A Game with One Winner (Scandal in the Spotlight, 5, Band 3132) - Softcover

Raye Harris, Lynn

 
9780373131389: A Game with One Winner (Scandal in the Spotlight, 5, Band 3132)

Inhaltsangabe

Proud heiress on a losing streak?

Paparazzi darling Caroline Sullivan is hiding a secret behind her dazzling-yet-inscrutable smile. Her ex-flame, Russian businessman Roman Kazarov, is back on the scene—is he seeking revenge for her humiliating rejection or just to take possession of her troubled business?

Sources confirm that the cutthroat Kazarov is seriously ruffling the pristine feathers of the normally cautious Caro…. Rumors of scorching-hot secret trysts are flying, but only one thing is certain—in this supreme game of wills only one person can win, and Roman believes he holds the ace….

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Lynn Raye Harris is a Southern girl, military wife, wannabe cat lady, and horse lover. She's also the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the HOSTILE OPERATIONS TEAM (R) SERIES of military romances, and 20 books about sexy billionaires for Harlequin.Lynn lives in Alabama with her handsome former-military husband, one fluffy princess of a cat, and a very spoiled American Saddlebred horse who enjoys bucking at random in order to keep Lynn on her toes.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Russian Billionaire Rumored to Be Acquiring Troubled Department Store Chain

She was here. Roman Kazarov knew it as surely as he knew his own name, though he had not yet seen her. The woman at his side made a noise of frustration, a tiny little sound meant to draw his attention back to her. He flicked his gaze over her, and then away again.

Bored. The woman was beautiful, but he was bored. One night in her bed, and he was ready to move on.

Her fingers curled possessively around his arm. He resisted the urge to shake them off. He'd brought her here tonight on impulse. Because Caroline Sullivan-Wells would be here. Not that Caroline would care if he had a woman on his arm. No, she'd made it very clear five years ago that she didn't care about him in the least.

Had never cared.

Once, her rejection had cut him to the bone. Now, he felt nothing. Nothing but cold determination. He'd returned to New York a far different man than he'd left it five years ago.

A rich man. A ruthless man.

A man with a single goal.

Before the month was out, he would own Sullivan's, the luxury chain of department stores founded by her family.

It was the culmination of everything he'd worked so hard for, the symbolic cherry on top of the ice-cream sundae. He did not need Sullivan's, but he wanted it. Once, he'd been an acolyte at the feet of Frank Sullivan. And then he'd been unceremoniously tossed out, his work visa terminated, his dreams of providing a better life for his family back home in Russia shattered.

All he'd dared to do was fall in love with Caroline, but that one act had been the same as strapping on wings made of wax and flying too close to the sun. He'd fallen far and fast.

But now he was back. And there was nothing Caroline or her father could do about what he'd set in motion.

As if in answer to some hidden command, the crowd parted to reveal a woman standing on the other side of the room. She was deep in conversation. The glow from the Wa-terford chandelier overhead shone down in just such a way that it appeared to single her out, wreathing her golden-blond head and milky skin in a nimbus of pale light.

Roman's gut clenched. She was still beautiful, still ethereal. And she still affected him, which only served to anger him further. He had not expected it, this jolt of remembered lust and bittersweet joy. He stood there and willed the feeling away until he could look at her coldly, critically.

Yes, much better. That was what he wanted to feel—disgust. Hatred.

His jaw tightened. She chose that moment to look up, almost as if she'd sensed something was wrong, as if there was a disturbance in her wellordered circle of friends. There was a crease in the smooth skin over her hazel eyes, as if she was annoyed at being interrupted.

But then she saw him. Her eyes widened, her pink lips dropping open. She put a hand to her chest, then thought better of it and dropped it to her side—but not before he saw how he affected her. For a long moment, neither of them looked away. She broke the contact first, saying something to the person she'd been talking to, before she turned and fled through a door behind her.

Roman stiffened. He should feel triumphant, yet he strangely felt as if she'd rejected him again. As if his world were about to come crashing down just as it had five years ago. But that was not possible, not any longer. He had the upper hand now. He was the victor, the conqueror.

And yet bitterness coiled inside him, twisting and writhing on the floor of his soul, reminding him of how far he'd fallen, and how hard. Reminding him of how much that fall had cost him before he'd been able to pull himself up again.

"Darling," the woman at his side said, drawing his attention from the door through which Caroline had disappeared, "can you fetch me a drink?"

Roman gazed down at her. She was pretty, spoiled, an actress with a face and body that usually drove men wild. She was used to commanding attention, to having her whims obeyed without question.

But what she saw in his face must have given her pause. She took a step back, her fingers sliding over the sleek fabric of his bespoke tuxedo. She was already calculating, already trying to recover from her mistake.

Too late.

"I do not fetch," he told her coolly. And then he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet. He took out five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills and pressed them into her hand. "Enjoy yourself for as long as you wish. When you are finished, take a cab home."

She reached for him as he turned. "You're leaving me?"

Her eyes were wide, her confidence in her beauty shaken. He would have felt sorry for her, except that he was certain loads of interested men would swarm around her as soon as he walked away. Roman took her hand from his sleeve, lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "It is not meant to be, maya krasavitsa. You will find another who deserves you."

And then he left her standing alone as he went in search of another woman. A woman who would not escape him this time.

Caroline took the elevator down to the first floor and hurried out to the sidewalk. Her heart hammered in her head, her throat, and she clutched her wrap to her body and tried to breathe evenly. Roman.

She blinked back the sudden tears that hovered, and gave the doorman a shaky smile when he asked if she'd like a taxi.

"Yes, please," she said, her voice a touch breathless from her flight. Of all the people to be in that room tonight. And yet she should have expected him, shouldn't she? She'd read that he was back in town. The newspapers couldn't seem to leave the subject of Roman Kazarov alone. Or his mission.

Caroline's fingers tightened on the silk wrap. It would be hopelessly wrinkled when she was done, but she hardly cared. She'd known she would have to see him again, but she hadn't expected it to happen quite yet. No, she'd expected to face him in a boardroom—and even that thought had been almost enough to make her lose her lunch at the time.

How could she face him again? How? One moment, one look from across the room, and she was a jittery wreck of raw emotion. He had always had that effect on her, but she was nevertheless stunned that he still did. After all this time. After everything.

"Caroline."

Her spine melted under the silken caress of her name on those lips she'd once loved so much. Once, but no more. She was a woman now, a woman who had made her choice. She'd do the same thing again, given the circumstances. She'd saved Sullivan's then; she would save it now, too.

No matter that Roman Kazarov and his multinational conglomerate had other ideas.

She turned with a smile on her lips. A smile that shook at the corners. She only hoped it was too dark for him to notice.

"Mr. Kazarov," she said, her voice a little too shrill, a little too brittle.

She needed to find her strength, her center—but she was off balance, her system still in shock from the surprise of seeing him in that room tonight.

Her heart took a slow tumble over the edge of the shelf on which it sat, falling into her belly, her toes. She felt hollow inside, so hollow, as she gazed up into those bright, ice-blue eyes of his. He was still incredibly handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and the kind of chiseled features that made artists itch to pick up their palette knives and brushes.

Or made photographers snap-happy. Yes, she'd seen the photos of him since he'd burst onto the scene a little over...

„Über diesen Titel“ kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Weitere beliebte Ausgaben desselben Titels