Virgin: Undone by the Billionaire: The Innocent's Dark Seduction / Count Maxime's Virgin / Untamed Billionaire, Undressed Virgin

If Roark hadn’t ruthlessly taken her father’s business and left him a broken-down man with oceans of debt, Alfred might have found new investors. Perhaps he would have saved the company instead of being swallowed by the stress of his failure. Olivia could have continued her experimental treatment and it might have worked.

Or maybe Olivia would have died anyway. Her treatment in California had been experimental with only a slight chance of success.

But now Lia would never know.

She only knew that if not for Roark, her whole family might still be alive. Her father. Her sister. Her mother.

Roark Navarre. His name caused a surge of hatred to tighten her hands, crushing a red rose between her fingers. A thorn drew blood on her thumb.

And as if he hadn’t done enough already, he’d deliberately taken her virginity for the sake of a business deal! Did the man have no conscience at all? Did he have no soul?

The bastard. The ruthless bastard.

With a soft curse, she sucked the blood off her thumb.

Lia went into the castle to take a shower, desperate to wash the scent of him off her skin. She tried not to remember the feeling of his naked body against hers. The hoarse whisper of his voice, “Ah, Lia. What you do to me….”

She leaned her head against the cool tiles. Standing beneath a stream of water so hot it burned her skin, she was overwhelmed with guilt and shame. She’d betrayed Giovanni’s memory in the worst possible way. Taking pleasure in Roark’s arms, she’d betrayed her whole family. She knew it was the worst moment of her whole life.

She was wrong.

Three weeks later she discovered she was pregnant.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Eighteen months later.

MARRIED.

Roark still couldn’t believe it. Nathan was getting married.

They’d met in Alaska, both working their way through college. For fifteen years they’d enjoyed the lifestyle of commitmentphobic, workaholic bachelors, earning huge fortunes and dating an endless succession of beautiful women.

He’d never thought Nathan would settle down. But he’d thought wrong. His friend was getting married today.

Roark waited for him at a table in the bar of the Cavanaugh Hotel, where he’d been slowly nursing his scotch for the past ten minutes.

He wondered if it was too late to talk Nathan out of it. Grab the poor bastard and force him to run before it was too late.

Roark rubbed the back of his head, still jet-lagged from his long flight from Ulaanbaatar. He’d finished the project in Mongolia yesterday and arrived in New York just an hour ago. His first time in the city in a year and a half, and he almost hadn’t come. But he couldn’t let his old friend face the firing squad alone.

One week before Christmas, and the sleek, modern hotel bar was filled with businessmen in dark, expensively cut suits. There were a few women scattered here and there, a few in suits but most wearing slinky dresses and red lipstick as fake and carefully applied as their bright, flirtatious smiles.

It could have been any expensive bar in any five-star hotel in the world, and as Roark took another sip of the exquisite forty-year-old Glenlivet, he felt disconnected from everyone and everything. He glanced down at the half-filled tumbler. The scotch was just a year older than Roark was. In a year he’d be forty. And though he told himself life was only getting better, there were times …

He heard a buxom blonde burst into shrieking laughter at the joke of the short, balding man nearby. He watched them sip pink champagne cocktails and pretend they were in love.

All fake. So fake.

Roark couldn’t believe he was back in New York. He wished he was back on the building site, sleeping on a hard cot in a tent in Mongolia. Or working in Tokyo. Or Dubai. Or even back in Alaska.

Anywhere but New York.

Was she here for Christmas?

The thought sneaked into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Scowling, Roark took another sip of scotch. All the places he’d been in the last year and a half jumbled together. He’d been working hard. Constantly. Trying to forget her.

The only woman who’d ever brought him such pleasure.

The only woman who’d ever left him wanting more.

The only woman to hate him with such intensity.

Deservedly?

Her accusations still burned through his soul, no matter how many sixteen-hour days he worked or how many hours he spent riding horses along the Mongolian plains, the cold desert wind whipping his skin.

“You seduced me for the sake of skyscrapers that will never, ever love you back. And you call my father a failure? You call him a fool? He loved us. He’s a better man than you will ever be.”

Roark pressed the cool glass against his forehead. He’d made his choice. He wanted no wife. He wanted no children.

He’d had a family once, people who’d loved him. And he hadn’t saved them. Better to have no one to love than to fail them. Easier. Safer for everyone.

Too bad Nathan didn’t realize that.

He loved us. He’s a better man than you will ever be.

“Roark?” he heard Nathan say. “Christ, you look bad.”

Relieved to be interrupted, Roark looked up to see his old friend standing by the bar table. Nathan beamed at him, looking hale and hearty in jeans and a sweater.

“And I’ve never seen you so happy,” Roark admitted. He held out his hand. “You’re even getting fat!”

With a grin, Nathan shook Roark’s hand. Sitting down at the table, he ruefully patted his belly over his sweater. “Emily keeps feeding me. And after today, it’s only going to get worse!”

Roark looked straight at him. “So run.”

“Same old Roark,” his old friend said with a laugh. He shook his head. “I’m just glad you made it. Trust you to fly in from Mongolia with an hour to spare.”

“Last chance to talk you out of it.”

Nathan signaled to the waitress for a drink. “If I’d thought you actually meant to come to the wedding, I would have made you best man.”

“And if I’d been your best man, I’d have convinced you not to get married. Stay free.”

“Believe me, when you find the right woman, freedom is the last thing you want.”

Roark snorted. “Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re crazy. You’ve only known the girl for what, six months?”

“A year and a half, actually. And we’ve just had some news to make this truly the happiest day of our lives.” Nathan leaned over the table with a grin. “Emily’s pregnant.”

Roark stared at him. “Pregnant?”

Nathan laughed at his expression. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

Pregnant. His old friend wasn’t just settling down with a wife, he was going to have a child. And it made Roark feel every one of his thirty-nine years. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? He had the perfect life as a bachelor, the life he wanted!

“Congratulations,” Roark said dully.

“We’re looking for a place in Connecticut. I’ll commute to the city for work, but still have a nice house with a yard for the kids. Emily wants a garden….”

A garden. Roark had a sudden memory of an Italian garden full of roses. Blooms in red, yellow, pink, hidden from the world by a medieval stone wall seven feet high. The feel of the hot sun, the buzzing of honeybees and the wind rattling the trees. And the taste of her skin. Oh, God, the sweet taste of her …

“And to think I only met Emily because of that West Side land deal,” Nathan continued. “Do you remember it?”

Roark put down the half-empty glass and said evenly, “I remember that we lost it.”

The loss was still sharp for Roark. It was the only time he’d ever lost anything.

No. There’d been another time. When he was seven years old and his mother had dumped him in the snow in the middle of the night. Her face had been black with soot, streaked with terrified tears. She’d run back into the cabin for her husband and older son. Roark had waited, but they’d never come out….

“It was at the Black and White Charity Ball that I first met Emily.” Nathan nodded his thanks at the cocktail waitress who’d brought his drink. “She works for Countess Villani. You remember the countess, don’t you?” He whistled through his teeth. “That’s a woman no man can ever forget.”

“Yes, I remember her,” Roark said in a low voice. No matter how hard he tried to forget Lia, he remembered. He remembered the way she’d felt in his arms when he kissed her at the ball. Remembered the tremble of her virginal body when he took her in the garden. Remembered the explosive way he’d desired her.

The way she’d looked at him with wonder as they made love—then hatred when she learned his name.

All things he didn’t want to remember. Things he’d spent the past year and a half trying to forget.

He’d never seen a woman her equal. And he’d only had her once, taking her with frenetic, desperate passion. He’d wanted more. He’d wanted to take her again and again, to slow down, take his time, to enjoy her.

She was the only woman who’d ever denied him the chance to take his pleasure for as long as he desired.

Forget her? How could he, when Lia was the one woman every man wanted—and he was the only man who’d ever touched her?

At least, he had been the only one. He suddenly wondered how many men had taken Lia to bed in the last year and a half.

Roark’s hands tightened around the glass.

“Although the countess doesn’t hold a candle to my girl,” Nathan said. “Emily is so warm and loving. The countess is beautiful, definitely, but so cold!”

“Cold?” Roark muttered. “I don’t remember her that way.” She’d been nothing but fire and heat and warmth, from the passion of their first shared kiss to the fierce intensity of her hatred.

“She caught you in her web, didn’t she?”

Roark looked up, saw the amusement in Nathan’s eyes.

“Of course not,” he retorted. “She’s just the woman who put a park where my skyscrapers should have been. Other than that, she means nothing to me.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Nathan said gravely. “Because she’s obviously forgotten you. She’s been seeing the same man for months. Her engagement is expected any day.”

A cold shock burned through Roark’s body.

Lia … engaged?

“Who is he?”

“A wealthy lawyer from an established New York family.”

The cold turned to ice. “What’s his name?”

“Andrew Oppenheimer.”

Oppenheimer.

The white-haired, powerful man who’d known Roark’s grandfather.

Him? Lia’s husband?

And Roark knew this marriage wouldn’t be celibate as her first one had been. Oppenheimer wanted her … as all men did.

As Roark did.

He took a deep breath as the colors and sounds of the bar swirled around him. He realized that eighteen months of hard physical work hadn’t changed his desire for Lia Villani. Not at all.

He wasn’t done with her. Not by a long shot.

He still wanted her.

And even if Lia hated him … Roark would have her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“YOU know I care for you, my dear.” Andrew’s arm tightened around her shoulder as they sat in the church pew. “When will you say yes?”

Lia looked up at him, biting her lip. “Andrew …”

“I love Christmas, don’t you?” he murmured, tactfully changing the subject. “The presents. The snow. Isn’t this place romantic with the candles and roses?”

The cathedral was indeed very romantic, decked out for Christmas with holly, fir boughs and red roses lit by a multitude of candles. The wedding was aglow with all the breathless magic of a winter’s night.

But it didn’t make Lia want a Christmas wedding of her own. It only made her yearn for her baby daughter, who was already tucked into her crib for the night beneath the watchful eye of her nanny.

And the red roses made Lia think of a black-haired, broad-shouldered man who had set her world on fire, then cut her to the heart.

“Marry me, Lia,” Andrew whispered. “I’ll be a good father to Ruby. I’ll take care of you both forever.”

She licked her lips. Andrew Oppenheimer was a kind man. He’d make a good husband and an even better father.

So why couldn’t she say yes? What was wrong with her?

“What do you say?”

Swallowing, she looked away. “I’m sorry, Andrew. My answer is still no.”

He watched her for a moment, then patted her hand gently. “It’s all right, Lia. I’ll wait for you. Wait and hope.”

Lia flushed guiltily. She liked Andrew. She kept hoping that she would fall for him, or be able to accept a marriage of friendship, like her first marriage had been.

But one night of passion with Roark had ruined her forever. Now she couldn’t imagine marrying a man without that fire.

She knew she was being stupid. Her daughter needed a father. And yet …

She looked away. The church pews were packed full of friends of both her friend and employee Emily Saunders, and the bridegroom, Nathan Carter. She heard a late arrival come into the pew behind her, passing by other guests to find a spot directly behind her.

“I’d like to take you someplace for New Year’s Eve,” Andrew continued, holding her hand. “The Caribbean. St. Lucia. Or skiing in Sun Valley. Anywhere you like …”

Andrew bent his head and kissed her hand.

She heard a low cough in the pew behind her. She glanced behind her. Then looked again as time suddenly froze.

Roark.

He was sitting behind her, looking straight at her. Wearing a black shirt, a black tie and black pants, he looked more handsome and alluring and wicked than the devil himself—the only man who’d ever made her feel hot and alive. The only man she hated with every fiber of her being!

“Hello, Lia,” he said coolly.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out. “Emily said you were in Asia—said you wouldn’t possibly make it!”

“Haven’t you heard?” he said lazily. “I’m magic.” He nodded at Andrew. “Oppenheimer. I remember you.”

“And I remember you, Navarre.” Andrew’s eyes darkened. “But times have changed. You won’t be taking another dance from me.”

For answer, Roark looked back at Lia. His dark eyes tore through her and he really seemed to be magic, because with a single glance he changed the winter into summer. He ripped off her prim gray silk Chanel dress and she felt the heat of his naked body pressed against her skin.

Even after a year and a half, the memory of him making love to her amid the roses was as intense and sharp as if it had just happened an hour ago.

She’d told herself she’d erased him from her memory. But how could she, when every morning she woke up to those same dark eyes shining from her baby’s chubby, adorable face?

Ruby.

Oh, my God, what if he found out?

Fear stabbed down her spine. After nearly nine months of pregnancy and nine months of her baby’s infancy she’d thought they were finally safe. That Roark would never come back to New York. He would never find out she’d had his baby.

Everyone in society believed that Ruby was the count’s posthumous child—a miracle born nine months after his death. She couldn’t disgrace Giovanni’s memory now or give the man she hated any reason to interfere in their lives!

“You are more beautiful than ever,” he said.

“I hate you,” she replied, turning away.

She heard him give a low, sensual laugh in reply, and a tremble went through her.

What was he doing here?

What did he want?

How long would he stay?

He’s just here for the wedding, she told herself. He’s not here for me.

But the way he’d looked at her …

It had been like a Viking looking at a long-sought treasure he’d come to plunder. He’d looked at her as if he intended to possess her. To make her moan and writhe beneath him again and again until Lia’s senses sucked her under and she screamed with the intensity of her unwilling pleasure….

The harpist began to play the bridal music and all the guests stood in the pews, craning their heads to see the bride at the end of the aisle.

Lia’s knees trembled beneath her as she stood. She watched as Emily, luminous in her white tulle bridal gown and veil, walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. Their faces were beaming.

Emily deserved happiness, Lia thought. For the past two years, Emily Saunders had been more than a secretary for her park trust foundation—she’d become a close friend.

But even as she smiled encouragingly at Emily, Lia couldn’t stop feeling Roark’s presence behind her.

His warmth.

His heat.

He stood behind Lia with nothing but the polished wood pew between them. She could have touched him by lifting her hand a few inches. But she didn’t have to touch him to feel him all over.

She felt Roark’s nearness as she sat back down on the pew next to Andrew. Felt it as the minister performed the wedding ceremony. Felt it as the bride and groom kissed, then rushed happily from the cathedral, their faces glowing with joy.

Watching them leave, starting their new lives together, Lia suddenly felt a pain in her heart.

She was happy for Emily, she truly was. But their love only made her feel more alone. She wanted love like that. She wanted to give her precious baby daughter the family she deserved. A loving home. An adoring father.

Better to have no father than a cold-hearted bastard like Roark Navarre, she told herself fiercely. If he found out she’d had his baby, what would he do? Demand to spend time with Ruby, barging in on their lives? Use custody of her precious daughter as a weapon against her? Introduce their child to an endless succession of his temporary girlfriends and one-night-stands?

He’d already destroyed Lia’s parents and sister. She wouldn’t give him the opportunity to destroy her baby’s life, as well.

She couldn’t let him find out about Ruby. Especially since Roark, of all people, would know the baby couldn’t possibly be Giovanni’s child!

Andrew took Lia’s limp hand and led her out into the aisle, moving from the pews with the other departing guests. She saw Roark and sudden cowardice shook her. She ducked behind Andrew’s slender frame.

Roark stepped in front of them. His dark eyes looked past Andrew, seeking hers with unerring force. “I’ll walk with you to the reception, Lia.”

“Back off, Navarre,” Andrew said. “Can’t you see she’s with me?”

“Is that true?” he said, still looking down at her. “Are you with him?”

She’d been dating Andrew for several months now, and all he’d done was kiss her hand and her cheek. He’d wanted to do more, but she hadn’t allowed it. She kept hoping she’d want him to kiss her, that she’d feel some kind of passion. She knew he’d make a good husband. A good father. He was exactly what she and Ruby needed.

Except he wasn’t.

Lia swallowed. “Yes, I’m with Andrew.” She clasped the older man’s hand more tightly. “So if you’ll excuse us …”

Somewhat to her surprise, Roark let them go. But her breathing had barely returned to normal at the reception held at the Cavanaugh Hotel two blocks away, before she saw him watching her across the ballroom. The same hotel ballroom, decorated with white twinkling lights. But now red poinsettias and green Christmas trees decorated the festive room. She held Andrew’s hand as the just-married couple were introduced to their guests. Sat with him as dinner was served. He squeezed her fingers as they watched Emily and Nathan share their first dance as a married couple.

And all Lia could think about was the last time she’d been in this ballroom. The man who had kissed her then. Who was here again now.

I shouldn’t be holding Andrew’s hand like this. Not when she couldn’t stop thinking about the dark, dangerous man watching her. The man she hated.

The man she desperately wanted.

“Would you like to dance?” Andrew asked, and Lia nearly jumped. Even holding his hand, she’d nearly forgotten he was there. Not trusting her voice, she nodded and allowed him to escort her onto the dance floor.

Every moment she felt Roark watching her. Wanting her. Intending to have her.

The orchestra started to play the next song, and her heart jumped in her chest as she recognized the opening notes of “At Last,” the same song she and Roark had shared during the Black and White Ball, the song that had played the first time Roark had kissed her on the dance floor in front of everyone.

How many men would have been so bold? So ruthless, to want a woman and just kiss her?

She felt Roark’s dark hungry gaze watching her from the edge of the dance floor, and she knew he was remembering it, as well. Her cheeks went hot. She stopped on the dance floor even as other couples whirled around them.

“What’s wrong, Lia?” Andrew asked with concern. “You look ill.”

She backed away. Everything felt so confused. “I’m just feeling a little dizzy,” she whispered, her teeth chattering. “I need some air.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No. I need a minute—alone.” She turned and ran, desperate to make it out of the ballroom and out of the hotel long enough for a few deep cold breaths. She needed to feel the wintry air to cool her hot cheeks and freeze her heart to the way it was before Roark had returned to New York.

But she was only halfway down the hallway before Roark was upon her. He pushed her into a broom closet. He shut the door with a bang, locking out the world behind them, cloaking the small room in darkness.

“Roark,” she gasped. “We can’t—”

“Have you slept with him?” he demanded tersely.

“Who?” she gasped.

“That old man,” he said harshly. “And all the others who lust after you. How many men have you taken to your bed since I left you?”

She stiffened. “It’s none of your damned business—”

“Answer me!” His hands gripped her shoulders painfully in the darkness. “Have you given yourself to any other man?”

“No!” she cried, twisting beneath his hands. “But I wish I had. I wish I’d slept with a dozen men, a hundred, to get the memory of your touch off my skin—”

He pulled her against him with a hard, unyielding kiss. His hands moved over her silk dress, caressing her backside as he crushed her breasts against the hard muscle of his chest.

Her skin sizzled where he touched. A soft whisper of a moan escaped Lia as she felt her bones melt and her body turn to butter in his arms.

CHAPTER NINE

HAD she ever wanted anyone like this?

Ever wanted anything like this?

As he kissed her, plundering her lips with insatiable hunger, Lia wanted more. She reached her arms over his shoulders and gripped him to her. She could hear the rush of blood in her ears as he flicked his tongue against hers, kissing her deeper still. She felt the strength of his body in the darkness and felt as if she was floating. Flying. Every inch of her body was tense with the agony of longing.

She wanted him so badly, she thought she’d die if he stopped kissing her now….

“I can’t take this, Lia.” She felt Roark’s ragged breath against her skin, the roughness of his cheek against her own. “I can’t take being without you.”

Her breasts were tight, her nipples taut against his chest. His every move caused a new explosion of her nerve endings in her breasts and between her thighs. She felt him hard and ready for her. She closed her eyes in the darkness, swaying against him with a quick, shallow intake of breath.

She felt as if she’d been sleeping her whole life. Waiting for this—only this. Her whole body was exploding like fire.

She’d been waiting for Roark since the day she was born.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he said hoarsely. “Just mine.”

Lia’s eyes flew open.

Oh, my God, what was she doing in Roark’s arms? Allowing him to touch her—allowing him to kiss her in a broom closet? Had she lost her mind? With Andrew still waiting for her in the wedding reception down the hall!