play area designed to look like a castle, dominated the room, and a cozy reading nook tucked against the window.
He breathed through the roiling heartache. He would call the moving company tomorrow and have them pack up and ship the contents of the room to Vera. She could give them to Allison or give them away, whatever she choose. He had no need for a child’s wonderland in his home anymore.
Rowan closed the door on the room that encompassed the heart of everything he had lost—the woman he had loved and the child he had wanted—and turned away. The sooner he returned to the reality of his single life, the better. He entered his kitchen. Stainless steel equipment gleamed alongside black granite countertops. A tray of fresh fruit sat on the island. He opened the refrigerator, kept well stocked by his housekeeper, but nothing in there, not even the cold cuts of premium deli meat and artisan cheese slices appealed to him.
He hadn’t managed to work up an appetite in over a week. In a panic, the Versace design team had to alter the clothes that day to get a better fit on him. If he lost any more weight, the directors would get on his case, but not even the unappealing thought of having to explain the situation to Jocelyn and Royce was enough to stir his hunger.
Perhaps all he needed was time. Hell, time was all he had now, and in abundance since he had cut out his weekly commute to and from Fort Lauderdale. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, snatched up his iPod and headphones, and strode out to the balcony, drawing the glass doors closed behind him.
Vera rang the doorbell again. She could hear it buzz softly on the other side of the door, but the door did not open.
Where was Rowan? She had seen him walk into the condominium. She had been no further than ten minutes behind him, but she had to set Allison down on a park bench for a few minutes to rest her arms.
Why wasn’t he answering the door?
Had something happened to him? He would not hurt himself, would he?
Panic made her breath catch. Vera snatched her cell phone out of her pocket and called Rowan. The phone rang, unanswered.
Oh, God, was something wrong, or was he just ignoring her?
She could live with being ignored—it was no more than she deserved—but she could not take it if something had happened to him. She pounded her fists against the door. “Rowan!”
Allison, who had been napping against Vera’s shoulder, awoke with a start. She glared at her mother. Her frustration from disrupted sleep welled up within her and exploded into a furious scream. “Roan!”
His headphone blasting music into his ears, Rowan tipped his head back and drained the beer bottle. He pulled it away from his lips and stared at it. How many would it take to get drunk?
Certainly more than he had in the refrigerator. A pity he did not have any hard liquor on hand. Several shots of vodka would have dulled his thoughts to the point where he could sleep through the rawness in his heart.
Vera flicked through his mind. He hurled the image away.
He needed another beer. Or two. Or three.
Rowan pulled the headphones away from his ears, tossed them down on the chair, and pushed to his feet. He drew the glass balcony doors back.
“Roan!” The voice was muffled, but the tone of imperious command was unmistakable.
He stared at the front door. “Alli-naut?”
Had his imagination gone crazy? No, it couldn’t be. He hadn’t had enough alcohol to be drunk.
“Roan!” the voice shouted again. She sounded even more irritable. He recognized that tone; Allison was on the verge of a meltdown.
He strode to the front door and flung it open. He stared at the woman and child standing outside.
Allison’s mouth, opened in anticipation of another scream, relaxed into a smile. “Roan!” She extended her arms to him.
Instinctively, he stepped forward to receive her but stopped short. Vera would not want him to hold Allison.
Vera closed the distance and transferred Allison into his arms.
The child flung her arms around his neck, smacked a kiss to his cheek, and then kicked hard to be let down. He obeyed, and she toddled into his condominium as if she owned it. He followed her with his gaze, because it purchased him a precious few moments to regain control over his emotions.
“When did you get into New York?” he asked, relieved by