He cut her off with a hungry kiss. His lips were hot and tight on hers, bruising her, searing her tongue with his own. The more she tried to resist his embrace, the more forcefully he convinced her. Mastering her. Enslaving her. Until her hatred changed to furious passion and the unyielding force of mutual need.

She wrapped her hands up around his back, kissing him with all the pent-up anger and longing of the past eighteen months.

“I hate you,” she whispered against his mouth. “I hate you so much.”

“I’m tired of wanting you. Tired of hungering for what I can’t have.” His voice was a deep whisper in the darkness. The stubble on his chin was rough against her skin. “I’ve spent the past year trying to forget how your body felt against mine. Hate me all you want. But I’m still going to have you.”

He slowly kissed down her throat, moving his hands over her breasts, over the silky smoothness of her shirtdress.

Then she felt him fall to his knees in front of her. For a moment he didn’t touch her, and she felt adrift in the darkness; then she felt his strong hands moving slowly past her knee-high black boots, up her bare thighs.

She trembled and shook. “Roark … what are you …?”

“Shhh.”

He stroked the outside of her legs to the curve of her hips. He ran his fingertips along the lace edge of her silken panties. He lifted her skirt. She felt his hot breath on the inside of her thighs.

“Roark,” she gasped.

He moved forward to kiss and lick her thighs. Then his kisses climbed higher. He moved his hand over her panties, cupping her, stroking the moistening spot between her legs. He kissed her through the sliver of fabric, pulling at the silk gently with his teeth.

She sucked in her breath. He yanked her underwear to the floor, rolling it like a whisper down her legs. He reached between her naked thighs, stroking her with his fingers until she was sopping wet.

Then he took his first taste of her.

She gasped, arching her back against the wall of the broom closet. She gripped his shoulders.

“You can’t … we mustn’t—”

But he didn’t listen. He didn’t stop.

Holding her firmly, he pressed her legs apart, lifting her knee over his shoulder. He tipped her body back against the wall. She felt his hot breath between her legs.

Her breath came in short, shallow gasps as she trembled.

“No,” she whimpered, even as she involuntarily arched to meet his mouth.

He leaned forward and took a long, deep taste between her legs, at the same moment thrusting a thick finger inside her. She writhed against the wall, flinging her head from side to side as he held her.

“You’re so sweet,” he whispered. “Like sugar.”

Spreading her wide with his fingers, he lapped her with a full stroke of his tongue. She cried and gasped, but he didn’t let her go.

Pleasure ripped through her body, making her nipples into hard, aching peaks. He reached one hand up to squeeze her breast; with his other, he thrust two fingers inside her, teasing her as he swirled her sensitive nub with his tongue, leaving her wet as she twisted beneath his mouth, sobbing for release.

“Please,” she cried. “No more …”

“Say you’re mine,” he whispered. She felt him push another finger inside her, swirling her harder and faster with his tongue until she twined her hands through his hair, pulling him closer still.

“I’m … yours,” she sobbed.

He nibbled and sucked and thrust inside. She threw her head back with one loud, final shriek as the darkness all around her burst into sudden vibrant color….

“Hello?” a man’s voice said tremulously. “Lia? Are you in there?”

As she still panted for breath, struggling to regain control of her wildly flailing senses, she watched with horror as the broom closet door started to open!

She stumbled down off Roark’s shoulders and he rose unsteadily to his feet. She pushed down her dress. And blinked in the bright light as she saw Andrew standing in the doorway.

“Lia?” He looked in shock at Roark. “What are you doing in here?”

“I took the dance from you,” he replied coolly.

With a sob, Lia stepped forward. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Andrew. I am so sorry. Forgive me.”

She saw him blink hard, take a deep breath. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, Lia.” He swallowed. “I see now that you will never be happy with me.”

“Andrew—”

“Good-bye, Lia. Good luck.” Turning away, he paused in the doorway. She heard him say quietly over his shoulder, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

And he left, closing the door behind him.

Lia stared after him in horror.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

“It was inevitable.” Roark wrapped his arms around her waist, turning her to face him. “It’s best for him to know the truth.”

“The truth? You mean that I have no self-control?” She gave a harsh, bitter laugh, then shook her head. Her throat hurt. Her whole body hurt with the shame of what she’d done. What she’d let Roark do to her. “Why do you keep doing this to me? Why do I let you?”

“I’ll tell you why.” He stroked her cheek. His voice was dark and deep, mesmerizing in its power and intensity. “Because you want to belong to me.”

CHAPTER TEN

ROARK’S words still haunted her as she got dressed for work in her town house the next morning. Lia glanced at herself in the mirror of her elegant, solitary bedroom. Just remembering what he’d done to her last night caused her hands to shake as she buttoned her sleek Armani jacket. Her dark hair was swept up in a glossy chignon, and with her black suit, dark-patterned stockings and high-heeled boots, she looked like any capable businesswoman heading to work.

Only the dark hollows beneath Lia’s eyes gave away the truth.

She hadn’t slept at all last night. She’d fled that broom closet like the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels. She’d run from the wedding without even saying farewell to Emily or wishing her joy as a married woman. Instead Lia had scrambled headlong from the hotel, flagging down a taxi with the same panic she’d had at the Black and White Ball eighteen months earlier.

What was it about Roark Navarre that turned her into such a coward?

“Yes, a coward,” she said accusingly to the outwardly serene woman in the mirror. “A total fraud.”

She could still feel Roark’s hands on her body. Could still feel his hot breath, the sleek possessive force of his tongue. She looked again at her face. Her cheeks had turned red.

She hated him.

But that didn’t stop her from wanting him.

What was wrong with her? Knowing what he’d done to her family, knowing the kind of man he was, how could she possibly want him? And yet she did. She had absolutely no self-control where he was concerned.

Thank God she’d never see him again. Now that Emily and Nathan were on their way to their honeymoon the Caribbean, Roark would go back to Asia. Lia hoped he was already halfway over the Pacific on his private plane, on his way to some remote country, never to return. Then she could never again be tempted by the most selfish, arrogant, devastating man she’d ever met.

And he would never know she’d had his baby.

She rubbed her hands against her temples. He must never know. And the only way to make sure she kept her secret was to stay away from him. She no longer trusted herself when he was around. Madness seized her. She’d already surrendered her body; what would keep her from giving up her secrets? Just thinking of the way she’d let him rip off her underwear in the broom closet last night, lifting her thigh over his shoulder to lick and thrust inside her with his tongue …

She shivered, then clenched her fists. She’d been weak. And poor Andrew had been hurt as a result.

She’d already sent Andrew a note of apology. She realized now that their relationship would never have worked, but the thought of how it had ended still made her blush with shame.

Lia heard her baby laugh from the kitchen downstairs. In spite of everything, her heart lightened at the sound. Hurrying from her bedroom and down the stairs, she found Ruby enjoying an extremely messy breakfast in her high chair. Her nanny was unloading the dishwasher, putting the china away in the cupboard as she made silly faces to make the baby laugh.

“Good morning, Mrs. O’Keefe.”

“Good morning, Countess,” the plump, kindly woman replied with an Irish lilt.

“And good morning to you, Ruby,” Lia said, wiping a clump of strained peaches off her chubby cheeks tenderly. “And how are you enjoying your breakfast this morning?”

Ruby gurgled at her happily, waving a spoon.

Lia kissed the baby’s forehead, feeling a wave of love. As always, she hated the thought of leaving her daughter, even for just a few hours. Even for such a good cause.

“She’ll be fine, my dear.” Mrs. O’Keefe said with a smile. She leaned forward to tickle the baby’s tummy through her pajamas, making the baby shriek with glee. The capable Irish widow had cared for them since before Ruby was born, watching over the whole household as if they were her own daughter and granddaughter. “We’ll have a lovely morning, reading stories and playing with blocks, then her morning nap. You’ll be gone such a short time. She won’t even miss you.”

“I know,” Lia said numbly. Ruby would be fine. It was Lia who always had a hard time. “It’s just that I was already away from her for the wedding last night …”

Mrs. O’Keefe patted her shoulder. “I’m glad you got out. About time, I think. Your husband was a good man. I mourned my own, as well. But you’ve been mourning him long enough. The count wouldn’t have wanted you to take on so. You’re a beautiful young woman with a wee baby. You deserve a night out for a bit of fun.”

A bit of fun? Lia thought of Roark pressing her legs apart, his hot breath on her thighs. The feel of his tongue as he tasted her.

Her whole body trembled as she tried to push the memory away. It’s over, she told herself desperately. He’s gone. I’ll never see him again.

But she couldn’t stop trembling.

She’d spent ten years being faithful to Giovanni in a marriage of companionship. After his death, she’d found out she was pregnant with Roark’s child and she’d never had the chance—or the inclination—to sow any more wild oats. She was twenty-nine years old and she’d had only one sexual experience in her whole life. Only one lover.

Roark.

No wonder he held such power over her.

Lia’s hands shook as she put on her white wool overcoat with the princess-style collar. Even hating him, she couldn’t resist. This fire for Roark had burned inside her for far too long, unstoked but hot beneath the ash.

Her only hope was to never see him again.

Lia put on her white gloves and scarf, then hugged her peaches-happy baby. “I’ll be back before noon.”

“No hurry, love,” Mrs. O’Keefe said placidly. “She’ll likely sleep till two.”

Picking up her Chanel handbag in her gloved hands, Lia gave her daughter one last kiss, then took a deep breath and left. As she came out of her town house she looked up at the acres of empty space on the other side of the street.

She’d bought this new town house last year because of the location. No one had understood why she would want to live in the Far West Side of Manhattan, away from the more exclusive Upper East Side where most of her friends lived; but this was the only place in the city that made her feel a sense of home.

Her sister’s unfinished park was across the street, holding the silence of winter in the snowy, sparkling morning. The railyards and broken-down warehouses had been cleared. The park waited breathlessly for spring, when the frozen earth beneath the snow would soften and warm, and grass, flowers and trees could be planted. The Valentine’s Day fund-raiser would pay for much of that.

“Good morning.”

She nearly jumped when she saw Roark standing at the bottom of her town house steps. Seeing him was like seeing a ghost. She’d already decided he was long gone, on his private plane flying across the Pacific.

She swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

His dark eyes gleamed as he looked at her, and she felt her heart quicken and pound, making her cheeks hot. Making her hot all over. “Waiting for you.”

He came up the steps and took her hand. Even through her gloves she felt his touch sear her skin, his heat causing sparks all over her body.

“I thought you were going back to Asia,” she whispered.

His gaze traced her hungrily. “Not till this afternoon.”

She’d been so sure he was gone. But now, with his hand holding hers, all she could think about was how glad she was to see him, how intoxicating it was to be near him again.

Then she remembered Ruby.

Her sweet laughing baby, eating peaches and rice cereal in her town house. Lia glanced behind her, then clenched her hands.

She had to get Roark out of here.

“I’m on my way to work.” Ripping her hand from his grasp, she started walking quickly down the steps.

“I didn’t know you had a job.”

“I’m still doing fund-raising for the park.” Stopping on the sidewalk, she looked each way down the quiet street. “It’s not as easy as you might think.”

“I’m sure,” Roark said, sounding amused. “What are you doing? Looking both ways before you cross the street?”

“Hailing a cab,” she said, annoyed.

“You’ll never get a cab this time of the morning. Where’s your driver?”

“It was an unnecessary expense. I let him go when I had …” When I had a baby. She coughed, coloring. “Lately, I’ve been working more from home.”

“I can help.” Roark indicated the black Rolls-Royce that was waiting discreetly at a distance. “My driver can take you wherever you need to go.”

She ground her teeth. “I am not one of your floozies, Roark, waiting breathlessly for your assistance. I can get my own cab.”

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Go ahead.”

She looked first one way, then the other down the quiet street. A few cars went by. She lifted her arm as several taxis passed—all of them already filled with passengers. And she felt Roark’s amusement.

She glowered at him, reaching into her handbag. “I’ll call a car service.”

He placed his hand over hers. “Just let me take you.”

She swallowed as she felt his heat through her white gloves. Why did his slightest touch always have such an effect on her? “You’ll take me straight to work?”

“Yes. I promise.” He stroked back a tendril of hair that had escaped her chignon. “Right after breakfast.”

Breakfast? Was that a metaphor for a morning of hot, fiery sex? She licked her lips. “I’m not hungry.”

He gave her a slow-rising grin that she felt to her toes. “I think you’re lying.”

She sucked in her breath, tried to regain control. “I told you, I need to go to work.”

“And I’ll take you there. After breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” she whispered. “You mean breakfast at … at a restaurant? With food?”

“That is how breakfast is usually done.” His eyes gleamed wickedly, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. He glanced up at her town house. “Unless you want to invite me inside.” He stroked her inner wrist beneath her glove, making her tremble all over in a flash of heat. “I rather like the idea of you cooking for me.”

Swallowing, she glanced back at the town house, where her baby was playing with Mrs. O’Keefe. Oh, my God. At any moment, the widow could come out with Ruby for their morning walk.

She had to get Roark out of here!

She whirled to face him, ripping her hand away from his touch. Her eyes glittered. “If I made you breakfast, I’d dump salt in it, boxes and boxes.”

He gently stroked her chin. “You don’t mean that.”

“Count yourself lucky it wasn’t rat poison!”

His smile broadened. “You’re quite a woman, Lia.”

“And you’re quite a rat. Don’t ever try and push me into another broom closet. If you even think of—”

“No more closets, I swear.” But even as she exhaled in relief, he finished in a low, dark voice, “The next time I take you, Lia, you’ll be in my bed.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LIA took another sip of the fragrant strong coffee, rich with cream and sugar, from a tiny cup painted with pale-blue flowers and traced in twenty-four-karat gold.

The owner of the expensive French café sprang forward to refill her cup as she set it down, but she covered it with her hand. “No more for me, thank you, Pierre. I’ll just finish this, then go.”

The manager nodded sagely. “Oui, madame. Of course. But,” he said with a tsk, “we’ve missed Mademoiselle Ruby today. I hope she is well?”

Lia nearly choked on her coffee. She felt Roark watching her.

“She’s very well,” she managed. “She just … couldn’t make it today.”

“I’m glad to hear that, madame.” Bowing, he backed away respectfully.

“Who’s Ruby?” Roark inquired.

Lia’s teeth chattered. When Roark had allowed her to choose the restaurant, she’d picked her favorite place. She’d thought it would make her feel comfortable, that it would make her feel calm and strong enough to face Roark.

How could she have failed to consider the fact that Pierre served her and Ruby brunch every Sunday? He adored the baby. He always brought her little origami cranes which he made for her out of the linen napkins.

Rattled, Lia scraped the last of her syrup on the very last bit of waffle and stuffed it all in her mouth.

“Ruby’s a friend,” she mumbled. “Just a good friend.”

A very good friend indeed. The darling of Lia’s life, the cutest baby in the world, who’d just learned to crawl. Swallowing the lump of waffle, she stood up so abruptly that her napkin fell to the floor. “I’m done. Let’s go.”

Lia almost expected Roark to fight her, to insist that she stay. Or worse—to pick her up in his strong arms and drag her to some hotel room.

But he didn’t. He just paid the bill, took her hand and escorted her back to where his driver awaited them outside.

As the Rolls-Royce edged slowly through the mid-morning traffic, she slowly started to breathe again. Was it really that easy? By some miracle, would he leave her like he’d promised?

“Right up here,” she told the driver. Relief flashed through her when she saw the nineteenth-century building that contained her tiny West Side office. She’d made it!

“Goodbye, Roark,” she told him, opening her door. “Thanks for breakfast. Good luck in Asia.”

“Wait.” He grabbed her wrist. She took a long, shuddering breath, then turned back to face him. He looked up at her. “Invite me inside.”

“To my office? Why?”

He gave her a wicked grin that made her hair curl, that made her body feel sweaty all over even as her breath froze like smoke in the cold winter air. “I want to help you.”

“Help me?” she whispered. “How?”

“I want to donate money for your park.”

The same park he’d done his best to destroy? The colossal cheek of the man! Fury raced through her.

“You lying bastard!” she burst out. “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to believe you want to help me?”

He snorted, giving her a lazy half smile. “I think I can see why you’re having a hard time raising money.”

“Of course I don’t talk to real donors that way. But you’re not serious!”

His eyes met hers, all trace of his smile gone. “What would it take to show you how serious I am?”

She chewed her lip.

She did need donations for the park. They were still twenty million short, and it would be a miracle if they could get that much together by March, when the landscaping bids would be completed.

But getting Roark out of New York before he found out she’d had his baby was even more important than raising money for the park.

She could just refuse him, of course. But every time she’d run away from Roark, it only made him pursue her more. Like any dangerous wolf or bear, he seemed maddened by the sight of prey running away.

So what if she didn’t run away?

What if instead she gave him exactly what he wanted? Wouldn’t that make him lose interest? The only reason he continued to pursue her was because she didn’t want him. In a world where every other woman on the planet lived to serve him in every way possible, he must have found Lia’s hatred an intriguing novelty.

But if she’d actually wanted to be his girlfriend, a playboy like Roark wouldn’t have been able to run from her fast enough. Throwing herself at him would be the easiest way to get rid of him.

But … throw herself at him? The idea terrified her. She couldn’t do it.

She would just have to allay his suspicions, accept his money and then pray he would leave.

“Fine,” she ground out, turning away with ill grace. “You can come into my office long enough to write your check.”

“Very generous of you,” he said, getting out of the Rolls-Royce behind her.

He followed her into the building, up the rickety old elevator to the rooms on the third floor that Lia had rented for her foundation. There were two offices—one for Emily, one for Lia—and a front waiting room that held some chairs where their receptionist answered the phones.

The girl looked up breathlessly when she saw Roark. He smiled at her casually, and Lia could see the effect it had on Sarah. She gawked at dark, handsome Roark as if she’d never seen a man before.

For some reason it annoyed Lia. “Good morning, Sarah,” she said. “Do you have the preliminary list?”

“Hmm?” It took several seconds before the receptionist even seemed to realize Lia was with him. “Um. Right. Yes, I have it, Lia. Here it is.”

“This is Roark Navarre,” Lia said over her shoulder, as she headed to her office with the papers in her hands. “He’s here to write a check, then he’s going to leave.”

“Hello, Mr. Navarre,” she heard Sarah giggle, and Lia suddenly wanted to smack her. Sarah Wood was a graduate of Barnard with a degree in economics, but a single smile from Roark had turned her into a puddle of giggly femininity!

“Do you need a pen?” the girl was cooing.

“No, thank you, Miss …?”

“Call me Sarah,” the pretty blonde sighed.

“No, thank you, Sarah. I see a pen right over there.”

Lia stomped into her office, throwing down her coat, scarf and gloves across her leather sofa with a growl. She forced herself to turn away from Roark and Sarah and look over the names on her list. She’d need to call Mrs. Van Deusen and Mrs. Olmstead first. The old society mavens would take offense if she didn’t.

She heard Sarah giggle again. Grinding her teeth, Lia tightened her hands around the papers. If she heard Sarah sigh and coo over Roark once more, she wouldn’t be responsible for the consequences!

“Why do you have a playpen in here?”

Lia whirled around to see Roark in her doorway, staring at the playpen that was tucked in the far corner behind her sofa. Oh, no! Before Ruby had learned to crawl and developed an intense dislike of confinement, Lia had brought her to the office for a few hours a week. She’d forgotten the playpen was still there, filled with baby toys!

Roark stepped further into her office, looking around curiously as he took a pen off her desk. “Is it for Emily? You waste no time, do you? They only just found out she was pregnant yesterday.”

She wiped two beads of sweat off her forehead. “Emily? Yes. Of course,” she stuttered. “It’s for Emily’s baby.”

And it wasn’t even a lie, since the gorgeous, barely-used playpen would likely be moved over to the adjacent office after Emily finished maternity leave. Assuming Emily even came back. Assuming she didn’t decide to be a stay-at-home mom in a charming Connecticut house with a white picket fence, making dinners and ironing shirts for an adoring husband who loved her, making cookies for their happy, growing brood of children …

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