At the Brink Read online

  I panicked. “I can’t just go off and drop everything.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have jobs, people expecting me to show up.”

  “Tell them you quit.”

  “I can’t just quit.”

  “Lily, we’ve been over this. You won’t have the time and you won’t need the money.”

  “I might not need the money right now,” I said. “But what about later?”

  He frowned. “Later?”

  “You know, when you’re done with me.”

  “Done with you?”

  “You want to go through this efficiently.” I imitated the cold, detached tone he used when he talked business. “Remember that?”

  “Ah.” He sneered. “Are you that eager to get rid of me?”

  “I have to be able to support myself when you’re not around.”

  “Effective immediately, you can’t work Thursday through Monday and that’s final. As for this weekend, feel free to call your bosses and tell them you’re not available.”

  The thought of spending the next few days with Josh Lane was frightening. The thought of spending the entire weekend in his bed—terrifying.

  “I can’t fly,” I babbled. “I don’t have a passport.”

  “You won’t need a passport where we’re going.”

  “But I don’t have any of my stuff!”

  “You won’t lack for anything.”

  “But I need my toothbrush!”

  “I’ll get you a goddamn toothbrush.”

  Think, Lily, think. I tried to sound logical. “Josh, I can’t go away for the entire weekend.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”

  “I have to go see my mom, make sure she’s okay. The nurses will need instructions.”

  “The nurses have been given thorough instructions.”

  “But they don’t know that she prefers a hard pillow to a soft pillow, or that she likes sleeping with her comfy socks on.”

  “Lily, I hate to remind you of this, but the doctors agree that your mother is in a persistent vegetative state, so the pillows and the socks, they don’t matter to her.”

  “They used to matter to her, before the stroke,” I said. “And they matter to me now.”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll pass along the information.”

  The car stopped before a building adjacent to the main terminal. The driver got out. I was desperate. “I bring her new music every Sunday. I put on her headphones and I get her to listen. I think she likes it. I can’t be away on Sunday.”

  “You should have thought about that before,” he said. “I’m a reasonable man, but I expect you to abide by your word. You will see your mother as often as you wish, but not on my time.”

  On his time?

  The car door opened. He stepped out and turned to face me, offering his hand. I jerked opened the opposite door, stepped out barefooted onto the wet pavement and, ignoring the screeching tires and the horns of the cars that almost ran me over, marched out into the rain.

  “Lily!” He caught up to me in thirty seconds. “Stop. I said stop!”

  I didn’t want to stop, but my feet did anyway.

  “Turn around,” he said. “Look at me, Lily.”

  That voice. That tone. I had no choice but to do as he said. He stood beneath his black umbrella, untouched by the drizzle, composed and yet breathing a little harder. His eyes narrowed, full of anger, yes, but also something else, something I couldn’t identify, something close to...distress?

  “Are you, crazy?” he said. “Those cars almost hit you!”

  No, I wasn’t crazy. In fact, jumping out of the car had been the sanest thing I’d done all week. If I had an iota of sense left in me, I’d still be running. The problem was that Josh Lane had an uncanny effect on me. He was fog to my brain. I forced myself to take a step back and then another.

  He growled. “Where are you going?”

  “Away from you.”

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “I can’t—I won’t play games. You can’t come back if you leave. I mean it.”

  Anyone else would have needed X-ray vision to see anything but arrogance and contempt in the unflappable man who faced me, and yet I spotted something new in his eyes, a break in the ice, a hint of vulnerability.

  Had I managed to upset Mr. Cool? Had I somehow broken through Mr. Lane’s callous outer layers? And why was I feeling so smug about such a puny milestone?

  The dread I spotted in his eyes reminded me of the day I met him at the gala, of how I felt when I first saw him, of the way he’d stared at me after we shook hands, as if he knew me, as if he needed me.

  Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe it was me, clinging to the hope that he had some redeemable qualities that could account for the inexplicable attraction I felt toward him. Maybe I needed to justify Parkview and my newfound pragmatism. I didn’t know for sure, but the look in his eyes gave me pause to think.

  “Is it me you can’t stand?” he said. “Is the thought of being with me so repugnant that it propels you to run into the street like a suicidal madwoman?

  Part of me wanted to hurt him, to make him feel as cheap, common and worthless as I felt. The other part couldn’t resist the attraction that drew me to him like a fish to the lure.

  “No, it’s not you,” I finally said. “It’s your attitude bothering me. All these commands, no please or thank you. It would be nice if you asked. I’m not used to being bossed around.”

  “Do you think you could get used to it?”

  I actually snorted. “Only you would ask a question like that. Most men would say something like, ‘Okay, I won’t do that anymore.’”

  “I’m not most men.”

  No kidding. “You’re not very good at making up, are you?”

  “Making up?”

  “Making up, you know, after a fight?”

  The grim lines around his mouth relaxed. “Ah.”

  What an infuriating sound. It meant everything that I already knew. We couldn’t really make up, because in order to do so we’d have to be some sort of a normal couple—which we would never be—instead of two really screwed up beings bound together by a quasi-contractual agreement and a wild flare of chemistry.

  It also meant that whatever fantasies churned in my mind were fine with him, as long as they didn’t entail him changing his behavior. He was fashioned from a slab of granite and he wouldn’t crack.

  Still. “Do you have something you want to say to me?”

  “It might not be what you want to hear,” he said, cautiously.

  “Say it anyways.”

  “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “If you walk away, we all lose, Lily. Everything gets undone and we go from now to before.”

  It was such an odd, sad thing to say. It wasn’t “sorry” by any means and yet it felt like an apology. I knew at that point that all my bluster was for naught. I wanted my mother to stay at Parkview. I wanted to be free of Martin. And for reasons I couldn’t even begin to understand, I didn’t have the strength to walk away from Josh Lane.

  He stepped closer to me, bringing me under his umbrella. The sound of the rain pelting the silk covering echoed between us. His arm came about my waist. His hand rested on the small of my back, pressing me to him. He lowered his forehead, until it rested on mine. His breath brushed against my face, warm and gusty.

  The scent of him enveloped me, devoid of artifice or perfumes, strong but not unpleasant, blunt like his personality and yet wholesome—fine leather, clean soap, water boiling on an iron stove—the kind of scent one could get used to craving.

  “I can’t have you running from me all the time,” he said. “If you ever do that again, we’re done. I won’t come after you and the agreement will b
e broken. Are we clear?”

  It was an ultimatum. He meant what he said. I’d managed to really upset him, a most intriguing thought.

  “Lily,” he said. “I’ll make arrangements to have your choice of music played to your mother this Sunday and every Sunday you’re not available to do so.”

  Was I even going to last beyond Sunday? I had no idea, but I realized the gesture was as close as he’d ever get to an apology.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate that.”

  “You’re welcome.” He held his breath. “Will you come with me?”

  On impulse, I stood on the tips of my toes and planted a chaste kiss on his mouth. “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” He threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and stalked across the parking lot. “I really appreciate that.”

  Chapter Nine

  Josh

  I had just finished filing the flight plan and making last minute arrangements when I ran into Lisa Artiaga at the private passenger lounge. She wore a fitted bronze velour sweat suit capable of inflicting permanent retinal injury. Lisa’s outfit matched her dog’s, a Chihuahua peeking from the designer purse at her shoulder.

  “Why, Josh!” she said before I could dodge her. “What a coincidence. I’m on my way to New York for the weekend. Where are you going?”

  “Overseas,” I said.

  “What are you going to do overseas?” the nosy witch prodded.

  “I’m working on a project.”

  “Does it mean I can’t persuade you to come along with me?” She pouted. “Or perhaps you’d like to persuade me to come along with you?”

  “Not this time,” I said.

  “Next time maybe?”

  I mumbled a hasty farewell and turned my attention to Lily, who’d just come out of the women’s lounge. She was dry and properly dressed in the clothing Alice had delivered to the private terminal just minutes ago as per my instructions. With her hair up in a ponytail and wearing a pair of blue jeans, a plaid shirt and a pink Patagonia jacket, she looked pretty. Best of all, she also wore shoes, a pair of running sneakers with bright soles that matched her jacket.

  “Thank you so much,” Lily was saying to Alice as I approached.

  “No worries.” Alice handed Lily her business card. “If I can be of assistance, please, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thank you, Alice,” I said as she left.

  “She’s so nice.” Lily tucked Alice’s card in her wallet. “Everything fits. How on earth did you figure out my size?”

  “I just had to look at you.”

  “Is this a natural talent or a practice makes perfect sort of thing?”

  “Both and neither.”

  “What kind of answer is that?”

  “The one that stops the wheels turning in your head,” I said. “Come, the plane is ready.”

  The Gulfstream G280 was already fueled and ready to go. With a range of 3600 nautical miles and a long range cruise of Mach 0.80, it was the fastest and most versatile twin engine midrange, midsize jet in the company’s fleet. Configured for a maximum load of nine passengers, the large cabin sported six bucket seats and a sofa, providing ample room for comfortable travel.

  After introducing Lily to my pilot, Hugo Baez, I gave her a quick tour of the plane, pointing out the galley and the polished paneled door that concealed the head.

  “This is nice,” Lily said.

  “Sit.” I patted one of the bucket seats and buckled her seatbelt. “I’ll be back to check on you after takeoff.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you going to fly the plane?”

  “I need the hours to keep up my certification.”

  After running the checklists and taxiing out to Logan’s busy runways, takeoff was a breeze. We banked on a steep ascent, punched through the thick layer of low clouds and followed an initial heading of one-six-six on a south, southeast course. Above the storm that had been soaking Boston, the winds were calm and the skies blue.

  Once we achieved our cruising altitude, Baez and I talked for a while. He was more than an employee, he was also a friend. We’d met at the academy. We’d served together in Iraq and Afghanistan. We’d survived some dangerous shit. Baez was one of the few persons I trusted in this world.

  “I heard reports of an incident on the way over,” he said.

  “It’s all good,” I said.

  “Riker didn’t like it.”

  “Shit happens,” I said. “Why don’t you take in some chow and feed Lily too? She had a tough morning and I bet you she hasn’t eaten anything all day.”

  I liked Baez, but I enjoyed having the cockpit all to myself. Up there, I felt free, unfettered from the problems below and detached from the world. There were no protesters at forty-two thousand feet, no thugs, nutjobs, raiders, rivals, scammers, disgruntled employees, extremists or fanatics to ruin your day.

  My day had been a roller coaster. I had gone from the glory of receiving Lily’s video, to the bustle of making myriad intricate arrangements to whip Poe into shape and get WindTech ready to go, to the low of facing Lily’s possible loss when she balked at the airport, and back to the literal high of this moment.

  But the next few hours, indeed the next few days, promised to be better. It was time to collect on last week’s efforts. I told myself the trip was necessary to get Lily away from Martin and get things rolling. But that was only partially true and I knew better.

  The memory of Lily, wet and disheveled, standing on her tiptoes, planting a kiss on my lips made me smile. She didn’t know it, but the faint brush of her lips had jolted me to the core. If she only knew how little she had to do to make me ache with want.

  I’d been having flashbacks of the sights on Lily’s clip all day. God knew, it was the best movie I’d seen in a long time. In the cabin’s pleasant solitude, the clip began to roll in my mind again, only this time Lily sat where I had seen her last, in the Gulfstream’s leather seat with her seatbelt fastened securely around her naked waist.

  In my daydream, she looked out the window while caressing her nipple with one hand and stroking the shaded space between her legs with the other. She deepened her middle finger’s reach only to bring it up to her mouth for a taste.

  “Would you like something delicious?” she whispered.

  I nodded.

  “Are you hungry?” she insisted, but this time her voice sounded rough and low, kind of like... Hugo Baez?

  “We have some amazing chow back there,” Hugo said, strapping himself in his seat. “Chicken Florentine and chocolate cream pie.”

  Nothing as delicious as what I’d been daydreaming about.

  “I like her,” Hugo said.

  “Who?”

  “Your new friend, Lily. She’s pretty and nice. She’s not bitchy at all. She’s way above your regular fare. Have you told her?”

  “No,” I said. “And I won’t.”

  “But Josh—”

  “Drop it,” I said. “Did she eat?”

  “Like a pro.” Hugo laughed. “You’ve got to feed her more often, man. I opened a bottle of champagne for her. I think she liked it.”

  “Hugo,” I said, “did you get Lily drunk?”

  “Me?” he said. “Never!”

  I unbuckled my seatbelt. “I better go check on her.”

  “Try the Chicken Florentine while you’re at it.”

  I had a mind to try something else as well. All week long I’d been patient. I needed an outlet. Lily had put me through the ringer, provoking me with her reluctance. Now it was time to end all of that.

  The lights in the cabin were dimmed. A classical melody played in the background. Lily reclined on her seat, curled about her knees, sleeping. I ran my knuckles against her jaw. She didn’t stir. I tucked an e
rrant strand of silky hair behind her ear. She was out cold. Lucky for her, she was one of those people who slept deeply. I envied her this. A pleasant heat grew in me, watching her sleeping soundly in my plane, contained in my space, along for my ride.

  I spread a blanket over her and put away the champagne. Standing in the galley, I heated the catered plate in the microwave, downed the chicken in three bites and washed it down with a glass of milk. I was still hungry, but it wasn’t for food.

  Before heading back to the cockpit, I strolled through the cabin, leaned over Lily and, brushing her cheek with my lips, kissed the flat spot on top of her nose.

  “I’m going to let you sleep for now,” I whispered. “But only because tonight you’re not going to get any rest at all.”

  Chapter Ten

  Lily

  By the time I woke up, the plane had landed, but our trip wasn’t over. At some point while I slept, Josh had changed into a pair of blue jeans and a brown polo shirt that brought out his eyes’ whisky tones. He looked stylish and fit.

  As I followed him out of the plane, he donned a baseball cap and a pair of polarized Oakleys that accentuated his face’s lean lines. The sunglasses he handed to me helped with the glare, but they couldn’t disguise the obvious. He was hot. Any woman at the gala would’ve been elated to receive Josh Lane’s attentions. Maybe I would’ve been elated too, under different circumstances.

  After saying good-bye to the nice copilot, I followed Josh to the limo waiting on the tarmac. He was on the phone for the duration of the car ride, but I caught a glimpse of the sign as we exited the airport. I was in Saint Thomas, in the United States Virgin Islands, a place I might have dreamed about once or twice during the long Boston winters, with little real hope to visit. I almost squealed in delight.

  The sun hung low on the horizon. The air was warm and humid. I took off my jacket. As we drove through the island, the scenery fast-forwarded before my eyes. Lush vegetation, tall palm trees, tourists, stores and glimpses of a blue-green ocean paraded past like the trailer of an upcoming movie.

  I didn’t notice my phone ringing until Josh elbowed me in the ribs and pointed at my purse. I dug my new cell out, but it was the old phone ringing. It was Martin.