20
T
he spiral staircase dumped them into a room that under any other circumstances would
have blown his mind. Octagonal, with big triangular windows in each side, each with a different amazing view in the daytime. Gleaming wood paneling, a grouping of chairs and couches around a coffee table and a flat-screen TV, luxurious and understated and comfortable. A wrought-iron spiral staircase led up to a loft bed.
He went to the window, stared out into the night. The moon was peeking through a hole in the clouds, illuminating the undulating patterns of glowing white foam spread across the huge beach far below.
Lily wrapped her arm around his waist. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” It snapped out. Not what he wanted to say. It was just hardwired in there, popping out to shove away intruders. Like an alarm system, buzzing when it was breached. He could hear the gears grind as Lily tried to puzzle out how to manage him. Didn’t envy her the task. He couldn’t manage his own self. Why should she have more luck?
“I never knew my own mother,” she said.
Aw, Christ. He was in for it now. He clenched his teeth. “No?”
“She and my father tried for years to get pregnant. That was in the early days of fertility medicine. My dad did research in it, like I told you. My mom did seven cycles of IVF before they conceived me.”
“Yay,” he muttered. “Glad she did.”
Her arm tightened around his waist. “Sweet of you to say so,” she said. “They were, too. At first.”
She paused, gathering her thoughts. Bruno wanted to scream. If it was going to hurt, he wanted to power through it. “Let’s have it.”
“Have what?”
“The zinger,” he said. “Tonight’s all about the zingers, one after another, straight to the liver. Whatever you’re going to zing me with, have at it. Please. Get it over with.”
She stiffened, turning away. “Never mind. You’re right. Now’s not the time for this conversation.”
He spun her around to face him. “No, really,” he said. “It’s the only time we’ve got. Just tell me, goddamnit. I want to hear it.”
“She died,” Lily said. “In labor. A big blood vessel had formed across her cervix. She hemorrhaged. Bled out in a couple of minutes. If they’d done an early C-section, she’d have lived. But they didn’t know.”
He pulled her closer, nuzzled her hair. It smelled like lavender.
“My father felt guilty all my life,” she said. “If he hadn’t moved heaven and earth to get her pregnant . . .” She shrugged. “I felt guilty, too. I know it’s stupid, but there it is.”
They swayed, locked together, as he tried to take in what she was trying to tell him. “It’s not the same,” he said. “You were a baby. Your parents made their decisions and took the risk. Both of them.”
“So did Magda. How is it different?” Her voice was muffled against his shirt. “She must have been hell on wheels.”
“Oh, yeah. That, she was.” Laughter shook him, the tight, high-frequency kind of laughter that could all too suddenly turn into tears.
“She must have loved you so much,” Lily whispered.
“I wish she’d loved me less,” he blurted.
“Oh, baby.” Her voice was fogged up. “Don’t say that.”
“All these years . . .” His voice was blocked by a hot, aching lump in his throat. “It never made sense, that a woman like her would . . . aw, shit. She was special, you know? Having me messed up her life, but she never complained. Her own mother gave her no end of hell. Grandma Pina, raving superbitch. Rosa and Tony didn’t speak to Pina for thirty years because of that. But Mamma was beautiful. Smart. Not a doormat. She was the opposite of a doormat. Kind of like you.”
The sound she made was half laugh, half sob. “Thank you.”
He pushed on. “She was tough, you know? I couldn’t understand why she took it. The way Rudy talked down to her, the way he hit her. And being intimate with him, oh, Christ.” He blew out a breath, as if he were trying to expel toxic gas. “Now I get it. And I can’t take it.”
“Bruno,” she whispered. “Sweetie. It’s not—”
“It makes me want to vomit,” he burst out. “I’d rather it was that she was stupid about men, or she had self-esteem issues. Or that she was lonely, or that any man was better than being alone. But doing it for me? Oh, Jesus. That’s a gift I don’t want. That’s a curse, not a gift.”
Lily grabbed his hands. Her eyes blazed. “I’d do it,” she said. “If I were her, and you were my son? Hell, yes. I’d do it for you.”
“Don’t even say it. She shouldn’t have had to do that. No one should ever have to. Someone should have helped her. Saved her.”
Lily lifted his trembling, knotted fists and dropped a gentle kiss onto each of them in turn. “And you think it should have been you?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
“You were a child!” she raged. “Up against an organized crime syndicate! Get real! Give yourself a break!”
Laughter shook him again. “I’m eighteen years older now, and guess what, babe? I’m not doing a whole lot better than when I was twelve! It’s fucking déjà vu. In the past thirty-six hours, you’ve been clubbed, shot at, and thrown off a cliff. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.”
“You saved me, you moron!” she yelled. “You’re being deliberately stupid and dense about this! My God, you ask a lot of yourself!”
He touched his forehead to hers. “I can’t help it,” he blurted. “I love you.”
She went very still. He realized, with a stab of pure, white-hot panic, that he meant it. He really did. Body, soul, blood, bones, teeth, and guts, he meant it. He loved Lily Parr. Period.
Oh, shit. And he had to run off his mouth about it.
He tightened his fingers around her cold ones. Fear gripped him, deep and hard. What a loser. His timing. It sucked. “Don’t say anything,” he begged. “I know it’s too soon. Things are too crazy.”
She tilted her head up, kissed him. Little, flowerlike kisses, blooming against the corner of his mouth. But she evaded his returning kiss, drawing back, swaying away. Not ready for it.
“I won’t hold you to it,” she whispered.
That didn’t sound promising, but what the hell, he’d taken the plunge. “You don’t have to hold me to it. It is what it is.”
She slid her arms around his neck. He kissed the corners of her eyes. Sure enough. Wet. Hot. Salt. He kissed the tears away, making it a ritual. Each tear he licked away was a magic spell, holding her to him.
“Can I say something . . . ? Without making you mad?” she asked.
He went right on guard. “I don’t make dumb promises like that.”
“Then I’ll have to risk it.” She kissed his jaw. “The way you felt scared, because you couldn’t protect your mother? And me?”
“It sucks. Literally. Like a vortex underneath my guts. So?”
“That was the way she felt about you,” Lily said.
Bruno shut that out. He just had no place to put it. He shook his head, not sure what he was negating. Subject closed.
Lily waited but wisely concluded that she wasn’t going to get a coherent response from him. She padded into the bathroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the moon. He leaned his forehead against the cold glass, watching his breath fog it up. The white patch of steam, swelling and retreating. The bathroom door clicked open. Light spilled out into the dark room. Lily came up behind him, stroking his back. Perfumed steam wafted aong with her.
He turned to look at her, realized that she was naked.
It bowled him over, how beautiful her perfect curving silhouette was backlit by the glow from the bathroom. So graceful. His throat tightened. His cock sprang to attention. His balls were heavy, throbbing.
“Lily,” he warned. “You’re covered with bruises.”
She tilted her head. The light caught the sly gleam in her eyes. “Shhh,” she murmured, getting to work on the buttons of the fleece shirt he’d borrowed from some McCloud or other. “I’m fine. But I won’t pressure you. I know how tired you are, particularly after that meeting. Let’s just, you know. Cuddle. Skin to skin. It feels so good.”
A sound burst out, hurting his throat. “Fat fucking chance.”
“We could,” she said stubbornly. “We really could. Men are so weird about that.” She shoved the shirt off his shoulders and started in on his belt. “Nothing’s stopping us.” She shoved his pants down.
“Ya think?” His cock leaped out,
sproing,
like it was springloaded.
She gazed at it. “Ah,” she murmured. “Just out of curiosity, are you in this condition in spite of all your stress? Or because of it?”
“Does it matter?” He tried and failed not to sound belligerent as he kicked off his shoes, wrenched his jeans the rest of the way down.
She shrugged. “Just wondering.”
“One, I’m jacked up and totally out of my mind. Two, you’re gorgeous, and you drive me wild. That still doesn’t make it a good idea.”
She took his hand, led him toward the stairs. “Well, gee. Maybe you’re right. Let’s just take this upstairs and have this argument while we’re warming up the sheets.” She glanced down at his turgid dick. “We can discuss all the, um, ramifications under a cuddly comforter.”
He held back. “It’s not just that,” he said, miserably. “The dreams. You shouldn’t sleep with me, Lily. It’s not safe. I’ll sleep on that couch.”
“Fuck if you will.” Her voice was as sharp as glass. “Come up those stairs with me, right here, right now. Or. Else.”
Well, damn. She had him by the dumb handle. He followed along up that winding staircase like a docile hound, helpless to resist the spectacular view of her ass. It was so round, accented with velvety shadows deepening the cleft and pooling in the twin dimples at the top, collecting under the lush, pearlike under-curve of her butt cheeks. He wanted to cup and stroke and pet and kiss. Hours of worship.
He didn’t have the strength to do the right thing. Even to protect her. And he loved her. What a dickhead. Weak and selfish.
“If I dream, you know to get the hell away from me, right?” he persisted. “Don’t try to wake me, don’t try to touch me. Clear? Got it?”
“Sure.” She smiled mysteriously over her shoulder. “I promise. No physical contact of any kind. Scout’s honor.”
He squinted at her. “You’re messing with me.”
She started to laugh. “This isn’t fair. What good is it to have a man tell me he loves me if he won’t touch me, and won’t sleep with me, and won’t put out? Screw that!”
“You haven’t told me if you love me back,” he said.
Fuck.
He chickened out as soon as the words were out of his mouth and lunged to put his over her mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that to you. It just popped out.”
She yanked his hand down. “But I—”
“Sometimes I talk too much.” He kissed her as he pushed her down onto the cold iron steps of the spiral staircase, caged by the curving bars of the railing. He pushed her legs open. “It’s an impulse-control thing. I’m working on it. And I’ll put out, big-time. Believe me.”
He sank down, put his mouth to her. She protested, giggling and squirming, but he was fiercely intent upon knocking her off whatever train of thought she might have been traveling.
He cupped her mound with the V of his index finger and forefinger and lifted it, parting her pussy lips and making the taut, rosy bud of her clit pop pertly out of its hood. Ready for worship and giddy distraction from thinking. Thinking was a bad idea for stressed-out girls. Better to be whimpering, thrashing, coming. Getting a clue of the advantages of being loved by him, one of those being lots of prolonged, enthusiastic tongue action. He just could not get enough of her. Her taste and texture and scent. The softness of her inner thigh against his cheek. Plump, tender pussy folds, drenched with salt-sweet girl juice. He suckled her clit, finger fucking her, delving for secret hot spots.
It took a few minutes, but he felt when the tension in her body changed from resistance to urgency. Her quivering thighs were clamped around his head; her snug channel squeezed hungrily around his fingers. He put on the brakes a couple times, made her wait, fingernails raking his shoulders. It made him smile against her juicy muff.
And then, the strong, eager pulse of her pussy around his fingers as pleasure jolted through her. Sweet satisfaction.
He wiped his face. “So. We were going to discuss ramifications?”
She could not move. He scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder. Her body vibrated with silent laughter.
The bed at the top of the stairs was recessed into a space with three big windows on each side, so that one would feel like they were in a bed that was floating on air. He tossed the comforter back and set her down on the snowy white expanse of the sheet.
He sat down beside her. Slid his hand into hers. Waited.
She sat there, catching her breath and hiding her face against his shoulders. After a few minutes, she looked up. “It occurs to me that this crazy situation might just have a silver lining,” she announced.