Kasimir had been furious. For the first time, he’d yelled at his brother. How could Vladimir have done such a thing behind his back, when he knew Kasimir had made a fervent deathbed promise to their father never to sell their land for any reason?
“Don’t be selfish,” Vladimir said coldly. “You think Mom could do all the work of the homestead without us?” And the money had in part paid for their mother to spend her last days at a hospice in Fairbanks. Kasimir’s heart still twisted when he thought of it. His eyes narrowed.
The real reason they’d lost their home had been
Vladimir’s need to secure the most promising mining rights. What mattered: a younger brother’s honor, a mother’s home, or his need to establish their business with good cash flow and the best equipment?
“Don’t worry,” his brother had told him carelessly. “Once we’re rich, you can easily buy it back again.”
Kasimir set his jaw. He should have cut off all ties with his brother then and there. Instead, after their mother died, he’d felt more bound than ever to his brother—his only family. They strove for a year to build their business partnership, working eighteen-hour days in harsh winter conditions. Kasimir had been certain they’d soon earn their first big payout, and buy their home back again.
He hadn’t known that Black Jack Dalton, the land’s buyer, had put the land in an irrevocable trust for his child. Or that, as recompense for Kasimir’s loyalty, hard work and honesty, at the end of that year Vladimir would cut him out of the partnership and cheat him out of his share of half a billion dollars.
Now, even though Kasimir had long since built up his own billion-dollar mining company, his body still felt tight with rage whenever he remembered how the brother he’d adored had stabbed him in the back. Even once Kasimir regained the land, he knew it would never feel like home. Because he’d never be that same loyal, loving, idealistic, stupid boy again.
No. Kasimir hadn’t started the feud with his brother.
But he would end it.
“I’m the answer to your prayer?” a sweet, feminine voice said, sounding puzzled. “How?”
Kasimir’s eyes focused on Josie Dalton, standing in front of him in the library of his Honolulu penthouse.
Her brown eyes were large and luminous, fringed with long black lashes—but he saw the weary gray shadows beneath. Her skin was smooth and creamy—but pale, and smudged on one cheek with dust. Her mouth was full and pink—but the lower lip was chapped, as if she’d spent the last two days chewing on it in worry. Her light brown hair, which he could imagine thick and lustrous tumbling down her shoulders, was half pulled up in a disheveled ponytail.
Josie Dalton was not beautiful—no. But she was attractive in her own way, all youth and dewy innocence and overblown curves. He cut off the thought. He did not intend to let himself explore further.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve wanted our land back for a long time.” His voice was low and gravelly, even to his own ears. “I’ll make the arrangements for our wedding at once.”
“What kind of arrangements?” She bit her lip anxiously, her soft brown eyes wide. “You don’t mean a—a honeymoon?”
He looked at her sharply. She blushed. Her pink cheeks looked very charming. Who blushed anymore? “No. I don’t mean a honeymoon.”
“Good.” Her cheeks burned red as she licked her lips. “I’m glad. I mean, I know this is a marriage in name only,” she said hastily, holding up her hand. “And that’s the only reason I could agree to...”
Her voice trailed off. Looking down, he caught her staring at his lips.
She was so unguarded, so innocent, he thought in wonder. Soft, pretty. Virginal. It would be very easy to seduce her.
Fortunately, she wasn’t his type. His typical mistress was sleek and sophisticated. She lavished hours at the salon and the gym as though it was her full-time job. Véronique, in Paris. Farah, in Cairo. Oksana, in Moscow. Exotic women who knew how to seduce a man, who kept their lips red and their eyes lined with kohl, who greeted him at the door in silk lingerie and always had his favorite vodka chilled in the freezer. They welcomed him quickly into bed and spoke little, and even then, they never quite said what they meant. They were easy to slide into bed with.
And more importantly: they were very easy to leave.
Josie Dalton, on the other hand, expressed every thought—and if she forgot to say anything with words, her face said it anyway. She wore no makeup and clearly saw her hair as a chore, rather than an asset. In that baggy T-shirt and jeans, she obviously had no interest in fashion, or even in showing her figure to its best effect.
But Kasimir was glad she wasn’t trying to lure him. Because he had no intention of seducing her. It would only complicate things that didn’t need to be complicated. And it would hurt a tenderhearted young woman whom he didn’t want to hurt—at least not more than he had to.
No. He was going to treat Josie Dalton like gold.
“So what other...arrangements...are you talking about?” she said haltingly. She lifted her chin, her eyes suddenly sparkling. “Maybe a wedding cake?”
This time, he really did laugh. “You want a cake?”
“I do love a good wedding cake, with buttercream-frosting roses...” she said wistfully.
“Your wish is my command, my lady,” he said gravely.
Her expression drooped, and she shook her head with a sigh. “But I’d better not.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”
“Do I look like I watch my weight?” she snapped, then flushed guiltily. “Sorry. I’m a little grumpy. My flight ran out of meals before they reached my aisle, and I haven’t eaten for twelve hours. I would have bought something at the airport but I only have three dollars and thought maybe I should save it.”
Her voice trailed off. Kasimir had already turned away, crossing to the desk. He pressed the intercom button.
“Sir?”
“Send up a breakfast plate.”
“Two, Your Highness?”
“Just one. But make it full and make it quick.” He glanced back at Josie. “Anything special you’d like to eat, Miss Dalton?”
She gaped back at him, her mouth open.
He turned back to the intercom and said smoothly, “Just send everything you’ve got.”
“Of course, sir.”
Taking her unresisting hand, Kasimir led her to the soft blue sofa and sat beside her. She stared at him, apparently mesmerized, as if he’d done something truly shocking by simply ordering her some breakfast when she said she was hungry.
“You were saying,” he prompted.
“I was?”
“Wedding cake. Why you don’t want it.”
“Right.” Ripping her hand away nervously, she squared her shoulders and said in a firm voice, “This is just a business arrangement, so there’s no point to wedding cake. Or a wedding dress. I think it’s best for both of us—” she looked at him sideways, not quite meeting his eyes “—to keep our marriage on a strictly professional basis.”
“As you wish.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You are the bride. You are the boss.”
She swallowed, turning her head to look at him nervously. “I am?”
He smiled. “I know that much about how a wedding works.”
“Oh.” Josie’s face was the color of roses and cream as she chewed on her full, pink bottom lip. “You’re being very, um—” her voice faltered and seemed to stumble “—nice to me.”
Kasimir’s smile twisted. “Will you stop saying that.”
“But it’s true.”
“I’m being strictly professional, just as you said. Courtesy is part of business.”
“Oh.” She considered this, then slowly nodded. “In that case...”
“I’m glad you agree.” He wondered if she would still accuse him of kindness if she knew the truth about what he intended to do with her. Or exactly why she was the answer to his prayer.
An hour ago, he’d been on the phone in his home office, barely listening to his VP of acquisitions drone on about how they could sabotage Vladimir’s imminent takeover of Arctic Oil. He’d been too busy thinking about how his own recent plan to embarrass his brother had blown up in his face.
Kasimir had long despised Bree Dalton, the con artist he blamed for the first rift between the brothers ten years ago. All this time, he’d kept track of her from a distance, waiting for her to go back to her old ways (she hadn’t) or to agree to let Josie marry him to get the land (she wouldn’t, and he could go to hell for asking).
Kasimir had finally decided to try another way: Josie herself.
Until they’d met at the Salad Shack a few days ago, all he’d known of Josie was in a file from a private investigator, with a grainy photograph. Six months ago in Seattle, the man had tested her by dropping a wallet full of cash in the aisle of a grocery store in front of her. Josie had run two blocks after the man’s car, catching up with him at a stoplight, to breathlessly give the wallet back, untouched. “Girl’s so honest, she’s a nut,” the investigator had grumbled.