Loving The Lone Wolf. Ingrid Weaver

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      Although it was 2:00 a.m., the chandelier that hung in the three-story foyer of Stephan Volski’s fortified mansion blazed with light. It was a monstrous piece, heavy with crystal and studded with gilded eagles that were ornate enough to belong in a czar’s ballroom, which was where Stephan claimed it had originally hung. It was one of his prize possessions.

      Kelly shuddered as she passed beneath it, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor. She knew that Stephan regarded her and Jamie as possessions, too. Prizes to be polished and put on display like his gaudy chandelier. They were tributes to his ego.

      Sometimes she couldn’t believe she had once been naive enough to think otherwise. Could she really have been that young? Had the innocent woman she remembered ever truly existed?

      There was a metallic clunking noise from behind her, followed by a series of electronic beeps as the guard at the front door locked up and reset the alarm.

      Kelly kept walking. She knew there was no point looking back. It hurt too much. The only way out of this was to go forward.

      The door of Stephan’s office was open when she reached it. Her shoes made no noise here—the hand-knotted carpet that covered the floor was thick enough to muffle a scream—so she took a moment to observe him in silence.

      Despite the late hour, Stephan Volski was dressed in a light gray suit, his only allowance to comfort a slight loosening in the knot of his tie. His fine blond hair was neatly combed—he had it trimmed weekly. His elegantly handsome features and slender build gave him an air of sophistication. He appeared as harmless as a scholar as he bent his head over the papers that were scattered across his massive walnut desk.

      Four years ago she had been dazzled by his charm, flattered by his attention and so hungry for love she hadn’t wanted to see past it. He’d been her Prince Charming, riding to the rescue, sweeping her into a fairy-tale future. Their affair had lasted one month. By the time Kelly had realized that what she saw in Stephan was an illusion, a carefully cultivated veneer to hide the ugliness beneath, she was already carrying his child.

      No, not his child, she thought, curling her nails into her palms. Jamie was hers. All hers. There was nothing of his father in him except for the pale blue eyes. Her son was kind and loving and sweet and innocent and…

      Dear God, she had to get him away from here before that changed.

      Stephan rubbed his eyes and lifted his head. He gave an involuntary start when he saw her. He scowled and pushed his chair back from his desk. “You’re late.”

      When they were in private, Stephan made no pretense of affection toward her—he had moved on to other women well before his child had been born—yet it suited his pride to let people believe that Kelly was his.

      It suited her, too, by providing her with protection. Because the men she had to deal with believed she was Stephan’s girlfriend, they knew they could look but not touch.

      Her true relationship with Stephan was a combination standoff and balancing act. As long as he had Jamie, Kelly would stay with Stephan, and as long as she stayed with Stephan, he would demand that she earn her keep by singing in his club and occasionally helping him with his business.

      It astounded her that she had once thought his accent was romantic and his brooding silences were sensitive. How could she have allowed him to touch her?

      Yet Nathan Rand was a criminal, just like Stephan. How on earth could she have found Nathan attractive? Why hadn’t she found his touch repulsive?

      Dammit, hadn’t she learned anything?

      “The meeting with Rand took longer than I expected.” She walked past the fireplace with its carved marble mantel and gilded screen to the table that held an ornate silver samovar, another item that had supposedly belonged in an imperial palace. Moving СКАЧАТЬ