Page 23 of So Close

“Yes, actually, I do.”

I’m so sick to my stomach that I fear the burning gin and vermouth are likely to come up. Lily has reached up from a watery grave to seize both my son and my life’s work. I can’t have it. I won’t.

“Sorry I’m late.”

We’re all taken aback by the sound of an unfamiliar and startlingly high voice. It’s breathy, unmistakably sexy and unnervingly girlish.

Kane is instantly on his feet. Darius and Ramin follow suit, delayed by surprise. Witte, already standing, merely turns his head.

My eldest stares at his wife with such violent lust I fear for him. And for all of us. She has him spellbound. His siblings are all arrested with astonishment. Amy licks the inside of her glass.

My gaze returns to the lithe figure striding into the room, rising from the bloodred toenails to the sleek cap of glossy black hair. Her arms and shoulders are bare, the skin like flawless marble. Not a freckle or wrinkle mars that perfect flesh.

Her long, slim body is encased in black velvet, silk and lace. And she blooms like her namesake under the heat of my son’s ferocious regard.

All the tensity in the penthouse compresses into the library. I reach for my throat, massaging it with my fingers to ease the constriction.

Lily isn’t what I expected, especially considering how often I’ve studied her photo. Especially knowing my son as I do. He’s different now, but he was once so like his father. And like Paul, Kane would’ve been drawn to a woman of warmth and tenderness. I’m not that woman any longer.

Neither is Lily.

18

LILY

The manI once met on the beach in Greenwich and the man you are now are not the same. That was apparent the moment I woke in the hospital. You’ve become very different. Powerful. You radiate authority. You answer to no one. Your home soars above the rest of the planet’s population, crowning a tower that is the tallest residential building on earth.

You are the nexus of your world.

I enter the room casually as if I haven’t been eavesdropping since shortly after you began this family meeting.

The library is flanked by black built-ins filled with colorful volumes and massive windows at either end, one with a view of Central Park and the other with the spire of the Empire State Building. As I walk to you, I take in the fireplace edged in Calacatta marble and crowned with a large photo of a woman’s pale, slender back. An extraordinary tattoo begins at her hip and rises to her shoulder, a phoenix rising from flames. There are Blacklist lilies here, too, and they pair beautifully with the glossy bookcases.

It’s astonishing what you’ve accomplished in so little time, not that I didn’t expect it from you. You had a burning ambition, an unyielding drive formore. I’ve always known you were capable of forging empires. You exceed even that vision by building a mansion in the sky.

It seems we were both meant to rise from Lily’s ashes.

You stand unmoving and eerily beautiful, like a statue carved by an infatuated artist. A frisson of awareness moves through me. You are one of those men who exudes sex and ferocity from every pore. Your animal attraction is dark, hungry and too virile ever to be tamed. Your gaze is molten. It slides over me, touching me everywhere.

The lust between us snaps into stinging awareness like the flick of a whip.

I hate living as we have been, speaking to each other through Witte. You’re a stranger who avoids me, and without you, I’m unmoored.

Your family is silent as I close the distance between us. Standing apart from the others, you bring to mind a lion in a gladiator’s ring, facing off against united challengers. Witte serves as the referee and Rosana the spectator. Now I’ve come to stand at your side.

Who manufactured the myth of family being those who will love and protect you at any cost? Why are we told to forgive toxic behavior only because of genetics? Regardless, you don’t have to fight this, or any, battle alone anymore.

And in myriad ways, I’m more dangerous than you are.

I don’t know how or why you’ve ended up back in the nest with these vipers, but they’ll have to get through me to sink their fangs into you.

Placing my palm over your heart, I tip my head up and offer my lips.

Your left hand catches me possessively by the hip; your right cups my jaw with your fingertips at my nape. You exert gentle pressure to tilt my head to where you want it, then pause, your gaze sliding provocatively over my face. I’m breathless. The cherished dream of being in your arms with you looking at me just this way is coming true.

“As always,” you murmur, your smoky voice pitched low, “you’re worth the wait.”

Your scent goes to my head, as do your words, stirring my blood and breaking my heart anew. Your thumb caresses my jaw, and then you lower your mouth without haste as if you savor every kiss after so long apart.

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