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A Virgin for His Prize
LUCY MONROE


Her awakening: San Francisco heiress Romi Grayson has only had a taste of Maxwell Black’s addictive brand of seduction, and she knows she should stay away… especially having discovered just how determined he is to possess her!His proposal: Max prides himself on always being in control, yet somehow Romi sneaked under his cast-iron defences then walked away. Now he is driven to finish what they started…The ultimate prize! This Russian tycoon will stop at nothing, even blackmail, to have Romi warm and willing in his bed. And her innocence will make his long-awaited possession all the sweeter…Discover more at www.millsandboon.co.uk/lucymonroe









“What don’t you want me to do, Romi, my sweet virgin?”


Why did those words sound so hot in Max’s voice?

“Turn you on? You weren’t complaining a second ago.”

She couldn’t deny it. Wasn’t sure she wanted to, even if she could. “Neither were you.”

But he’d stopped and she hadn’t even thought to try. Darn him.

“No, and I never will.”

Why did he have to say things like that? Things that could make her hope when hope and this man did not go together. “We still want different things.”

“Are you so sure? If I hadn’t stopped you would have let me take you, here and now.”

He was talking about sex when she was referring to a relationship. And he knew it. “Do you get some thrill out of reminding me of my own weakness?”

“It’s not a weakness, milaya.”


Lucy Monroe’s

RUTHLESS RUSSIANS

Passion is in their blood

As boys, they came from Russia to America to make their fortunes. Now formidable opponents in the boardroom, Viktor Beck and Maxwell Black are about to make the biggest acquisitions of their lives by marrying two of San Francisco’s most notorious heiresses! Beneath their suave American exteriors beat the passionate hearts of fearsome Cossack warriors—and their intended brides are about to give them the battle of their lives!

In AN HEIRESS FOR HIS EMPIRE

October 2014

A tabloid sex scandal means Viktor Beck can put his plan in motion and marry heiress Madison Archer—the key to taking over her father’s business and building his empire. But even this ruthless Russian is not prepared for his wild bride to be a virgin!

In A VIRGIN FOR HIS PRIZE

November 2014

Formidable CEO Maxwell Black is about to make his ultimate acquisition—socialite Romi Grayson! She has something he wants, and his need for control—in all areas—means he won’t rest until his ring is on her finger and the innocent Romi is warm and willing in his bed!




A Virgin for His Prize

Lucy Monroe





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


LUCY MONROE started reading at the age of four. After going through the children’s books at home, she was caught by her mother reading adult novels pilfered from the higher shelves on the bookcase… Alas, it was nine years before she got her hands on a Mills & Boon


romance her older sister had brought home. She loves to create the strong alpha males and independent women who people Mills & Boon


books. When she’s not immersed in a romance novel (whether reading or writing it), she enjoys travel with her family, having tea with the neighbours, gardening, and visits from her numerous nieces and nephews.

Lucy loves to hear from her readers:

email LucyMonroe@LucyMonroe.com (mailto:LucyMonroe@LucyMonroe.com), or visit www.LucyMonroe.com (http://www.LucyMonroe.com)


In honor of The Gathering Place and the two amazing families who have created this wonderful sanctuary they so generously share with those blessed enough to call them both friend and family. I have never written a book in a more peaceful and love-filled environment. Thank you!


Contents

Cover (#u51864100-ba66-54eb-974d-822292c6980a)

Introduction (#ub0923b64-515a-5537-bd04-d91691e8337e)

Ruthless Russians (#ue6e38a3b-2c6b-5dff-a290-e1d1b75bfb7d)

Title Page (#ubed15358-6389-5f72-add0-3983037a5c8e)

About the Author (#ue5dda472-824f-588a-9ceb-38aa43fe3872)

Dedication (#u95c4e786-c355-5f73-b16a-650c682c8677)

Contents (#ube4ff64e-9235-5b36-962e-4120a7426697)

CHAPTER ONE (#ue41541db-b32b-5016-b6a6-6162e25af743)

CHAPTER TWO (#u19e6db17-27f0-59c6-852e-1468b410bc66)

CHAPTER THREE (#u02be96cc-0e8e-57b1-a740-70bc593e3ba5)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_ce5c5917-689a-5ae8-8eb4-8c224b262578)

FURY FIGHTING WITH the pain of betrayal, Romi Grayson set her phone down on the table beside her with careful movements. The temptation to throw the mobile device across the room was staggering.

That lying, manipulative, opportunistic tycoon!

Maxwell Black had made it very clear to Romi that he wasn’t in the market for a long-term relationship, but that hadn’t meant he wasn’t interested in something else. His generosity in and out of bed with his lovers had been the fodder for gossip for years. As were the unexpectedly amicable breakups.

Max had promised Romi sexual pleasure beyond the scope of her imagination.

He’d said she would be the sole focus of his interest.

Until he was done with her.

The über-wealthy tycoon-playboy had offered Romi absolute fidelity with a time limit.

She’d walked away.

From the promise. From the possibilities. From the certainty of a broken heart.

They’d only dated a few times, but he’d sparked a depth of emotion in her that was both immediate and frightening. Terrifying for its intensity, Romi had had no doubts that she wouldn’t survive a breakup down the road with her heart intact.

Walking away after their short, almost platonic association had been painful enough. Almost being the operative word. Max had given Romi her first taste of sexual pleasure with a partner.

Awed by the sensations he evoked, she’d been close to giving in to Max’s offer.

Ultimately, she’d had no choice, though. Not with his attitude.

For all her “free-spirited” ways, Romi was a traditionalist at heart. She wanted a home, a family and the man she loved to be looking at the future, not the expiry date on their relationship.

That same man had been prepared to marry Romi’s sister-by-choice, Madison Archer.

For a payoff!

Shares in Archer International Holdings and the prospect of taking over when Jeremy Archer retired had tempted Maxwell Black to break his “no commitments” rule.

The mercenary cad.

It was an old-fashioned word, but man, it fit.

“Ramona!” Her dad’s wavering call came from the den he spent most of his time in these days.

He only made it into the office about two days a week, his longtime director of operations running Grayson Enterprises in everything but name.

Some might have expected Romi to take over the family business, but not her dad. Harry Grayson had always made it clear he expected his daughter to follow her own dreams.

Filtered sunlight from the single window on the north side cast the den in gray light. Her father sat on the sofa facing the dark screen of a wall-mounted big-screen television. The highball glass in his hand was empty but for a couple of ice cubes. Bloodshot, red-rimmed hazel eyes testified to the fact it hadn’t been empty for long, or often in the past hours.

She walked forward and took the glass from his unresisting fingers. “It’s only afternoon, Daddy. You don’t need this.”

There was a time when he hadn’t picked up a drink with alcohol in it before the cocktail hour. He’d drunk steadily from that point so that he went to bed every night so inebriated, walking up the stairs was a danger.

But the drinking hadn’t gone on during the day.

Over the past few years, the drinking had gotten worse while she was away at school. Her father now started at lunchtime with a glass of wine that often became a bottle.

But drinking hard liquor this early in the day was still something new.

Recognition took seconds to register in his rheumy gaze. “Ramona.”

“Yes, Daddy. You called me.” Something he never would have done sober.

Graysons did not do common things like shout through the house for one another. They used the intercom system.

But Harry Grayson didn’t look in any shape to cross the room to the intercom. His brows drew together in an exaggerated effort at concentrating. “I did?”

“Yes, Daddy, you did.”

He looked with confusion around the room, like the answer might leap out at him. “I think I lost the remote.”

Romi bent down and picked up the small electronic device from the floor at his feet. “Here it is.”

“Oh, thank you.” He frowned. “It’s not working.”

She swiped her hand on the screen and spoke the command to turn the TV on. The sound of afternoon news commentary filled the room from the surround-sound speakers.

“It’s working just fine.”

“Wouldn’t turn on for me,” her father slurred.

She wasn’t surprised. The remote was programmed to take voice instruction with recognizable commands, not speech blurred by alcohol.

“You look upset, kitten.”

That was the thing about her dad. Even with his brain pickled by too much drink, he cared about her. He paid attention. She had no trouble remembering that even drunk, her dad was twice the father than a man like Maddie’s dad could ever hope to be.

“I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.” He was careful to enunciate every word.

And for some reason that made Romi feel like crying. “It’s nothing, really.”

“No, I know it’s something.” For just a moment, her dad wasn’t a drunk bent on destroying his liver.

He was the man who had loved her mother so much, he’d married her against his own family’s wishes. He was the guy who raised Romi from the time she was three, refusing the easy road of allowing other family members to take on her care.

“It’s an old story.” And she’d fallen for it.

“Tell me.”

“I fell for a man.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Romi ignored that, incapable of coming up with a response that wouldn’t hurt one of them. “He told me he didn’t do commitment.”

“And you found out he’s married?” her dad asked, looking as angry as emotions dulled by overimbibing would allow.

“No, but I did find out he’s willing to get married. For the right price.”

“The cad!”

She couldn’t help smiling at how her father’s word echoed her own thoughts just a few minutes before. “Exactly.”

“You’re better off without him.”

“Of course.” If only she could convince her heart as easily as her head.

* * *

Maxwell Black was bored. Attending these functions rarely provided anything but a few mind-numbing hours interspersed with brief moments of useful networking.

Oh, he believed in the cause. Tonight’s gala was dedicated to raising funds for and awareness of the plight of hunger among school-age children.

Considering the focus of the evening, he might have an opportunity to indulge in one of his favorite pastimes. Watching Romi Grayson.

Touching her was more satisfying, but she’d turned down his offer of a liaison in no uncertain terms.

In a rare show of restraint, he hadn’t continued the pursuit.

There was something different…almost special…about the old-money San Francisco heiress, a vulnerability he was unwilling to exploit.

A first for him—he’d stayed away from her as much out of self-preservation as anything else.

He felt protective toward her in ways he did not understand, ways that could be manipulated if she knew about them. So, she would never find out.

Even so, plans and intentions changed and he was coming to the conclusion that he and Romi might have a future after all. So long as Maxwell dictated the terms.

The soft scent of jasmine and vanilla he always associated with the heiress activist reached him before she did.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Maxwell Black, master tycoon.”

Squelching the urge to turn quickly, he slowly faced her.

Black, silky chin-length hair framed Romi’s pixie-like features, her bow-shaped lips set in an uncustomary flat line. Her makeup was dramatic tonight, bringing out the gentian blue of her eyes. Eyes that snapped with accusation he did not understand.

Or perhaps he did.

“Good evening, Romi. You look lovely tonight.”

The elegant peacock-blue evening gown accented her modest curves, highlighting Romi’s particular brand of delicate femininity. Fragility at odds with her gung-ho approach to life. Romi didn’t consider any cause too great, or any opponent too intimidating to take on.

Borderline petite at five foot five, with a personality that more than made up for her smaller stature, Maxwell had found Ramona Grayson intriguing from their first meeting.

“Thank you.” She frowned at him, but offered grudgingly, “You’re very handsome yourself tonight. Not a designer I recognize. A tuxedo from one of the tailors on Savile Row?”

He smiled, impressed by her powers of observation. Having his clothing made to fit could be considered a luxury by some, but for Maxwell it was more than that. Tailored designer brands impressed, but having a bespoke suit, patterned and constructed entirely to his specifications, made another kind of impression, one in line with Maxwell’s reputation for utter control in and out of the boardroom.

“My suit-maker is local, but he apprenticed with a Savile Row tailor.”

“Of course. I notice you don’t give his name.”

“Why? Are you looking for a new tailor for your father?” Not that Maxwell thought his would take on Grayson.

The tailor was both expensive and extremely discerning about his clientele. An alcoholic on the verge of taking his company down to the bottom of a whiskey bottle had no chance.

Romi’s barely there grimace was quickly masked. “No.”

“The waiting list for his services is a year out.” Maxwell found himself offering the truth as an excuse, an unaccustomed effort to spare her feelings.

“No doubt you subverted it somehow.”

Maxwell smiled. “Not a chance. The man’s a martinet about his schedule and his client standards.”

“Still, I’m surprised,” Romi said, her intent to bait him obvious.

Something was definitely bothering her. “Are you?”

“You’re a very opportunistic man.” The edge to her voice was sharper than a chef’s cleaver.

He couldn’t deny it, didn’t want to. His ability to identify and take advantage of opportunities was something that had helped Maxwell to build his business and his fortune to what they were today. A multimillionaire personally, his company, Black Information Technologies, or BIT, was valued at ten times his personal assets.

Not bad for a thirty-two-year-old bastard having no acknowledged ties to wealth, like Romi had been born with.

However, it was clear something about that character trait had upset Romi. Recently, if he wasn’t mistaken. Since there was no way she could know about the plans he’d been considering for her father’s company, it had to be something else.

Mentally going back through the events of the past week that others were aware of, Maxwell thought he might know. “You’ve spoken to Madison Archer.”

“I talk to Maddie every day, several times a day.” The increased annoyance in Romi’s voice left no doubt he was on the right track.

Though he still was not sure why Romi would be upset with Maxwell for being offered the marriage-based business contract by Jeremy Archer.

“I can hardly be held accountable for her father’s actions.” Though he wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of the auspicious conditions Archer had provided, even if not for the opportunities the president of AIH had intended.

Romi crossed her arms, leaning back in a classic pose of annoyance. “Only your willingness to participate in them.”

He took a moment to appreciate the way her stance pressed her small breasts together to create a shadow of tempting cleavage. Everything about her body turned him on. Thin, with modest curves, she was nevertheless one-hundred-percent enticing woman.

“I went to a meeting where Jeremy Archer offered a very lucrative contract and your so-called sister-by-choice held her own very well.” Though he wasn’t prepared to tell Romi how Madison had kept her father in line.

Maxwell had plans for that information. Because he was an opportunistic bastard. Literally and figuratively.

Unless he’d misread Madison Archer, she had not shared her actions with her best friend.

Which created leverage for Maxwell with Romi. She would do anything to prevent her SBC from being harmed in any way. Even by Madison’s own precipitous actions.

“You were willing to break your own rules for a price,” Romi sneered.

Ah. Now he understood. Maxwell was actually a little surprised that Madison had shared his offer with Romi. The Archer heiress had never seriously considered it and he hadn’t expected her to. That didn’t mean he would deny himself the opportunity to give Viktor Beck a few seconds of doubt.

They’d been friends and competitors since early childhood.

Still, Romi was upset Maxwell had made the counteroffer. That might bode well for his own plans where she was concerned.

“And that price wasn’t love.” He laced the last word with his own brand of disgust.

The overly emotional and incredibly naive heiress thought that sentiment the only motivation worthy of note. Even after the loss of that love had nearly destroyed her own father and what remained of their family.

“More like thirty pieces of silver.” Her blue gaze snapped with fire he wanted in his bed.

The small taste he’d had of her had only whetted an appetite Maxwell had come to accept would not be satisfied by anything but unfettered access to this woman alone.

“Your inference would imply I betrayed someone. I didn’t.” He and Romi had gone their separate ways nearly a year ago.

“Your own integrity maybe.”

“What is dishonest about a business deal where the terms are laid bare for everyone involved?”

“So, your ‘no commitment’ rule was only for me?” Romi’s voice betrayed pained disappointment.

He didn’t like hearing that from her. Even less than he’d liked the sound of “no thank you” spoken with a catch of desperation in her voice. “I didn’t offer Madison the kind of commitment you believe you need.”

“You offered to marry her.”

“I offered a business arrangement without conjugal rights or the promise of fidelity.”

“That’s horrible.” Romi was getting genuinely upset, her voice rising in agitation.

Soon, those around them would notice.

He took her by her elbow and began leading her toward the balcony doors. He was hoping the evening drop in temperature would mean it was deserted.

“Where are we going?” she asked, though she didn’t try to pull away.

“Someplace more private than here.”

Memory slashed across his brain…a similar question, an almost identical answer, but for a very different purpose.

He’d wanted to kiss her.

She’d been seething with an emotion very different from anger that time. She’d wanted the kiss, too.

Her response had nearly caused him to lose control of his own body for the first time since his initial foray into sex.

The balcony was as deserted as he’d hoped it would be, with only one other couple tucked away in the corner shadows at the opposite end. The low-level lighting and thirty feet separating the two couples insured a certain level of privacy so long as he and Romi did not raise their voices.

She shivered in the cool air and he moved them into the corner, where strategically placed potted greenery acted as both a privacy screen and wind barrier.

Anyone looking closely would see them, but only from certain angles. The other couple was not at that angle.

Even without the wind, the evening air was still chilly.

He removed his jacket and tucked it around Romi like a cape. “Better?” he asked.

Nodding, Romi bit her lip in a gesture of vulnerability that nearly derailed his intention to talk.

“You didn’t need to give me your coat.” She pulled it closer, a clearly unconscious action in direct opposition to the words she spoke. “We won’t be out here long. I’m not even sure why I came with you in the first place.”

“Because you are angry I considered Jeremy Archer’s business proposal and we need to talk about that.”

“I don’t know why.”

He merely waited in silence.

Romi huffed out a sigh. “Maddie deserves better than a business marriage.” She glared up at Maxwell with a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite read. “You do, too.”

“I do not find Madison particularly attractive. Foregoing conjugal rights would not have been a great sacrifice.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“I find beauty in a different package.” The red-headed Archer heiress was undeniably pleasing to the eye, but she did nothing for Maxwell personally.

He liked willowy figures, usually going for taller women because of his own six-foot-five-inch height. Though despite the foot difference in their height, Romi fit with him surprisingly well. He preferred dark hair and found her black tresses particularly appealing. Sharp elfin features were also unexpectedly attractive.

Before Romi, he’d never been drawn to blue eyes, but hers were so striking, so expressive, he found them intensely alluring. He liked knowing everything his sexual partners were feeling and thinking. Romi’s eyes revealed what her charming verbal honesty did not.

And unlike her SBC, who rarely blushed at all, Romi’s frequently pink cheeks—at least in his presence—that had nothing to do with her makeup were equally expressive.

“I just don’t understand how you were willing to marry her.” With a sound of frustration, Romi put her hand over her mouth, a sure sign she wished she hadn’t said that out loud.

“I was willing to entertain the idea, but she wasn’t interested in me as her future husband and I knew that before I ever made the offer of a marriage in name only.”

“What? How did you know?”

“Madison Archer may be better at hiding her emotions than you, but there can be no doubt that only one man in that conference room had the remotest of chances in fulfilling the contract her father had drawn up.”

Romi’s smile was soft. “They’re good together.”

“Let’s hope so.” Viktor and Madison’s engagement had already been announced, along with the whirlwind date set for their wedding.

He didn’t know Madison Archer well, but what he knew of her, he respected and liked. And while many would look on Viktor as Maxwell’s lifelong rival, the man who shared his Russian heritage was one of a select few Maxwell called friend.

Considering the fact that both people appeared to be entering the agreement with poorly hidden—to him at least—romantic aspirations and a long-term future together as their goal, Maxwell hoped it worked out for them.

He didn’t believe in permanent romantic ties. He considered marriage like any other contract—to be kept in place for the duration of the benefit of both parties.

His mother had taught him from an early age to see romantic relationships as a means to an end. Natalya Black had always told her son that love was the biggest fairy tale of all.

She’d believed in Maxwell and told him he could do anything he set his mind to, but never give in to “so-called” love. It only weakened the afflicted and made them lose their focus.

Maxwell didn’t know where his mother’s life lessons had come from, but he knew his own and he’d discovered early on she was right.

Leaving Russia and her disapproving relatives for a new start in America had not included Natalya giving up her tendency to line her nest with the golden straw of cleverly chosen bed partners of defined duration.

The transience of the men in his mother’s life had taught him one thing. There was no such thing as forever and anyone who believed in it was a fool.

They’d only come close one time. One man had made Natalya glow with something besides satisfaction in a well-chosen partner. The man had also taken a paternal interest in Maxwell as none of his mother’s other affairs ever had or been allowed to.

For three years, Maxwell had a father figure show up at his activities, someone as interested in teaching him what it was to be a boy raised in America as his mother and those at the cultural center had been in exposing him to bits of his Russian heritage, someone besides a neighbor the school could call when Maxwell needed to go home early with the flu.

Then Carlyle’s estranged wife had returned, along with his real son and daughter, and Maxwell never saw the man again. Natalya lost her glow, but not her determination to give Maxwell every chance life in America had to offer.

“Madison said she thought something about Perry’s claims intrigued you.” Romi frowned, her gaze searching.

Broken out of the unexpected reverie, Maxwell took a moment to catch up. Then he said, “You know I like control in bed.”

“I figured.”

Yes, he hadn’t hidden his preferences during their kisses and the touching. “I had no desire to take her to bed, therefore it follows my preference for control wasn’t my reason for intrigue.”

“Oh.” Romi’s frown turned to puzzlement. “Then why?”

“I found it interesting that Perry made the claims he did.”

“The more salacious the story, the more money they would pay for it.” The lovely heiress’s tone dripped cynicism.

Maxwell’s was a bit more derisive when he said, “Perry Timwater isn’t capable of upholding a more dominant role in sex.”

“How would you know?”

“I’ve met him.” And what Maxwell had seen of the other man had neither impressed, nor inspired a desire to further their association. “He has neither the confidence, nor the attention to the needs of others to succeed in that role.”

“I’m sure he’s a selfish lover,” Romi said with her customary direct honesty. “He was a very selfish friend.”

“You are probably right.” Maxwell felt his lips quirking as they often did in her presence.

Romi Grayson always entertained him, even when she didn’t mean to. She intrigued him as much because of the attraction he felt for her as the fact she was so unlike him. He didn’t understand her.

That was not something Maxwell was used to.

Understanding what motivated people was what made him so good in the business world. He knew how to identify a need and exploit it, without compromising his own sense of honor.

It might not be as shiny and uncomplicated as Viktor’s, but Maxwell did have one.

Romi’s mercurial nature made her an enigma. He’d been sure she would go for his offer of monogamy of limited duration, but she hadn’t. Even more inexplicably, her reaction had told him the offer had hurt her in some way, which he hadn’t expected and found he did not like.

“So, why were you intrigued?”

“Why do you think?” he prodded, wondering how much she’d really learned about him during their brief time of dating.

She paused and thought, which wasn’t something anyone else would have expected from her. She came off as passionate and impetuous, but he’d learned that as much as she might appear to act without thought, Romi rarely ever did.

Finally, she said, “You’ve got more curiosity than any man I’ve ever met. The situation didn’t make sense to you, something you aren’t really on a first-name basis with. So you wanted to understand it.”

He nodded, not really surprised she guessed his reaction so easily. He’d learned that she studied him with as much attention as he had any business rival in his career.

“The stories themselves were a puzzle,” Maxwell agreed. “Despite both you and Madison Archer’s penchant for making it into the media spotlight, neither of you are known for sexual exploits.”

Something he should have paid closer attention to before making his offer to her. He should have realized that the reason her sex life was never speculated on in the media was because she didn’t have one.

That innocence wasn’t going to leave her open to the kind of liaison Maxwell was used to negotiating with his lovers.

Which meant that if he wanted Romi, and the year apart had shown him that at present no one else would suffice, he would have to figure out a different arrangement.

One they could both live with.

If his plans included a measure of what he thought might well be irresistible persuasion, well, his honor didn’t require a level playing field.

Winning was key. Full stop.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_adbeb822-b699-5c29-81d9-1f2f9a5e28d6)

“AND YOU FOUND that intriguing?” Romi demanded.

Max was amused by the fact she and Madison weren’t known for their sexual promiscuity, no doubt following that particular line of reasoning to its correct conclusion. They weren’t known for it because they’d never been sexually promiscuous.

The most experience Romi had in that regard had been with Max himself.

“Not so much, no.” Max actually managed to look more or less abashed. “It brought to light some home truths. That’s all.”

“What do you mean?” Like she didn’t know.

He had worked it out. If there had been anything to write about her or Madison’s sex life, media vultures would have done it. Therefore there was nothing to write about.

Max’s gorgeous features twisted with a cynical smile. “Do you really want me to spell it out for you?”

“Maybe not.” Romi stifled a sigh, the certainty that she spent a little too much of her life avoiding those home truths he was talking about pricking at her until it drew blood.

She wanted to talk about the reason her nonexistent lovers were never discussed in the media even less than she wanted to discuss her father’s deteriorating condition. Even with Maddie. If Romi pretended everything was okay, maybe it would be.

The fact that she spent a great deal of her waking hours trying to right injustices and excesses of the world she lived in, but could not face her own family’s brokenness, did not escape her.

“What is the matter?” Max asked in a tone she would have called genuine concern from anyone else.

From him? It probably indicated that moment his inner shark smelled blood in the water.

“Nothing.”

“That is not true.”

“Does it matter?” she asked with a heavy dose of skepticism.

He adjusted her closer. “Yes.”

They were just standing there. No enemies, or even pernicious media in sight. And yet, his big, handsome body felt like a shield between her and the rest of the world. That was one of the most dangerous things about Maxwell Black: how safe she felt in his presence.

He was a full-on predator, but he made her feel protected.

Talk about a rich and active fantasy life.

“Why?” Why would her feelings make any difference to him?

How could they? She wasn’t anything to him. Not anything at all.

His pewter gaze trapped hers. “You matter to me.”

“No. I don’t believe you.” As a potential bed partner she might have had some value, but they hadn’t been anything like friends.

“You will.”

“What? Wait…” He was talking like they had a future.

“You look confused, my sweet little activist.”

“I’m not your anything.” And if she needed reminding as much, or more, than he did, well…she wasn’t admitting anything out loud.

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

“So, you’ve been dating.”

She opened her mouth to say of course she had, but couldn’t force word one of the untruth past her lips. Romi might be a professional at avoidance, but tongue-tied only began to describe what happened to her when she tried to tell a bald-faced lie.

Especially to people she cared about. Prevaricate? Yes. Obfuscate? Definitely. Sidestep? She had the full bag of tricks. Out-and-out lie? Not a chance.

“My dating life is none of your business.”

“You don’t have one.”

“So you say.” Right. Turn it back on him without confirming or denying. She would have a made a good spy.

Except for that whole “inability to lie” thing.

“I do say. Name one man you have dated since you turned down my offer.”

She glared up at Max, wanting so much just to pull a name out of the air. Any name. But she could not do it.

It just wasn’t in her. Her dad said she got that trait from her mother. Romi wished she could remember Jenna Grayson, but she’d only been three when her mom died.

“I bet you could name a hundred.” Redirection was her friend.

“Not even a half dozen.”

He was still a handful ahead of her. “You work too many hours.”

It was a problem.

“You think so?”

“I know so.” She’d seen the evidence in the short time they’d been dating.

He didn’t move, but suddenly he felt closer, like he was taking up more of the space between them than he had been. “Running a company like BIT cannot be done in a forty-hour work week.”

“It could if you weren’t so intent on being king of the world.” She found herself wanting to lean into him and just let him hold her.

How crazy was that?

Max’s laughter washed through her, warming in a way even his tuxedo jacket did not. “I promise, I am not trying to be king of the world.”

“Just your part of it.”

“Well, I have competition.”

“So you say.” She wasn’t sure she believed it.

Maxwell had a ruthless streak that meant he would always be top dog, even if it meant a dirty, bloody battle to get there.

“None of the women I have dated in the past year rated a callback audition.”

“Poor them.”

Max’s smile was predatory and just a little bit devastating. “You think so.”

She knew so. Walking away from him had been one of the most difficult things Romi had ever done, but no way was she giving him a chance to own her heart only to break it.

As he was guaranteed to do.

“I enjoyed dating you.” A huge understatement, it still came out easily because it was also the truth.

“As I enjoyed our time together.”

“Good?” Embarrassed the word had come out more a question than statement, Romi felt a blush crawl up her neck.

“Not good. You turned me down.”

“We wanted different things.” And apparently she hadn’t thought to offer him part of a company to get what she wanted.

Visions of doing just that caused a bubble of hysterical laughter to nearly burst out.

It was all she could do to hold the humor in.

She couldn’t hold back a few mocking words however. “Too bad my dad wasn’t selling my hand in marriage, huh?”

Max tugged her close, his head tipping down. “I was thinking that exact thing.”

“You jerk.” She was laughing as she said the words, not meaning them, just responding in kind to his sarcasm.

But it meant her lips were parted when his mouth landed against hers.

Heat suffused her as her traitorous body melted into his without forethought or even permission from the thinking part of her brain. Forced suddenly into blatant recognition of a year’s long starvation of her senses, she returned his kiss with a hunger she’d done her best to pretend did not exist.

Voracious now, she had no hope of holding back the tide of feeling crashing over her.

It was the cost of ignoring emotions rather than facing them.

She wanted this man with every fiber of her being, no matter how much her brain told her it was a bad idea.

A spectacularly, out-of-this-world, really bad idea.

Her lips did not agree as they moved against his, her tongue eager as it met his, her body pliant to his touch.

She skimmed her hands up his hard chest, mapping the shape of muscles honed by workouts that would make a triathlete pause. Singeing her fingertips with electric warmth, the heat of his body translated through the smooth fabric of his dress shirt.

She brushed over tiny, hardened nubs and she reveled in the proof of her effect on him.

With a feral groan, Max flexed his lower body toward hers and she had even more potent proof in the press of his clearly excited, intimidatingly large shaft against her. It couldn’t be comfortable for him to be trapped in his clothes in that condition, but he didn’t complain or pull away.

Unheeded, his expensive, handmade tuxedo jacket fell from her shoulders as she wrapped her hands around his neck and pressed into him, chest to thigh. Was it possible to feel sparks in every single nerve ending of where her body met his?

She didn’t know if it was some kind of domino effect, but that’s what it felt like to her.

As her body exploded with delight in that simple but very intimate touch, the kiss went nuclear.

Their mouths ate at each other, his hands moved over her back, down along her sides, over her bottom…everywhere. Hers locked behind his head as she undulated against him—giving friction, receiving the stimulation she needed. It was insane. The way she responded to his nearness, the unending and increasing desire for more and more and more.

Sensations she’d dreamt about almost nightly and pretended to forget in the morning, but hadn’t experienced in a year, roared through her in a conflagration as unstoppable as the brush fires that raged in the south every summer.

It burned the walls of her defenses to cinders. All she could do was hold on and hope not to be consumed completely.

It was Max that broke the kiss, Max that took a step back, Max that held her away from him when she would have followed.

Feeling too much desire to be embarrassed, Romi demanded, “Why?”

He wanted her. She’d felt it. If she looked down, she’d see it, even in the dim shadows of the balcony.

“The next time we have sex, it will be in a bed and I won’t stop until you’ve climaxed with me inside you.” His breath panted in irregular intervals, but his deep voice was infused with absolute certainty.

She barely bit back the when that wanted to pop out of her mouth.

Oh, wow. Yeah. Not a good idea.

But she wanted it. So bad. She shook with the need to continue what they started, for just the experience of being held in his arms again.

“That can’t happen.” She wished her voice had even a modicum of certainty in it.

Some little bit of the self-preservation that lay in ashes around her.

“That’s a lie and you don’t do those.”

She opened her mouth to deny his words, but darned if he wasn’t right. “Please, don’t do this to me, Max.”

“What don’t you want me to do, Romi, my sweet virgin?” Why did those words sound so hot in his voice? “Turn you on? You weren’t complaining a second ago.”

She couldn’t deny it. Wasn’t sure she wanted to, even if she could. “Neither were you.”

But he’d stopped and she hadn’t even thought to try. Darn him.

“No, and I never will.”

Why did he have to say things like that? Things that could make her hope when hope and this man did not go together. “We still want different things.”

“Are you so sure? If I hadn’t stopped, you would have let me take you here and now.”

He was talking about sex when she was referring to a relationship. And he knew it. “Do you get some sick thrill out of rubbing in my own weakness to me?”

“It’s not a weakness, milaya.”

“So you say.” Her words lacked conviction, but he knew what using his Russian endearments on her did to Romi.

It wasn’t just the fact he called her lovely, but his possessive claim on her and how he only used this word on her. She’d asked him, annoyed when she thought he was just calling her the same thing he did every other woman he slept with.

He’d admitted he never used the Russian endearments with other women.

She hadn’t asked why because he had seemed less than thrilled about the realization and she hadn’t wanted him to stop.

Now she wished she had.

“So I know,” he responded, no lack of conviction in his tone. “Your passion is amazing.”

“You stopped.” It couldn’t have been that amazing.

“Because I want something better for your first time.”

“You’re making some big assumptions there.”

“Are you going to try to deny your innocence?”

“No.” And they were back to this again because this man never let Romi run her repertoire of avoidance techniques about the important stuff. “My first time isn’t going to be with a man who puts a sell-by date on his girlfriends before the relationship even starts.”

“And yet your first time will be with me.”

“I was talking about you,” she informed him sarcastically.

“No. You were talking about a circumstance, not a man.”

She stepped away from him and hated how cold that made her feel, and not just because of the goose bumps on her arms. “Are you trying to confuse me on purpose?”

“No, milaya. Not at all. I’m just telling the truth.”

“And what truth is that?” She was going to regret asking, she just knew it.

“That you will be in my bed very soon.”

“Without a sell-by date?” she asked with a tiny kernel of hope that felt almost like a betrayal.

But could he really have spent the last year wanting her like she’d been wanting him, enough to break his own set-in-cement rules?

“Not as a boyfriend.”

“What does that mean?” Was he trying to say he didn’t want any commitment at all?

A one-night stand? For the loss of her virginity? And why was that even a little bit tempting?

He never answered her question, just picked up his suit jacket and shook it out before putting it back on. Quality cut and fabric showed almost no effect from its sojourn on the balcony floor.

Somehow she found herself back inside dancing with the man, ignoring the glares of envy sent her way and doing her best to do the same to her own body’s weakness in the face of Max’s nearness.

He set out to entertain and charm, succeeding to the point that she let him drive her home instead of calling for her father’s car and driver.

He pulled the Maserati, a different one than he’d been driving the year before, to a purring halt in front of her dad’s mansion. This one had a backseat.

“Still living with your father?” he asked, though he had to know, or why else would they be here?

“Yes.”

Max nodded. “No desire to live on your own?”

“He needs me.” It was an admission, but not one that would surprise an American tycoon with surprisingly deep Russian roots.

Romi didn’t even share with Maddie how bad things had gotten for her dad, but a year ago? She’d told Maxwell Black.

On their second date. Maybe that was why he’d put the sell-by date on their relationship after their third one.

But no, that was just the way Max ran his love life, or sex life really. The man didn’t believe in love. Well, that wasn’t quite accurate.

He believed the emotion was real enough, just refused to ever let himself feel it.

Romi wished she had the ability to turn her heart off.

But it was never going to happen.

“You are a good daughter.” His pewter eyes warmed with sincerity.

It was almost surreal. “What, no admonishment to leave him to work it out on his own?”

“What have I ever said that implied I did not take the obligations of family seriously?” Max actually sounded a little offended.

Feeling convicted for letting her own insecurities spill over onto him, Romi said, “Nothing.”

She knew he cared deeply for his mother.

Max had never been hesitant to admit he supported Natalya Black financially. They might live separately, but Romi had no doubt that if his mother needed to live with him, they would be sharing a residence right now. No questions, no lesser options.

“We share a dedication to family.”

“What we have of them,” she agreed.

Romi didn’t know why, but Max and his mother had no connection to their family back in Russia. He’d never mentioned his father, much less the man’s family, so Romi had always assumed they were either all gone or like her father’s family.

Estranged.

“I still see my mom’s family yearly.” Unlike the Graysons, who had turned their back on Harry when he’d married a woman from a decidedly middle-class background instead of old money, the Lawtons had remained in their daughter’s life and that of her husband and child.

Albeit on a more limited basis than Romi had always wanted.

“Why only once a year?” Max asked, like he was reading her mind.

She shrugged, looking away from him. “They only came to visit when my mom was alive. Since then, I’ve gone to stay with my grandparents for a couple of weeks every summer.”

But she and her father had never been invited to share the major holidays with them. Romi didn’t know if that was because he’d made it clear in some way he wasn’t interested, or if they weren’t, and she’d never really tried to find out.

It was enough she got a taste of the family that had made her mom the person she’d been. Even if that person was someone Romi would never know.

She’d enjoyed the different kind of living, sharing a room with the sewing machine and her grandmother’s craft projects, sleeping on the floor in the family room with her cousins when they stayed over. No servants, no cars and drivers, no shopping in exclusive boutiques.

Lots of summer barbecues, playing in a yard maintained better by her grandfather than any gardener her dad had ever employed.

“Why don’t any of them come to visit you?” Max asked.

She didn’t really know, but had made her own internal excuses. “It’s a long trip.”

“A few hours by plane.”

“Still.”

“It’s a different world for them, isn’t it?”

She nodded. She’d finally come to realize as an adult that her mom’s family found her life as an heiress—her bedroom that was a three-room suite in a multimillion-dollar mansion, all of the trappings of wealth—too foreign for comfort.

She thought maybe they hadn’t been any happier that Jenna had married Harry than the Graysons. The Lawtons just hadn’t turned their backs on their daughter.

Her grandparents were political activists like Romi, but unlike her, they had little affection or respect for the people that had populated Romi’s life since birth.

Old money wealth, big business, they were dirty words to her grandparents.

Romi had always wanted to make a difference, but she’d never felt the need to destroy the system to rebuild it.

Her grandparents had spent a month living in a tent during Occupy Wall Street. Her aunts and uncles weren’t as antiwealth and antiestablishment, but made no bones about the fact they preferred their suburban lives over Romi’s in San Francisco.

“Your cousins could come to visit, couldn’t they?” Max asked, like it mattered to him.

She didn’t know why it should. Romi shrugged. “I’m not as close with them as I was when I was little.”

Not like they were to each other.

Her mother had been the youngest and all of her cousins were at least five years older than Romi. Most were married with children, all were established in careers and lives that did not lend themselves to visiting a single cousin cross country that they barely knew.

Max made a sound that in anyone else would have been a sigh. He made it seem more like a nonverbal admission. “My family turned their back on my mother because she chose to break with tradition.”

“She married an American?”

“No.”

“But Black…”

“Is not a Russian name. She changed it from Blokov when she immigrated with me. She wanted no reminder of the family who found it so easy to reject her because she lived her life differently than they wanted her to.”

“I’m sorry. She’s a pretty neat lady.”

Romi had met Natalya Black at more than one charity function she’d attended with her son. Romi had found the older Russian woman still quite beautiful and very charming.

“She is pragmatic.”

“She raised you. I imagine she is.” Romi had never known anyone as compartmentalized and rationally logical as Max.

Max quirked his brow. “Is that a compliment or a complaint?”

“Neither, really.” Romi grinned cheekily. “It just is.”

“Now, you sound like a proper Russian pragmatist.”

“What about your dad?” Romi asked, surprised at herself.

But she’d regretted all the questions she hadn’t asked a year ago too much to make the same mistake again.

“My mother has never named him, though I have often thought his name must be something similar to mine, as Maxwell is hardly Russian.”

“Maybe she just wanted to break away from her homeland and embrace her new life in America.”

“We emigrated when I was a year old.”

“Oh.”

He smiled, no indication the discussion hurt him. “Some things just are, right?”

“Right.” But somehow she was sure this man would never allow a child of his to grow up not even knowing his name.

They said good-night, with Max’s assertion he would see her again soon sounding more like a threat than a promise.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_d534382d-b829-5b23-9487-032c515b8937)

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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