A Virgin for His Prize

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.