The Ultimate Seduction (16 page)

He involuntarily tightened his hands on her. “Not here, Tiffany. Not now.”

She snorted, lashes quivering in a flinch, but it was her only betrayal of how much his deferral stung. He silently cursed, realizing he was forcing the taffy apple upon her.

“We’ll talk upstairs as soon as I can get away,” he promised.

“Mom and Dad are going back to Berne with the deHavillands first thing in the morning. They want me to come, so it would probably be better if I stayed with them—”

“Like hell,” he said through his teeth. She was so stiff in his arms, he thought she’d shatter if he held her too tightly, but the idea she’d leave him made everything in him clench with possessiveness.

She showed him her good cheek, the skin stretched taut across it. Her voice wavered. “You were so appalled at the idea that Dad would use my accident for his own gain, but the minute you saw an advantage to your own precious country, you—”

“Enough,” he seared quietly through gritted teeth. “Marriage is not something I take lightly. Even thinking of marrying you is the breaking of a vow I made to myself and a dead woman. You have no idea what it costs me.”

With a little gasp, she stopped moving, forcing him to halt his own feet. He looked down at her, as appalled by what he’d revealed as she seemed to be.

“Luiza,” she stated under her breath, lips white.

He flinched. Hearing her say his beloved’s name was a shock.

“Da,”
he agreed, nudging her back into dancing, feeling cold.

* * *

The air of thick tension surrounding them threatened to suffocate Tiffany, but she was a trained pony. The dance continued and her company smile stayed in place while all she could think about was the snippets of information he’d revealed about his tattoo, his lady liberty, his marriage to his
country.

The rest of their waltz passed in a blur of tuxedos and jewel-colored gowns, glittering chandeliers and tinkling laughter. When he returned her to their table, her parents rose with their friends, ready to take their leave.

“Goodbye, Ryz—” she began.

“Don’t even think it,” he overrode her tightly.

“I have a headache,” she lied flatly. “I’d like to leave.”

“Then we will,” he said with equal shortness. “Let me inform my team while you say good-night to your parents.”

Seconds later he cut her from the herd and whisked her up to their suite.

“You’re not making friends behaving like this, you know,” she whirled to state as he closed the door behind them. “My father won’t have your back in any arena if you continue to kidnap his daughter.”

“I know your father hates my guts, but you will not let him separate us. If you’re angry with me, then you stand here and tell me so,” he railed with surprising vehemence, yanking off his tuxedo jacket to throw it aside. “Do not put yourself out of my reach. That is the one thing I will not tolerate.”

Deep emotion swirled from his words at hurricane force, buffeting her. She unconsciously braced her footing, absorbing his statement with a wobble of her heart in her chest that left all the hair standing up on her body. It wasn’t fear exactly. More of a visceral response to his revelation of intense feeling. Her body was warning her not to take his outburst lightly. He was startlingly raw right now, and anything but taking great care with how she reacted would be stupid and possibly hurtful to both of them.

She could hurt him.

A reflexive shake of her head tried to deny the thought. His face was lined with grief, emotions he felt for someone else, but a glint of something else in the stark, defensive gaze stilled her. A strange calm settled in her mind despite the racking pain of being used still gripping her.

The suspicion he feared being wounded by her was so stunning, she could only stand there hugging herself, not knowing what to say.

She had to say or do something. His hurting destroyed her. It was particularly intolerable because it had its roots in his love for another woman, but as much as she wanted to sublimate that knowledge, a masochistic part of her had to know the details. It was like assessing an injury so she’d know how to treat it.

“Was...” She cleared her throat. “Will you tell me about her?”

He turned away to the wet bar. Glass clinked as he poured a drink, drained it, then refilled his glass and poured one for her. When he brought hers across to her, his face was schooled into something remote while his eyes blazed with suppressed, but explosive emotion.

“Were you married?” she asked in a strained whisper.
Did you love her?
She couldn’t bring herself to ask it.

“Engaged. She wanted to focus on winning the war, not planning a wedding. She was a protestor, an idealist, but very passionate and smart. I met her when I came back for my mother’s funeral. I was beside myself, ready to seek retribution, but Luiza helped me develop a vision that people would rally behind. She was the velvet glove to my iron fist.”

“You said she was your country’s icon. That everyone revered her. What happened?”

He brought his glass to his lips, took a generous swallow then hissed, “She was captured and would have been used against me. She took herself out of the equation.”

Appalled horror had her sucking in a pained breath, one she held inside her with a slap of her hand across her mouth.
Once you have paid the price of a loved one, you do not stop until the job is done.

She stared at Ryzard over her hand, brutally aware there were no words to compensate for what he’d just told her. She didn’t need the details. The horrifying end was enough. The truly shocking part was that he wasn’t twisted into bitterness and revenge by loss.

He was stricken with guilt and anguish, however. It showed in the lines that appeared on his face before he turned away again.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, reaching toward him.

He shrugged off her touch. “There’s nothing that can be done. We both know that death is final. Nothing in the past can be reversed.”

“No,” she agreed, staring at her mottled arm folded across her good one. “You can only learn to live with the consequences. And preserve their memory,” she added, feeling as though her chest was scraped hollow like a jack-o’-lantern. “That’s what you want to do, isn’t it? Achieve what she sacrificed herself for? That’s why you’ll do anything to bring peace to Bregnovia. You’re doing it for her.”

“I’m not the only one who lost people, Tiffany. I want it for all of us.”

She swallowed, understanding, empathizing, yet feeling very isolated. Her heart ached for him, but for herself, too, because she instinctively wanted to help him. Maybe he was using her, but as he kept demonstrating, his goal was noble. And she loved him too much to refuse him outright when his need and grief were very real.

She loved him.

Staring at the red flecks in the carpet between their feet, she absorbed the bittersweet ache that pulsed through her arteries and settled in her soul. Part of her stood back and mocked herself for having such strong feelings after a mere week and a half of knowing this man. Surely her mother was right and this was a type of Pygmalion infatuation. God knows it was a sexual one.

But when she compared it with what she’d felt for Paulie—exasperated affection and the security of friendship—she knew this was the deeper, more dangerous shade of love. The mature kind that was as threatening as it was fulfilling because it made her needs less important than his. It gave him the power to cripple her with nothing more than his eternal love for another woman.

“I told myself if I couldn’t marry Luiza, I wouldn’t marry at all.” He drained his drink and set it aside, turning to push his hands in his pockets. “Then I met you.”

And realized how useful she could be.

“I understand.” She fought to keep her brow from pulling.

“Do you? Because I don’t. It wasn’t a vow of celibacy. I’m not dead. I gave myself permission to have affairs. That ought to be enough. With every other woman it has been.”

A strand of something poignant thrummed near her heart. She tried to quell it for the sake of her sanity, trying not to read anything into what he was saying. In a lot of ways what he’d offered her was more than she’d imagined she’d ever find, so she shouldn’t be yearning so badly for more.

“I realize you have to look out for your country’s best interest, Ryzard. You’ve been very kind and supportive of me—”

“Oh, shut
up,
Tiffany. Looking out for my country’s best interest is how I’ve been rationalizing your presence in the presidential bed, but even that doesn’t work. Do you think I can use you in good conscience after Luiza
died
as a pawn?
Hell, no.
But allowing you to push her out of my heart would be an even greater betrayal.”

She could see the tortured struggle in him. He might never love her, not when to do so would mean accepting the debilitating guilt that accompanied it. Who could accept such a deep schism to their soul?

As she absorbed that reality, her breath burned in her lungs like dry smoke.

“But each time you talk of leaving for America, I start thinking about a length of chain about this long.” He showed her a space between his hands of two or three feet. “With a cuff here and here.” He pointed from his smartwatch to her wrist.

She couldn’t help a small smile.

“For such a sophisticated, educated man, you’re incredibly uncivilized. You know that, right?” She rubbed the goose bumps off her arms, trying to hide how primitive she was at her core, responding to his caveman talk like some kind of kinky submissive.

“Your parents have every right to be suspicious of me,” he allowed drily. “But it’s important to me that you know my intentions toward you are not dishonorable.”

That’s exactly what she had feared after overhearing her mother. It had gutted her. Meeting his gaze was really hard with that specter still haunting her.

“I don’t expect you to love me, Ryzard.” The words fractured her soul. “But I have to insist on honesty. If you’re really just with me because of my father, please say so and I’ll—”

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” he cut in impatiently, “but sometimes I wish to hell you’d had other lovers so you would appreciate what we have.
I
do.”

“Oh, well, let me just accommodate that right now.”

He grabbed her before she’d taken two steps toward the door.

“Gorilla! Brute! You’re hurting me,” she accused as she found herself bouncing over his shoulder toward the bedroom.

“Honesty, Tiffany,” he reminded in a scolding tone. “You just demanded it, and so do I. Lie to me and so help me, I’ll spank you. That is not a bluff.” He flopped her onto the bed and retreated to slam the bedroom door.

“You scare me,” she cried, sitting up. “Not like scared you’ll hurt me,” she protested with an outstretched hand, trying to forestall the outrage climbing in his expression. “The way you make me feel. I’m terrified you’ll stop wanting me. You saw what I was like before you came along. I don’t want to be that person again. I don’t know how to handle how important you are to me, or how horrible I’ll feel when this ends.”

The tense line of his shoulders eased. “I can’t imagine that happening.”

“But I don’t know how honorable
my
intentions are. I told you how I feel about living in the public eye. If it’s just an affair...”

She trailed off, distracted as he joined her, his big body crowding and overwhelming, sending her onto her back under him with the force of his personality, barely even touching her. She melted in supplication, slave to his authority and the tenderness in his eyes.

“This is more than an affair,” he insisted.

That didn’t allay any of her misgivings, but she wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. She rather wished she had more experience with relationships herself, but from everything she’d observed, she doubted anyone was truly confident with whatever sorts of relationships they had. It came down to trust, and as much as she wanted to believe in Ryzard, she didn’t have much faith in herself.

She touched the pad of her fingertip to his lips, tracing the masculine shape that so entranced her.

“Where do we go from here?” she asked, meaning emotionally, but he took her literally.

“I have quite a few appearances. I would like you to accompany me. Will you?”

Her heart stalled, but refusing meant bringing The End forward to now, and she could already see it would be horribly painful. She wasn’t ready for that, so she said the only thing she could.

“Of course.”

CHAPTER TEN

D
ESPITE
T
IFFANY
’
S
AGREEMENT
, despite the unflagging passion between them, she grew less like the cheeky woman he’d come to know and more like the chilly mother he’d met in Zurich.

Of course he was pressing her inexorably into her mother’s role. He couldn’t help it. The opportunity was too ripe, the timing at hand, and she was damned good at it. She stepped forward with a gracious remark when needed and backed off the rest of the time. No matter what came up or when, she accepted the pull of his attention with equanimity. If she didn’t like it, no one could tell, not even him. When he asked, she assured him everything was “Fine.”

A sure sign that it wasn’t.

But neither of their schedules had room for the type of downtime that had brought them together in the first place. She’d been up for several hours two nights in a row trying to resolve a problem with her firm. Now he’d dragged her to Budapest for an Eastern European conference. A black-tie reception opened the event, and her best makeup couldn’t hide the exhaustion around her eyes.

Still she smiled, always ignoring startled reactions to her scars or simply moving past an awkward moment with a calm “Car crash.” Then she would distract with a compliment or question, her warm manner disguising the fact she maintained a discreet bubble of distance.

So why was she currently clasping two hands over a stranger’s? Her expression was uncharacteristically revealing, not the cool mask she usually wore at these events. The man was older than Ryzard, somewhere in his fifties, but not someone he recognized. Tiffany was sharing deep eye contact with him, and her profile was somber.

He excused himself and crossed over to them, possessive male hackles rising to attention, especially when they both stiffened at his approach and lowered their gazes.

“Ryzard, this is Stanley Griffin, minister of international trade in Canada and my late husband’s cousin. Well, cousin to my mother-in-law, Maude.”

Despite the legitimate reason for familiarity, he used the introduction to extricate Stanley’s hand from Tiffany’s grasp.

They briefly chatted about his country’s mission to, “Do what we did with the EU here in Eastern Europe.” Ryzard expressed his desire to participate, but first he needed recognition so if that message could be conveyed to Canada’s prime minister...?

Stanley left with a promise to do so, but made a point to ask Tiffany, “Please stay in touch.” Once again, Tiffany had proved her worth to him politically, but her coziness with the man rankled Ryzard for the rest of the evening.

“You seemed very familiar with that Canadian,” he said later when they were undressing in the hotel suite. He was tired of being away and wished they were home.

Home.
Did she regard his country the way he did? She wasn’t happy here in Hungary, despite her expressed desire to see the country and her interest in this city’s history. He couldn’t be sure she’d been happy in any of the places they’d been recently.

“He was at my wedding. I didn’t remember him, to be honest, but he certainly remembered me. He started to tell me how much he loved it when Paulie had spent summers with their family, when the boys were young, and I thought we were both going to—” She clamped her lips together, then pressed a knuckle to her mouth, turning away.

Stricken by her edging toward breakdown, he moved to grasp her shoulders in bracing hands. “Shh. Don’t talk about him.”

She reacted with a violent twist away from his grip and glared up at him with eyes full of tears and betrayal. “Oh, that’s rich. Why can’t I talk about my husband? Luiza is right
there
every time we’re naked.” She poked two fingers into his chest.

Her hostility took him aback, as did the underlying challenge. He bristled, but managed to keep himself from pointing out her scars were an equally indelible reminder that she had had a life before he entered it.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t talk about him, but it’s obviously upsetting you so you should stop,” he managed, barely hanging on to a civil tone.

Her jagged laugh abraded his nerves, plucking his aggression responses to even higher alert. “Yeah, well, if that’s the criteria, there’s a lot of things I should stop doing.”

Don’t ask,
he told himself, but the elephant in the room had grown large enough to put pressure on both of them. A few weeks ago she hadn’t had the courage to go to the grocery store in her hometown. Today she was being shoved into a supporting role on the world stage. If she didn’t want to do it, she ought to have said so by now, but apparently that was up to him.

“You’re not happy in the spotlight. I understand that.” He removed his belt and flung it away, angry with himself for turning a blind eye to what was obviously damaging their relationship, but he couldn’t undo who he was any more than he was willing to have Luiza’s name erased from his chest.

“Stanley said Paulie’s mother was always jealous of my mom because she looked like she had it all, but at least Maude had privacy. All I could think is,
What am I doing? Why am I here?
” She lifted helpless hands.

“Tiffany, you’re good at this,” he began.

“I’m good at sex. Should I do that with every man who asks?” she snarled back.

He recoiled, shocked by her vehemence and scored by a remark that made it sound as if she only tolerated sleeping with him. “As I said—” The words ground from between his clenched teeth. “You shouldn’t do anything that fails to give you some level of enjoyment.”

Her fierce expression flickered toward remorse, before she collapsed in a chair, elbows on her knees, head in hands, shoulders heavy with defeat. “I’m sorry. I know better than to have this fight. It accomplishes nothing because at the end of the day, you still need me beside you.”

“I
want
you beside me, Tiffany. I don’t need you. If you’re feeling used then you know my feelings on that. I’ll achieve my two-thirds votes with or without you.”

She lifted her head out of her hands to stare at him, face like a mask, half of it tortoiseshell reds, the other side white. Slowly her flat gaze moved to the floor while her hands twisted together. She forced herself to sit upright, but her shoulders remained bowed.

“That certainly tells me where I stand.”

The ice maiden was back, causing cold fire to lick behind his heart, leaving streaks of dead, black tissue.

“I’m saying you don’t have to participate if you don’t want to. We can still be together. It doesn’t have to change anything,” he said rather desperately, sensing things slipping away without any chance to control it.

“It changes everything, Ryzard! What am I going to do? Sit in your presidential castle waiting for you to come home?
There’s
a departure from turning into my mother,” she said with a caustic laugh. “What else could I do? Follow you around but never be seen? That would be living as a recluse again. If you—” She bent her head to stare at her pale knuckles, but he saw the pull in her brow of deep struggle. “If we loved each other, it would be different.”

He couldn’t help his stark inhale of aversion. Marriage he might rationalize. Pulling his heart from the grave where he’d buried it next to Luiza was impossible. There, at least, it was safe from another blow of great loss.

Silence coated the room in a thick fog for a long minute. Tiffany was the first to move, swiping at her cheek before speaking haltingly.

“I thought my life was over, that I’d never be able to have a husband and family. I even reconciled myself to it and figured out how to fill my life with other things. I could live unmarried and childless with you, Ryzard. But you’re the one who made me believe I shouldn’t sell myself short. If someone could love me, if I have a soul mate out there, I shouldn’t settle for anything less than finding him.”

He clenched his hands into fists, trying to withstand a pain so great it threatened to rend him apart. She
did
deserve to be loved. He couldn’t keep her here to serve his passion while he withheld parts of himself. It would wear on her self-esteem. If he wasn’t capable of giving her all of himself, he had to let her go.

But the agony was so great he wanted to scream.

The weariness and misery in her eyes when she lifted them to meet his gaze was more than he could bear though.

“It’s time for me to go home,” she said gently.

He nodded once, jerkily, incapable of any other response. His throat was blocked by a thick knot of anguish, the rest of him caved in on itself so his skin felt like a thin shell, ready to crack and turn to powder.

“I’ll go make the arrangements,” her voice thinned over the last word as she stood and rushed from the room.

She didn’t return.

When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he went looking for her and came up against a locked door. He could hear her sobbing inside the bedroom, but he didn’t knock. He silently railed at her for shutting him out, but the truth was, he was close to tears himself. Drowning himself in a bottle of vodka looked like a really good idea.

Taking one to his room, he sat on the bed then left it untouched on the nightstand as he stayed awake through the long, dark night, willing Tiffany to come to him.