around her.

“Sounds more like a demand to me.”

He shrugged. “I have been accused.”

“Yeah. That’s believable.”

“Then believe me when I tell you that we have things, important things, we need to discuss.” He brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek.

Romi shivered, but not from the cold this time. “What are they?”

“I’m sure you can guess.”

“Max…” But she didn’t know what she wanted to say, where she wanted this conversation to go.

She’d spent a year doing her best to forget Maxwell Black and it hadn’t worked.

The silence stretched between them before he leaned down and kissed her firmly, but quickly. “Tomorrow, Romi. Block out your afternoon.”

“For lunch?” she asked breathlessly and unable to do a thing about that fact.

“For me.”

“I’m not making any promises, Max.”

“I am, Romi. Both to myself and to you. You will be mine.”

The words should have made her nervous. Should have scared her right of her wits really, but Romi liked them too much. Her secret fantasies all revolved around this man.

She touched her lips, still tingling from the kiss. “Tomorrow.”

Without another word, Max turned and went down the steps with a purposeful stride.

* * *

Romi moved restlessly in her bed. She’d left her father sleeping on the sofa in his study, the usual wool throw covering him.

She should be thinking about her best friend and the irrevocable step Maddie had taken in marrying Viktor Beck. Or if not that, Romi should be worrying about the problems with her dad’s company that Jeremy Archer clearly felt worth accosting her father over at his own daughter’s wedding reception.

But all of that bubbled in its own cauldron of stress at the periphery of the thoughts consuming her.

Maxwell Black said she was going to be his.

He knew she wanted a commitment. The hope of a future, not a guarantee, but at least the possibility. Okay probability. But she wasn’t looking for promises as much as the likelihood of them being made down the road.

None of which had he been willing to offer a year ago.

No, he’d presented the possibility of six months to a year of sexual pleasure and intermittent companionship, with the clear and nonnegotiable understanding that they would go their separate ways after a year.

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