A Game with One Winner

His smile was lethally cold. And dangerously attractive if the spike in her temperature was any indication.

“Ah, but I will. This time, Caroline, I get my way.”

Her heart thumped. “And what’s that supposed to mean? Surely you aren’t still brooding over our brief affair. You can’t mean to acquire Sullivan’s simply to get revenge for past slights.”

She said the words as if they were nothing, as if the mere idea were ridiculous, though her pulse skittered wildly in her wrists, her throat.

The corners of his mouth tightened, and her insides squeezed into a tight ball.

“Brooding? Hardly that, my dear. I’ve realized since that night that my …” he paused “… feelings … were not quite what I thought they were.” His gaze dropped over her body, back up again. “I was enamored with you, this is true. But love? No.”

It should not hurt to hear him say such a thing, but it did. She’d loved him so much, and she’d believed that he had loved her in return.

And now he was telling her he never had. That it was all an illusion. The knowledge hurt far more than she’d have thought possible five years after the fact.

“Then why are you here?” she asked tightly. “Why does Sullivan’s matter to you? You own far more impressive department stores. You don’t need mine.”

His laugh was soft, mocking. “No, I don’t need them.” He leaned toward her suddenly, his eyes gleaming in the light from the traffic. Her stomach clenched in reaction, though she hardly knew what she was reacting to.

“I want them,” he growled. “And I want you.”

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.