A Game With One Winner

by Lynn Raye Harris

  She’d been on the phone for days, working hard to find the money, and then someone she hadn’t even talked to miraculously invested at the last minute?

  Roman’s gaze was steady. “Da.”

  “That same day I told you,” she said. “That’s why you were gone all day.”

  He nodded. “The chairman of a very large financial firm is a guest at the resort. I went to meet with him.”

  Tears filled her eyes then. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I wanted you to win.” The words were simple, stark. And if she hadn’t been sitting, they would have knocked her over.

  Yet it was still so hard to believe. When she believed, when she let go and thought that good things were going to happen to her, life knocked her flat on her behind. “Not too long ago, you wanted me to lose. You wanted to punish me.”

  “Things changed.”

  She found herself leaning forward. Maybe she should be angry that he’d interfered, instead of letting her succeed or fail on her own, but she found she was far more riveted by what had motivated him. “What changed, Roman?”

  He closed his eyes, and her heart felt as if it would stop beating in the next few seconds. She realized then that it all came down to this moment. It was as if her entire life depended on his next words.

  “I realized that I love you, Caroline. That life without you is too stark, too lonely. That I would rather see you happy than sad, and that I’d lose a hundred companies if it made you so.”

  She bowed her head, joy suffusing her even as a terrible feeling of dread rose inside her soul. Once more, she’d made a horrible mess of things. And, once more, how could she be certain this was real? That tomorrow wouldn’t ruin everything?

  “How can you possibly love me after what I said to you? After I accused you of such terrible deeds?”

  She heard him sigh. “I’m still angry with you. But love doesn’t stop because someone hurts you. If it does, then it’s not love, is it?”

  Tears fell freely down her cheeks now. She dropped the papers and stood, facing him across the room. She wanted to go to him, but was scared to do so.

  “I’m sorry, Roman. I should have given you a chance. But I was just so miserable, because I love you so much and I couldn’t bear the thought that you didn’t love me. And then, when the news of my father came out, I thought the worst....”

  His face was stark with emotion. “It seemed easier to believe I would hurt you than that I might help you because I loved you?”

  She nodded, and a hot tear fell on the back of her hand. God, she was a mess. An emotional, quaking mess. “That’s what happens in my life, Roman. I’ve lost so many people I love. You. Jon. My father.” She choked back the lump in her throat. “I thought I was losing you again.”

  “Caroline,” he said softly. And then he opened his arms. She rushed into them, squeezing him tight. “I’m sorry, lyubimaya moya,” he said, his lips against her hair. “I should have told you how I felt. I should have told you what I was doing. You aren’t losing me.”

  She buried her face against the hard plane of his chest. “How can you say that, when it’s my fault? I should have given you a chance to explain. I should have known you wouldn’t do such a terrible thing—”

  He tilted her chin up and kissed her swiftly. She melted into his embrace, her entire body trembling with adrenaline and desire.

  “We have both made mistakes,” he admitted hoarsley. “Neither of us is perfect.”

  She laughed, the sound broken. “You could have just extended the loan in the first place, you know. That would have worked, too.”

  His smile was gentle. “Yes, but I wanted you to win. It seemed important to you.”

  “Not as important as you,” she said honestly, and he squeezed her tighter. “I’ve longed for you every day for five years, even when I tried to pretend I didn’t. If I lost Sullivan’s, I wouldn’t care, so long as I still had you. When I walked into my office the other night, I thought I’d lost you both. And losing you was the more frightening of the two.”

  He shuddered, his big body rippling from head to toe. “You didn’t lose me. I love you, Caroline. And I love our son. I lost five years with you. I don’t want to lose another minute.”

  Caroline swiped her fingers over her eyes. “I don’t know why you love me after everything that’s happened, but I’m glad you do.”

  He sank onto the chair behind him and pulled her down with him until she was sitting across his lap. Then he stroked a finger over her cheek, her lips, while she shivered and ached and realized how very much she wanted him in that moment.

  “I love you because I can do nothing else. I’ve loved you, since the first moment I saw you so many years ago. You’re strong, Caroline, and fierce. You’ve put yourself and your needs last while you took care of others, and you’ve sacrificed so much. How could I help but love someone so brave that she would do that for other people?” He kissed her cheeks, her nose. “But even were you not so brave, I would love you. You are hardwired into my DNA. I could as soon breathe underwater as I could cut you from my life. It’s not possible to live without you.”

  Caroline put her palms on either side of his face, smiling through her tears. Her heart was full of joy for the first time in a very long time. True, real joy that she no longer feared would be snatched from her tomorrow.

  “You’re an amazing man. And I think you’d better take me to the bedroom now. I have much to apologize for.”

  “No more apologizing,” he told her, his handsome face serious. “We have too much living to do.”

  Caroline laughed tearfully. “Then take me to bed, Roman. I have much living I want to do. Urgent living.”

  Roman kissed her until she was dizzy with need. And then he stood, still holding her, and strode toward the stairs. “I think we’d better find that bed, solnyshko. I have some living of my own I’d like to try....”

  EPILOGUE

  Sullivan’s Posts Huge Gains on Leadership of

  Chief Executive Officer Caroline Sullivan Kazarov

  Expecting for Real! Caro Glowing, Kazarov Beaming

  Scandalous Kazarovs Spend One-Year Anniversary in

  Restaurant, Entirely Absorbed in Each Other

  CAROLINE THUMBED THROUGH the newspapers that Blake had saved, laughing at the ridiculousness of some of them. He did it to tease her, she knew, but she truly enjoyed them. Or she did these days, anyway.

  She hadn’t enjoyed them at all when her father had been so prominently featured, but Roman had tracked down the source of that story. A home health care aide that her mother had fired for petty thievery had been behind the leak. The man had thought he could make a quick buck. And he had, but then he’d lost it all by gambling it away at a casino in Atlantic City.

  Divine justice, perhaps. Caroline had no sympathy for anyone who thought he was entitled to profit from someone else’s misfortune.

  She put her hand on her stomach as the baby kicked. Roman walked in just then and found her grimacing.

  “What is the matter, solnyshko? Is everything all right?”

  “Fine,” she said. “But I think this little girl is going to be a kickboxer.”

  “She gets it from your side of the family,” he said, and she turned to gape at him.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Roman laughed as he came over and sat down beside her on the veranda of their Caribbean getaway.

  “You are a fighter, Caroline. I’ve never known anyone who fought harder for what she wanted than you have.”

  “Except maybe you.”

  He laughed again. “All right, so I fight too. Perhaps she gets it from us both.”

  “Then she will be formidable.”

  “Like her mother.”

  Caroline frowned. “I’m not feeling so formidable these days. I feel fat and hungry.”

  “You are gorgeous, my love. Would you like me to get you something from the kitchen? I believe there is some jerk chicken in the fridge.�
�

  “Mmm, that sounds good,” she said. But then she held up her hand. “No, I’m not doing it. Fruit, that would be better. I’ll take a banana. And some mango.”

  “As you wish.”

  Caroline watched her husband walk away, her heart swelling with so much love and happiness. They’d been married for over a year now, but she still felt as if they were on their honeymoon.

  The only sadness in her life was the continuing deterioration of her father’s condition, but she’d instituted a campaign in the stores where the profits from a particular line of merchandise went into Alzheimer’s research. One day, maybe, there’d be a cure for those afflicted. It wouldn’t come in time to help her father, of course. He was now in an assisted living facility, and her mother was learning to live life alone.

  Roman returned with her fruit. “Your mother called me today,” he said, as if he’d known Caroline had been thinking about her parents. He laughed at her disbelieving look. “Yes, she called me. I believe she’s coming around. She might even like me now.”

  Caroline smiled up at him. “You do have a way with the ladies, Roman. I think it’s the sexy Russian accent.”

  He winked at her. “Perhaps. Anyway, she wished to know if you were getting enough rest and taking your vitamins. I told her you were.”

  Caroline shook her head. “I think she wanted an excuse to talk to you. She could have asked me those questions. Did she say anything else?”

  “Not really. She is planning a visit. That’s about it.” He shrugged. And then he nodded at the tablet Caroline was holding, and the email visible there. “How is Blake these days?”

  “He’s painting again,” she said happily. “And he’s dating. I’m pleased for him. But I miss him, too.”

  “I know you do. But it’s good he’s reentering life. It takes time when you lose someone you love,” Roman said. And then he frowned. “Though I have yet to forgive him for making me hire a new nanny. This one is nowhere near as fun.”

  “She’s a bit older than Blake,” Caroline said, laughing. “Mrs. Steele isn’t going to take Ryan surfing, or run down the beach with him. But she will be fabulous when little Claire wakes up in the middle of the night for the tenth night in a row, mark my words.”

  Roman shrugged. “As you say, my love.” He settled against the cushions and took the papers from her that Blake had sent. “I would call these trash,” he said after a few moments, “but damn if they don’t seem to be true. We are ridiculously happy, are we not?”

  “We definitely are.”

  He put the papers down and reached for her hand. They sat beside each other, watching the waves roll into shore, until Ryan came running up the steps from the beach and dumped a load of shells at their feet. Then they oohed and aahed appropriately, while their son talked a mile a minute about each and every one.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Beholden to the Throne by Carol Marinelli

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  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘SHEIKH King Emir has agreed that he will speak with you.’

  Amy looked up as Fatima, one of the servants, entered the nursery where Amy was feeding the young Princesses their dinner. ‘Thank you for letting me know. What time—?’

  ‘He is ready for you now,’ Fatima interrupted, impatience evident in her voice at Amy’s lack of haste, for Amy continued to feed the twins.

  ‘They’re just having their dinner...’ Amy started, but didn’t bother to continue—after all, what would the King know about his daughters’ routines? Emir barely saw the twins and, quite simply, it was breaking Amy’s heart.

  What would he know about how clingy they had become lately and how fussy they were with their food? It was one of the reasons Amy had requested a meeting with him—tomorrow they were to be handed over to the Bedouins. First they would be immersed in the desert oasis and then they would be handed over to strangers for the night. It was a tradition that dated back centuries, Fatima had told her, and it was a tradition that could not be challenged.

  Well, Amy would see about that!

  The little girls had lost their mother when they were just two weeks old, and since his wife’s death Emir had hardly seen them. It was Amy they relied on. Amy who was with them day in and day out. Amy they trusted. She would not simply hand them over to strangers without a fight on their behalf.

  ‘I will look after the twins and give them dinner,’ Fatima said. ‘You need to make yourself presentable for your audience with the King.’ She ran disapproving eyes over Amy’s pale blue robe, which was the uniform of the Royal Nanny. It had been fresh on that morning, but now it wore the telltale signs that she had been finger-painting with Clemira and Nakia this afternoon. Surely Emir should not care about the neatness of her robe? He should expect that if the nanny was doing her job properly she would be less than immaculate in appearance. But, again, what would Emir know about the goings-on in the nursery? He hadn’t been in to visit his daughters for weeks.

  Amy changed into a fresh robe and retied her shoulder-length blonde hair into a neat ponytail. Then she covered her hair with a length of darker blue silk, arranging the cloth around her neck and leaving the end to trail over her shoulder. She wore no make-up but, as routinely as most women might check their lipstick, Amy checked to see that the scar low on her neck was covered by the silk. She hated how, in any conversation, eyes were often drawn to it, and more than that she hated the inevitable questions that followed.

  The accident and its aftermath were something she would far rather forget than discuss.

  ‘They are too fussy with their food,’ Fatima said as Amy walked back into the nursery.

  Amy suppressed a smile as Clemira pulled a face and then grabbed at the spoon Fatima was offering and threw it to the floor.

  ‘They just need to be cajoled,’ Amy explained. ‘They haven’t eaten this before.’

  ‘They need to know how to behave!’ Fatima said. ‘There will be eyes on them when they are out in public, and tomorrow they leave to go to the desert—there they must eat only fruit, and the desert people will not be impressed by two spoiled princesses spitting out their food.’ She looked Amy up and down. ‘Remember to bow your head when you enter, and to keep it bowed until the King speaks. And you are to thank him for any suggestions that he makes.’

  Thank him!

  Amy bit down on a smart retort. It would be wasted on Fatima and, after all, she might do better to save her responses for Emir. As she turned to go, Clemira, only now realising that she was being left with Fatima, called out to Amy.

  ‘Ummi!’ her little voice wailed. ‘Ummi!’

  She called again and Fatima stared in horror as Clemira used the Arabic word for mother.

  ‘Is this what she calls you?’

  ‘She doesn’t mean it,’ Amy said quickly, but Fatima was standing now, the twins’ dinner forgotten, fury evident on her face.

  ‘What have you been teaching her?’ Fatima accused.

  ‘I have not been teaching her to say it,’ Amy said in panic. ‘I’ve been trying to stop her.’

  She had been. Over and over she had repeated her name these past few days, but the twins had discovered a new version. Clemira must have picked it
up from the stories she had heard Amy tell, and from the small gatherings they attended with other children who naturally called out to their mothers. No matter how often she was corrected, Clemira persisted with her new word.

  ‘It’s a similar sound,’ Amy explained. But just as she thought she had perhaps rectified the situation, Nakia, as always, copied her sister.

  ‘Ummi,’ Nakia joined in with the tearful protest.

  ‘Amy!’ Amy corrected, but she could feel the disgust emanating from Fatima.

  ‘If the King ever hears of this there will be trouble!’ Fatima warned. ‘Serious trouble.’

  ‘I know!’ Amy bit back on tears as she left the nursery. She tried to block out the cries that followed her down the long corridor as she made her way deep into the palace.

  This meeting with the King was necessary, Amy told herself, as nerves started to catch up with her. Something had to be said.

  Still, even if she had requested this audience, she was not relishing the prospect. Sheikh King Emir of Alzan was not exactly open to conversation—at least not since the death of Hannah. The walls were lined with paintings of previous rulers, all dark and imposing men, but since the death of Emir’s wife, none was more imposing than Emir—and in a moment she must face him.

  Must face him, Amy told herself as she saw the guards standing outside his door. As difficult as this conversation might be, there were things that needed to be said and she wanted to say them before she headed into the desert with the King and his daughters—for this was a discussion that must take place well away from tender ears.

  Amy halted at the heavy, intricately carved doors and waited until finally the guards nodded and the doors were opened. She saw an office that reminded her of a courtroom. Emir sat at a large desk, dressed in black robes and wearing a kafeya. He took centre stage and the aides and elders sat around him. Somehow she must find the courage to state her case.