A Game with One Winner. Lynn Harris Raye

to protect themselves, but I find it’s never true.”

      “Then you must not know many people,” she said. “We all change. No one stays the same.”

      “No, we don’t. But whatever the essence was, that remains. If one is heartless, for instance, one doesn’t suddenly grow a heart.”

      Caroline’s skin glowed with heat. She knew he was speaking of her, speaking of that night when she’d thrown his love back in his face. She wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him the truth, but what good would it do? None whatsoever.

      “Sometimes things are not as they seem,” she said. “Appearances can be deceptive.”

      As soon as she said it, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. His icy eyes grew even frostier as he studied her. “I have no doubt you would know this.”

      Fury and sadness warred inside her. The only thing to do was to pretend not to understand his meaning. Caroline gave a superior sniff. “Nevertheless, Daddy has reevaluated his priorities. He’s enjoying himself at his country estate these days. He worked hard for it, and he deserves it.”

      There was a lump in her throat. She gritted her teeth and turned to look hopefully for a taxi, willing herself not to cry as she did so. She wasn’t ordinarily overcome with emotion, but thinking about her father’s illness in the presence of this man she’d once loved was a bit overwhelming.

      “I had no idea you were interested in taking over the business someday,” Roman said, his tone more than a bit mocking. “I’d rather thought your interests lay elsewhere.”

      She whipped around to look at him. “Such as shopping and getting my nails done? That was never my plan.”

      It had been her parents’ plan, however. It was simply not done for a Sullivan woman to work. They married well and spent their days doing charitable work, not dirtying their hands in the business. No matter that she’d wanted to learn the business, or that her father had indulged her a bit and let her intern there—because business experience would do her good in her charitable duties, he’d said over her mother’s protests. Jon had always been the one intended to run the department store chain once her father retired.

      Which Frank Sullivan would not have done anytime in the next twenty years had the choice not been taken from him. Now that Jon was dead, there was no one else but her. And she was good at what she did, damn it. She had to be.

      “You’ve had a bad year,” Roman said softly, and her heart clenched. Yes, she’d had a bad year. But she still had Sullivan’s. More importantly, she had her son. And for him, she would do anything. Sullivan’s would be his one day. She would make sure of it.

      “It could always be worse,” she said, not meeting Roman’s hard gaze. She’d told herself repeatedly that things could always be worse just so she could get through the day—but she really didn’t want to know how much worse. Losing a husband to cancer and a father to dementia was pretty damn bad in her book.

      “It is worse,” he said. “I’m here. I don’t arrive on the scene until a company is struggling, Caroline. Until profits are squeezed tight and every month is a struggle to pay your suppliers just enough so they’ll keep the shipments coming.”

      Caroline blinked. The stores. Of course he was talking about the stores. For a minute, she’d thought he was being sympathetic. But why would he be? She was the last person he’d ever show any compassion for.

      And she could hardly blame him, could she? They hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms.

      Though her heart ached, she feigned a laugh that was as light as the evening breeze. It tinkled gaily, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, when in fact she felt the weight of her cares like an anvil yoked to her neck.

      “Oh Roman, really. You’ve done quite well for yourself, but your information cannot always be correct. This time, you are wrong. Dead wrong. You won’t get Sullivan’s, no matter how you try.” She waved a hand toward Fifth Avenue, encompassing the park, the horse-drawn carriage with its load of tourists passing by, and the logjam of cars and trucks packing the avenue. “Times have been bad everywhere, but look around you. This city is alive. These people are working, and they need the kind of goods Sullivan’s provides. They want what we have. Our sales are up twenty percent this quarter. And it will only get better.”

      She had to believe that. Her father had made some bad decisions before anyone realized he was ill, and she was working her hardest to fix them. It wasn’t easy, and she wasn’t assured of success, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet, either.

      Roman smirked. Literally smirked. “Twenty percent in one store, Caroline. The majority of your stores are suffering. You should have sold off some of the less profitable branches, but you didn’t. And now you are hurting.”

      He took a step toward her, closed the space between them until she could feel his heat. His power. She wanted to take a step back, to put distance between them, but she would not. She would never give an inch of ground to this man. She couldn’t. She’d made her choice five years ago and she would stick by the rightness of it until the day she died.

      “Thank you for your opinion, as unsolicited as it might have been,” Caroline said tightly. The nerve of the man! Of course she’d thought of selling off a few of the stores, but when she’d tried, the offers hadn’t exactly been forthcoming. It should have been done two years ago, but she hadn’t been the one in charge then. By the time she’d taken the lead, the economy had tanked and no one wanted to buy a department store. She was doing the best she could with the resources she had.

      “I’ve done my research,” Roman said. “And I know the end is near for Sullivan’s. If you wish to see it continue, you’ll cooperate with me.”

      Caroline tilted her chin up again. She’d been strong for so long that it was as natural to her as breathing. She might have been young and naive five years ago, when she’d loved this man beyond the dictates of reason or sense, but no longer.

      “Why on earth would I do that? Are you saying I should just trust you? Sign over Sullivan’s and trust that you’ll ‘save’ the stores that have been in my family for five generations?” She shook her head. “I’d be a fool if I did business that way. And I assure you I am no fool.”

      Miraculously, a taxi broke through the traffic and pulled to the curb then. The uniformed doorman drew open the door with a flourish. “Madam, your taxi.”

      Caroline turned without waiting for an answer and entered the cab. She was just about to tell the driver where to take her when Roman filled the frame of the open door.

      “This is my taxi,” she blurted as he shifted her over with a nudge of his hip.

      “I’m going in the same direction.” He settled in beside her and gave the driver an address in the financial district. Caroline wanted to splutter in outrage, but she forced herself to breathe evenly, calmly. Her heart was a trapped butterfly in her chest. She couldn’t lead Roman to her door. She couldn’t bear to have him know where she lived. If Ryan came outside for some reason …

      No. Caroline gave the driver the address of a town house in Greenwich Village. It wasn’t her town house, but she could walk the two streets over to her own house once the cab was gone.

      “How did you know we were going in the same direction?” she demanded as the taxi began to inch back into traffic.

      He shrugged. “Because I’m in no hurry. Even if you went north, I could eventually go south again.”

      Caroline tucked her wrap over one shoulder. “That seems like a terrible waste of time.”

      “I hardly think so. I have you alone now.”

      Her heart thumped. Once, she would have been giddy to be alone with him for a long cab ride. She would have turned into his arms and tilted her head back for his kiss. Unwelcome heat bloomed in her cheeks, her belly. How many clandestine kisses had they shared in