Say You're Mine: Say You Will, #3

By Carrie Lomax

She's never forgotten her first love.

A scholarship to an elite university was supposed to be Olivia Davidson's ticket to success—one she never had a chance to cash. But she's found her own path, first through the military, now as an entrepreneur. She can attend her class's fifteen-year anniversary with her head high. Because there's one person with whom she has unfinished business…

She's the one desire he's ever been denied.

Ronan Banes thought he could be more than a replica of his bank executive father. Olivia sparked him to want more out of life. But the moment they met, she was out of reach. Now, Ronan has Olivia—and her company—in his sights. It's only a matter of time before he has Olivia where he wants her. In his bed. By his side. His, in every way. But his past mistakes could cost them everything.

They're not going down without a fight.

When Olivia won't sell, Ronan is prepared to engineer a hostile takeover. It'll take more than shared memories to keep them together—and more than a boardroom battle to keep them apart.

Standalone steamy contemporary romance - you do NOT need to have read the first two books in the series! HEA guaranteed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carrie Lomax
• Release date: Sep 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781732153141

Carrie Lomax

Carrie grew up in the Midwest, moved to France, then spent 15 years in New York City. She lives in Maryland with two budding readers and my real-life romantic hero.

Book preview

Say You’re Mine

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

SAY YOU'RE MINE

First edition. September 30, 2018.

Copyright © 2018 Carrie Lomax.

ISBN: 978-1732153141

Written by Carrie Lomax.

Say You’re Mine

Say You Will Book 3: Olivia and Ronan

Carrie Lomax

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Books by Carrie Lomax

Books in this series:

Say You Need Me (Janelle & Trent)

Say ‘I Do’ (Bonus Novella: Fiji Wedding)

Say You’re Mine (Olivia & Ronan)

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Also by Carrie Lomax

Trick or Treat Me: Six Hot and Humorous Halloween Novellas

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Twelve Nights of Scandal: A Regency Holiday Novella - December 2019

The Wild Lord (London Scandals Book 1)

Becoming Lady Dalton (London Scandals Book 2)

The Lost Lord (London Scandals Book 3)

The Duke’s Stolen Heart (London Scandals Book 4) - January 2020

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Find Buy Links at www.CarrieLomax.com

Say You're Mine

by Carrie Lomax

1

Olivia Davidson marched into New York’s Tavern on the Green like a general on a mission. Tonight, she was here to slay.

The thick carpet of the Tavern’s South Wing swallowed her footsteps as she strode between the mirrored walls with her shoulders back and her chin parallel to the floor—the way she’d learned to carry herself in basic training. The crystal surfaces reflected an infinite array of her, swathed in pale pink silk, complementing skin the color of old photographs and faded memories. Yards and yards of the stuff swished over her athletic body. Any bit of her body that rebelled with the slightest bulge or jiggle, she’d pulled into line with Spanx. Her soft black curls were pinned back over one ear, adorned on one side with an ornate gold clip. Matching gold clutch and shoes, check.

Olivia winked at herself, and every one of the reflected Olivias winked back.

Damn, woman. You look good.

A moment later she stopped at the edge of a room full of blinding glass-chandeliers-and- white-ruffled-curtains. Uncertainty leached her confidence away.

You might’ve overdressed.

Of course, she had.

In her mind, a fifteen-year college reunion was an excuse to dress up and mingle. To the Cambria University graduates from wealthy, powerful families—or those who’d managed to springboard into a new economic and social class—it was a glorified business meeting. And they’d dressed for it, in a sea of dark suits dotted with business casual button-downs. A few women wore colorful dresses, but nothing as fancy as the ankle-length gown Olivia had chosen. If she’d attended any prior reunion, she might’ve known.

Should’ve gone with the navy satin.

As if it mattered what she wore. A. three-thousand-dollar dress couldn’t make her feel as if she belonged with these people. What could?

She scanned the room, looking for any familiar face.

Such a liar. Not any familiar face. The only face that had ever mattered to her.

Ronan Banes. Since the powerful CEO of Dominion Financial hadn’t deigned to attend this year’s reunion, it was time for her to make an exit.

Olivia? Is that you? came a female voice, rising high with surprise.

Shit. Her escape route had been cut off, and Ronan wasn’t even here. Cambria University’s graduating class had been around five hundred students, and anyone who lived in the tristate area would be here if they could possibly make it. Ronan always stopped in, each year.

As if he’s looking for someone, the personal invitation from the head of the reunion committee had read. It had been hand-written and mailed to her offices in Alexandria, Virginia.

Um, Olivia searched her memory. The years had padded the woman’s hips, and added a few lines to her face, but it was the same person she’d met in freshman year. Chana?

The woman laughed, and the sound was reassuringly familiar. It drained some of her anxiety. Even if it was fake, Olivia would take the friendliness.

Heard you started a tech company that’s going to be the next Google? Chana prompted.

Olivia launched into her well-honed elevator pitch with relief. She ran a mid-sized company with thirty employees specializing in government IT contract work. Motherboard is hardly the next Google, but it provides a nice life for me and my team.

What she didn’t say, and never would to any of these people—I’m bored. The company is thriving. My assistant director handles the day-to-day. I need a new challenge.

You’re amazing. I always knew you’d go far. Chana’s attention snagged on someone else. Olivia followed the direction of her attention to a tall, broad-shouldered man. He was six- foot-three, easy, and stood half a head above everyone else in the room. The fine hairs on the back of Olivia’s arms and neck rose as if in salute.

Ronan Banes.

He stared at her as if he’d been waiting fifteen years for a glimpse. As if a decade and a half were a minute and they were meeting again after a few hours, not years. Olivia knew she was imagining it, but she swallowed against the hard knot in her throat. Her entire body tingled as Ronan’s eyes scanned down her figure. All the way down. His attention snagged on her waist, lingered over her hips and skimmed down her long, muscular legs like a physical caress.

His reaction made the expensive dress worth every penny. No one else here mattered.

She’d dressed for him.

I’m not the only one who remembers you. Chana followed the direction of Olivia’s gaze and winked. I always wondered if you two had a thing going. Even though you were married.

Olivia barely heard her. Ronan’s hair was the color of old money. Technically brown, it glinted like old gold. Blue irises striated with faint lines as if there were minerals to be mined, depth where Olivia wished there was only arrogance. It had been there fifteen years ago, and it had been compounded by time and success. Or maybe it was fool’s gold.

That was what she’d come here to find out. Who was the real Ronan? The one she’d known briefly before he’d betrayed her? Before she’d cut him loose? Or the aristocratic scion who dominated the financial news cycle?

As CEO of Dominion Financial’s investment arm, Ronan led a legion of global corporate raiders. Word was they used every line-skirting trick conceivable to drag companies onto his books and dissect them for profit, like a ghoulish eagle swooping down on unsuspecting prey. The headlines said it all.

Banes snaps up IBIS Financial. Banes bets big on tech.

Banes decimates automotive sector with a single sell-off.

Not that she kept tabs. As an entrepreneur, it was her job to be aware of threats. Her company, Motherboard, was too small to interest Ronan, of course, but Dominion set industry trends. That was all.

No, Chana, Olivia spoke after a moment. Ronan and I never had anything beyond Philosophy 101 class.

But Chana had already drifted away.

Olivia met his blue eyes and sank down. Cool assessment doused the high blaze of her sudden attraction. Olivia observed the faint lines at the corners of Ronan's eyes and mouth. Evidence of fatigue.

Zero pity. The man was the youngest CEO to ever head a global financial institution. The company had more employees than Luxembourg had citizens. With that many people’s livelihoods on the line, he’d better not sleep.

A slow smile pulled Ronan’s sensuous mouth up at the corners. A flush bloomed over her cheeks. A prickle of awareness spread across her chest. Olivia dropped her eyes to the carpet before catching herself. She hadn’t come here to play the submissive socialite desperate to snare him. She’d never been that.

Instead, she forced herself to meet his scrutiny with a knowing little smirk.

Ronan Banes represented every opportunity Olivia had given up, and her resentment ran as deep as her attraction.

Liv. Though he spoke low, his voice, smooth like good whisky, carried across the room. Olivia’s breath hitched. She acknowledged him with a terse dip of her chin. Ronan. I hear you’re living the high life.

He closed the distance between them in a few long, unhurried strides. I do well enough. I hear you have, too.

Make him come to you. Olivia knew she was being juvenile for indulging in a mini power- play, but with Ronan, she couldn’t help it.

CEO of my own company. I do all right.

CEO of Dominion Financial, though I suspect you know that. His mouth curved. I might not have made it to where I am today without working with you in freshman philosophy.

Olivia scoffed, but couldn’t stop her matching grin from staging a hostile takeover of her face. That class was awful.

It was my favorite class. Ronan’s eyes never wavered from hers.

Wish I could say the same. Olivia bit her lower lip to regain control of her features. He was such a liar. Yet with a few purred words, Ronan could make her abdomen go so soft that industrial-strength Spandex could barely hold her together.

He had this effect on a lot of women, judging from the parade of girlfriends at his side in style and culture magazines she skimmed at the hair or nail salon every few weeks. Ronan was rarely pictured with the same woman twice.

So, what made her special?

No matter how much they’d sparked, there had never been an opportunity to become more than casual friends, because she’d engaged in one stupid act of self-sabotage a few weeks before school started and gotten pregnant. Then married.

I have extremely fond memories of a certain classmate checking me at every turn. Ronan’s voice rumbled over her, a caress.

What would my life have been, if I’d resisted the comfort of familiar, friendly Derek? Olivia had come this evening to find out whether she and Ronan were still kindling and flame together—before she settled for someone else, now that she’d gotten post-divorce dating out of her system and was ready for her next relationship chapter. For her own peace of mind, Olivia had needed to know. Now she did.

Glad I could keep you grounded, she mumbled, feeling uncharacteristically shy. Now that the moment she’d built up in her head was happening, her nerves buzzed with a mixture of excitement and letdown. A little flirting, a trip down memory lane—how anticlimactic.

Among other things. Ronan muttered.

Olivia chortled. She’d forgotten how funny he could be. He moved close against her. Too close. The room was crowded, but there wasn’t a need for him to be right up against her side.

She caught a faint whiff of aftershave, new and unfamiliar. Along with it came a hint of Ronan’s particular, masculine scent. It surfaced a memory of bumping into him fresh from rowing practice and sent a shiver across the nape of Olivia’s neck.

Like what other things? Olivia’s tongue swept over her bottom lip. Ronan Banes, arrogant, charmed and charming heir to New York royalty, liked her. The middle-class, striving black girl from New Jersey, who’d been stubborn enough at eighteen to believe she could combine an Ivy-league education with motherhood and marriage. Her failure had schooled her not to take big risks without calculating the likelihood of success, and to have several backup parachutes just in case.

You’re empty-handed. Are you drinking these days? Ronan’s eyes glinted like the crystal chandeliers overhead, only warmer, not so piercing. In college, thanks to her pregnancies and age, Olivia hadn’t touched a drop. The age issue hadn’t stopped many of the other students from drinking—one more way Olivia had felt she didn’t belong at college.

Yes, sir, she replied. Sauvignon blanc is my poison of choice. Ronan raised one hand. A waiter appeared.

Olivia glanced pointedly around the room. Everyone else goes to the bar.

I’m not everyone else.

So arrogant. So confident. Olivia wished she weren’t a sucker for it, but she’d always found his cockiness attractive, against her better judgment.

Ronan took her elbow and maneuvered Olivia to a bar table with one stool. He pulled it out, casually considerate and quietly commanding. He’d always been able to do this—make her feel delicate and treasured. As a college freshman, Olivia had been a lanky five-foot-ten, pregnant and as awkward as a newborn colt. Yet each time they’d met in the library at Cambria, Ronan had pulled out her chair. He held doors for her. Ronan went out of his way to make her feel feminine, and Olivia did not habitually tolerate such empty gestures. Only Ronan could make it come across as genuine, polite, keen interest in her comfort.

I also hear you’re divorced. Ronan rested his elbows on the bar table that was too small for them to share. His mouth was inches from hers. Olivia caught a whiff of his aftershave, unfamiliar.

For the past four years. Olivia countered evenly. I heard you were married. Ronan’s eyes widened, mocking. Teasing. Didn’t think you followed my social life. I don’t. Olivia tasted the wine he’d ordered. Her tongue knew it was expensive the

instant the liquid hit. Mineral and fruity, without the sourness that could mar mid-tier wines. I saw a headline, years ago. You’re not wearing a ring. Is she still in the picture?

No. She isn’t, and hasn’t been for a long time. Ronan’s possessive chuckle matched the slow, confident stroke of his thumb against Olivia’s bare shoulder. I’m glad you came tonight. I’d hoped you would.

For personal or professional reasons? Olivia waited a beat. Nothing was ever simple with Ronan. The man always had an agenda. She’d learned that the hard way.

Both. He straightened abruptly and cleared his throat, cutting off the easy intimacy he’d created like a sorcerer. It’s a nice night. Shall we head outside?

Olivia cocked her head and shrugged. Sure.

In for a penny, in for a pound, and all that.

2

Together, they worked their way silently through the crowd. Olivia recognized a handful of people. A man who’d developed a second chin bobbed in a truncated hello. A woman, skinny as the toothpick in Ronan’s martini, flicked a curtain of dark hair and turned her back. Ronan’s ex-wife. Her eyes had gone wide and startled before she’d turned her back.

Simona Clarke. Olivia was of half a mind to greet her warmly, like the friends they’d never been. Her words were clogged in her throat, and the moment passed.

If Ronan noticed, he didn’t react. The whole room watched them move together, weaving as though in a slow dance. Outside, Olivia exhaled.

You’re imagining the scrutiny. Nobody here cares about you. They’re watching Ronan.

Let’s start with your professional reasons for wanting to see me, Olivia prompted, once they were out of earshot of the crowds. Now that the moment she’d anticipated for so long had come, she was jittery at the thought of going into her personal reasons for wanting to see him. Best to put it off another few moments while she collected herself. I’m wondering why you waited to see whether I’d come here tonight, when I never had before. You could’ve sent me an email. Or picked up the phone. I’m not hard to find online.

This is the kind of conversation that’s best done face-to-face, Ronan replied, fiddling with his drink. It was almost as if he felt as nervous as she was. But that couldn’t be right, not from Ronan, whose entire identity was distilled confidence.

Oh? Sounds serious. You could’ve called and asked me to lunch, Olivia replied, flirting shamelessly. She’d missed him. The wine was so good, she had to restrain herself from chugging it like the careless freshman she’d never had the opportunity to be.

Together, they worked their way silently through the crowd. Olivia recognized a handful of people. A man who’d developed a second chin bobbed in a truncated hello. A woman, skinny as the toothpick in Ronan’s martini, flicked a curtain of dark hair and turned her back. Ronan’s ex-wife. Her eyes had gone wide and startled before she’d turned her back.

Simona Clarke. Olivia was of half a mind to greet her warmly, like the friends they’d never been. Her words were clogged in her throat, and the moment passed.

If Ronan noticed, he didn’t react. The whole room watched them move together, weaving as though in a slow dance. Outside, Olivia exhaled.

You’re imagining the scrutiny. Nobody here cares about you. They’re watching Ronan.

Let’s start with your professional reasons for wanting to see me, Olivia prompted, once they were out of earshot of the crowds. Now that the moment she’d anticipated for so long had come, she was jittery at the thought of going into her personal reasons for wanting to see him. Best to put it off another few moments while she collected herself. I’m wondering why you waited to see whether I’d come here tonight, when I never had before. You could’ve sent me an email. Or picked up the phone. I’m not hard to find online.

This is the kind of conversation that’s best done face-to-face, Ronan replied, fiddling with his drink. It was almost as if he felt as nervous as she was. But that couldn’t be right, not from Ronan, whose entire identity was distilled confidence.

Oh? Sounds serious. You could’ve called and asked me to lunch, Olivia replied, flirting shamelessly. She’d missed him. The wine was so good, she had to restrain herself from chugging it like the careless freshman she’d never had the opportunity to be.

Ronan’s eyebrow ticked up and a half-smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. Your company is at risk of a leveraged buyout.

Olivia choked on her beverage. She caught a drop with the palm of her hand under her chin, and coughed. Unexpected.

I’ve been approached. Personally. It’s confidential. This was the best possible venue. I had a feeling you’d show tonight. If you hadn’t, I’d have been forced to track you down. I’d rather keep this conversation casual, though. Ronan shifted on his feet, his pristine, custom tailored suit moving with the subtle motion of his body. Olivia noted how the fine wool of his trousers clung to his narrow hips. The soft glow of string lights hanging above them emphasized the hollows and planes of his cheekbones. Thirty-six looked good on him. Not that she’d ever say it to his face. Not after he’d dropped an IED into their conversation.

I’m listening. Her heart slowed. It was a trick she’d learned in the army, how to control her fight-or-flight response. It kicked in automatically now. I’d have been forced to track you down. Shit, that hurt. More than it ought to.

Ronan made a little a-hem noise and stuck his hands in his pockets. He’d abandoned his martini on the nearby table.

Your company’s had an impressive string of growth. You have higher headcount than you need to do the work. You have long-term, stable contracts. Your success is your greatest weakness, Olivia, he said.

My employees aren’t headcount. They’re my colleagues. They’re veterans. A layoff would be devastating for many of them. Forget savoring the wine. Olivia gulped it, ingesting a shot of pure panic along with alcohol. The toxic combination spread through her bloodstream like a drug injection. Her trick to combat an ingrained fight-or-flight response stopped working, as if Ronan had flipped a kill switch on her control. Still, she’d survived plenty of high-pressure moments, and she’d muddle her way through this one as well. But this was not the way she’d foreseen this evening going. Olivia did not like to be ambushed. Cold tendrils of fear crept across her back, chased by heat as Ronan’s blue eyes roamed her face. Searching.

Ronan shrugged and broke eye contract.

Outsource the back-end work to cut costs, and you have exactly what an LBO investor wants: strong cash flows and a great management team. You have a board. How much do you want to bet they’d pressure you to sell?

Not very much. A year and a half ago, Olivia had taken on venture capitalist funding to take over her friend Trent Mason’s fledgling internet security business when he’d wanted out. In the process, she’d diluted her ownership of Motherboard. It had been a calculated risk, the only kind she ever took, and she’d planned to the penny how she was going to escape within five years. Though she retained right of first refusal on any stock sale, she wasn’t yet in a financial position to buy out the new investors she’d been forced to turn to when banks hadn’t offered enough funding at reasonable rates. They’d driven a hard bargain, and Olivia expected no loyalty.

Stella warned you this could happen. Stella was her mentor-turned-investor-turned friend.

There was a sour note to the wine after all. Olivia rose and left her almost-full wine glass on a white-linen-draped bar table. I appreciate the heads up, Ronan.

It’s not the only reason I’m glad you came tonight, he said.

Really, now? Olivia turned and peered over her shoulder. Bile rose in the back of her throat. He wouldn’t. Even Ronan must know he’d gutted her. Although, the man always had been careless with his words.

A tiny spark of hope Olivia had believed to be drowned, strangled, and otherwise destroyed, sprang radiantly to life. It was as if every hair on the backs of her arms rose at once to greet him. Her body begged for his touch.

Even now. Even after what he’d said.

And that alone was enough to finally behead the little spark of hope that had sustained her through marriage, through motherhood, over continents of lonely separation. Olivia knew in that moment no matter how she debased herself for Ronan Banes, he would never, ever deserve her devotion. He still didn't understand what made