Page 98 of So Close

My mouth is dry. I want to scream, but there’s no spit in my mouth. He taunts me on purpose. My violent disgust arouses him. The more he hurts and debases me, the more pleasure he gets.

I take a drink, my shaking hand sloshing the wine in my glass. The cool liquid loosens my tongue. “Get away from me.”

Paul’s former partner just smiles and reaches for a lock of my hair. With a jerk of my shoulder, I prevent the contact. “Don’t touch me.”

“Aww … don’t be like that. We’re old friends.”

He leans in, and his smell makes my body convulse with loathing. All the images I’ve locked inside that deep, dark place come tumbling out. Lily loosened the lid; Alex’s voice, scent and scornful gaze pry it wide open.

Our hatred is mutual. It sprouted after he partnered with Paul. I was so excited in the beginning. They were a great team, both men attractive and charismatic, whip-smart and ambitious. They were going to disrupt an industry together, and our futures held so much promise. Alex’s wife, Ingrid, and I handled the entertaining and spent all our free time together. She was a statuesque blonde, and her daughter was just as golden. We once imagined Kane and Astrid might end up together.

And then things began to change. Paul attracted more recognition. I thought it might be as simple as his height commanding attention, as it does with Kane, but Paul was also at ease with himself, humble and humorously self-deprecating. He was less aggressive than Alex, more easygoing and fun. He began to receive more personal invitations than his partner. People tended to look at him when they spoke during business meetings and only glanced at Alex.

A few years into the partnership, the inappropriate comments started.

I’ve always preferred brunettes.

I like women with curves.

You’ve got beautiful lips. I bet Paul loves them wrapped around his cock.

Then came the touching – the hand on the knee under the table and the not-so-casual brushes against my buttocks and breasts. I had to avoid being alone with him and always remain at Paul or Ingrid’s side.

I didn’t know how to explain it to Paul. It wasn’t simple sexual attraction or even the weakness of coveting. It was a toxic stew of resentment and anger that Alex didn’t have the balls to take out on Paul. I was merely a stand-in.

And when Paul left me, alone and defenseless with Kane, I had nothing to offer in return for the Baharan name and the chemical patents for which Paul was directly responsible. But the newly broke and divorced Alex had ways to make me pay for all the insults he felt had been inflicted on him.

I’m still paying. And I will for the rest of my life.

His hand settles on my arm, and my entire body revolts violently. My arm jerks. The wine glass in my hand tips. The bowl shatters on the bar top, and bloodred wine spills in a river.

My body moves with a will of its own, rage burning through my mind in a fiery rush. He screams, the desperate sound horrifically inhuman.

Pain sears my fingers and palm. I instinctively yank my hand away from the source.

And gape, horrified, at the sight of the jagged wine glass and stem protruding from Alex Gallagher’s groin.

46

LILY

I wakebefore you and lie quietly in the darkness, watching you sleep.

You’ve thrown one arm over your head; the other drapes across your ridged abdomen. The sheet rides low on your hips and tangles around your thighs, exposing your long legs. The duvet is bunched between us. You sleep hot, radiating feverish heat. I sleep cold and need the weight of the blankets.

You are, as ever, a deeply seductive enticement.

I’ve photographed you like this before. How could I resist? You’re sexy and powerful, even in repose. Your body is masterfully sculpted, so perfectly defined in every respect. I don’t know how I survive your strength when lust holds you in its unrelenting grip.

You once said making love with me feels like dying, and perhaps that’s the reality. Maybe I don’t survive your love at all. Perhaps, like the phoenix, I’m simply reborn again and again.

La petite mort, my love. As you said, I hope I take my final breath in your arms.

It’s going to be a big day for us. The farthest we’ve been apart was yesterday when you had lunch on a different floor of the same building. Today, you’re going into the office to work, and I’ll be without you close at hand for the first time since I woke. We’ve jointly and without discussion adopted that measure of time: before I woke and after. At some point, you decided to focus only on the after. But then you’re holding secrets from before, aren’t you?

I knew once you had lunch with Gideon Cross, you would be drawn back into the corporate world you so blithely dismissed. The hunt is in your blood; the need to chase and taste victory. Your knowledge of self is rudimentary, at best. I hope to help you discover all your facets, appreciate your inner beauty and love yourself as deeply as you love me.

Your breathing changes. The even tempo hitches on a quick, deep breath. Closing my eyes, I feign sleep as you stretch, then turn toward me. I feel your gaze on my face and hear you sigh. Some nights, you sleep restlessly, and when you slide over me, there’s a frantic edge to your lovemaking. Do you dream of the years you were alone? I don’t know how to take that pain from you.

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