At the Brink (3 page)

“If that were the case, you’d have all the energy sharks following you around.” I made a show of looking behind him and shrugged. “I don’t see anyone standing in line.”

“WindTech is undervalued at the moment.”

“Mr. Poe?”

“Please,” he said. “Call me Martin.”

“Okay, fine, Martin, let’s cut to the chase. I get that you need a lot of support to save your company. But what is it that you’re willing to give up in order to get it?”

“Control, management, stocks, majority stakes.”

“That’s all a given.”

“My independence,” he said. “My work, life and dreams.”

“Spare me the dramatics.”

“You don’t understand,” Martin Poe said. “I’m willing to give up anything I’ve got to ensure that WindTech will succeed. Anything you want.” He looked elsewhere. “For as long as you support my venture, you can have it.”

I trailed Martin Poe’s gaze to where Lily stood at the bar. His eyes landed squarely on his wife, or more specifically, on the very spot where the gown’s glossy satin stretched over her shapely ass. Son of a bitch.

Poe inclined his head and nodded. “Anything,” he repeated.

Jesus Christ. He’d just paraded his wife before me like a breeder showing off his prized thoroughbred. Who the hell did he think I was? A pervert who had to buy women to bed them? A playboy with a taste for other men’s wives? A fool?

Sure, I had my preferences in bed and maybe they were unorthodox to some, but they didn’t involve paying for sex, victimizing women or dealing with lowlife scum like Poe. Lights flashed and alarms blared. My internal traffic control gate slammed shut. For a man in my position, Poe’s offer entailed a con, a scam or a combination of the same. Blackmail. Extortion. Bribery. If Poe thought he could screw with me, he was in for a nasty surprise.

My eyes fell on Lily, placing her order with the bartender. Did she know? Did she realize what her husband was doing? And if she was a party to his plan, how far was she willing to go? Would she be willing to go all the way to my bed?

Don’t even think about it, Lane.

I stared at the woman coming toward me, drink in hand. She flashed her shy, crooked smile. I had to hand it to Martin. At least he’d chosen his bait well. What if she didn’t know? My gut went cold. What would happen to her if I declined Poe’s offer? What if she was a pawn in her husband’s game, someone who stood to lose no matter the outcome?

“What does she think of your plan?”

The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down his throat, betraying his poker face. “Lily will do what I tell her to do,” he said. “She’s an obedient little thing.”

Obedient?

I reminded myself of the basics. Stick to the mission. Keep the focus intact and the perimeter clear. Don’t compromise your cover. These principles had kept me alive in Iraq, Afghanistan and beyond.

The woman rejoined us and, avoiding my gaze, handed the drink over to Martin. He downed half the glass in one gulp. But I wasn’t really tracking Martin. All my senses were intent on Lily.
Stick to your guns, Lane.

I was about to send Poe to hell when his tumbler went flying, spilling Scotch mostly all over himself, although a few ice cubes bounced off my shoes.

“I’m sorry.” Poe tried to wipe off his jacket with a soggy napkin. “Oh, this won’t work. Excuse me for a moment. Lily, take care of Mr. Lane, will you? I’ll be right back.”

She glanced at me, flushing with equal measures of embarrassment and incredulity as Poe scrambled for the restroom. I was done talking with her husband and she was smart enough to know it.

I pulled out my cell and called my driver. “Bring the car around, Amman.”

Clearly flustered, Lily drew a delicate handkerchief from her clutch and, kneeling at my feet, wiped the water off my shoes. The swell of her breasts strained against her gown’s bodice. Her anxious looks—intermittent flashes of violet—beamed up at me like a beacon leading me astray.

Inadvertently, the crown of her head brushed against my groin. My cock hardened instantly. Damn, I hadn’t reacted like that to anyone in a long time. I had a vision of her, crouching as she was, only she wasn’t wearing a dress. She wasn’t wearing anything, except the red-soled Louboutins.

Shake it off, Lane.

I pitched the images out of my mind, but something had clicked in me, something had engaged. The lust in my body seeped into my soul. I was recharged, operational and in high gear.

The woman fussing over my shoes was nothing less than an IED in my life. If I were smart, I’d skirt around her, ignore my body’s signals, play it cool and move on. But Christ, she was a rare creature. She had such a pull on me, even if she didn’t know it.

Maybe she was as innocent as she appeared. Maybe she needed help. Maybe she, who was so quick to defend a wounded warrior, needed protection herself.

Why not go for it, run with it, embrace the keen attraction, defy convention and wade into the thicket of my obsessions? I could engage her, ignite her, contain her. I could dissect her, dismantle her ticking parts and discover her mechanisms in a bid to understand how she worked. I could detonate her if only to defuse the effect she had on me.

My mind ticked off a long list of rational warnings: Inappropriate behavior, unnecessary complications, high elements of risk, poor odds, dismal returns, dire consequences. With a wink and a word, I could’ve seduced any other woman in the room. But what about her?

No way. My instincts had to be right. She wasn’t that kind of person. It’d never fly.

I slammed the door on the impulse and offered my hand. “This is not necessary.” I helped her up. “My shoes don’t deserve your attention.”

She tottered as she tried to stand on the high heels, but I caught her, bracing her body against mine.
Wham.
There it was again, that jolt, only this time it didn’t produce a flashback but rather a flash forward to a future where she lay naked on my bed. Christ. The image felt like a done deal.

Her body was soft and pliable between my hands, delicate but fit, vital and responsive. I caught a whiff of her scent and reeled. It was as if she’d been baked of my favorite essences, as if her pores were wafting raw need and sexual heat.

I retrieved my thoughts from the gutter and let her go. She turned to face me with a flustered frown. She didn’t understand what was happening any more than I did. I spotted the questions forming in her eyes and acted quickly to preempt her.

“Do you think your husband’s project will succeed?”

“I...well... I sure hope so.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“We’ll be ruined.”

I liked people who stuck to the truth even when they had much to lose from admitting it. My gut told me Lily was truthful, but the trained operator in me set out to make sure my readings were accurate. Truth or dare. True or false. I excelled at those games. My life and the lives of my men had often depended on my instincts and skills. I started with the obvious.

“Is Martin running a scam?”

Her spine straightened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I said. “Answer the question.”

“But—”

“Answer the damn question.”

“I... I don’t know. I suppose, knowing Martin, maybe...it’s possible.” Her answer struck me as real. “But MIT was interested. There’s got to be some substance to his project.”

Wishful thinking or shrewd assessment? It was hard to tell.

“Why did you come here tonight?” I asked.

“I don’t have to answer your questions.”

“I know,” I said, “but you will.”

Her chin came up. “Are you always this blunt?”

“Yes,” I said. “Why did you agree to come?”

The indigo eyes scoured my face then looked away. “My husband insisted that I come.”

“Did you want to?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?” I pressed her hard.

Like most people, she buckled under my glare. “I... I don’t really like this sort of thing and, well, I couldn’t figure out what was the use of me coming anyway.”

“How long have you been married?”

“A little more than two years,” she said, tentatively. “Why do you ask?”

“And in those two years, you’ve seen your car repossessed, your credit wrecked and your student loans gone into arrears.”

Her plump lips formed the word. “How...?”

“We’ve done our homework,” I said. “It’s called due diligence.”

“Due diligence?”

“Why him?” I demanded.

Her small nose wrinkled. “Pardon me?”

“Why did you marry him?”

Anger sparked in her eyes. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“I disagree,” I said. “Your husband is asking for a lot of money. In exchange, he’s offering some dubious concessions. Were you pregnant when you got married?”

“No!”

“Then why did someone like you marry someone like him?”

“I had reasons,” she said fiercely, “and I don’t understand why they’re of any consequence to you.”

God, she was brave. How I craved her intensity. How I wanted to consume all her strength. She was so unlike the women I usually took to my bed. She was honest, raw and earnest. She didn’t belong with Poe. She didn’t deserve to suffer the indignities that the man had in store for her. If I walked away now, what would happen to Lily Boswell?

“Do you always do what your husband says?”

Her knuckles whitened around her purse. “No.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“I told you, I had to come.”

He had something on her. I could feel it in my bones. She wasn’t dumb. She wasn’t lamb material either. She was trapped. I went for the jugular.

“Why haven’t you divorced Martin Poe?”

Her head whipped up. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?” She glared like a tigress about to tear out my throat. “Well, I’m not, so back off, Mr. Lane. I came here to help with Martin’s proposal, not to amuse you. With all due respect, you have no right to treat me like this.”

“Have you tried asking for help?”

“Help?” She scoffed. “Is there really such a thing? It’s never something for nothing. It’s tit for tat, isn’t it? Or perhaps every man for himself?”

There was no bitterness to her tone, only honesty and perhaps sadness. I knew people like her, people who wouldn’t accept help from anyone, people who had a chip on their shoulders, little faith in the human race, and something to prove to themselves. People like me.

“I better go,” she said faintly. “Thanks for your time.”

“Wait.” My hand closed around her wrist.

Her eyes widened and I knew for sure that the contact had rattled her too.

I made a pragmatic decision in the field, combining a set of high-minded objectives, my gut feelings, my dark cravings, and the barrage of inexplicable emotions buzzing in my brain. Emotions felt like white noise to my mind so I set them aside, but designing an operational mission plan to tackle a defined set of objectives? Now that I could do. My strategy had to meet my basic parameters, which meant that, ultimately, the outcome had to be Lily’s choice.

This wasn’t going to be easy for her. Or for me. I had to be careful, stay true to my long-term mission and protect my investors from Poe’s schemes. Strategically, there was a chance I could pull this off. Realistically, Lily was the odd variable.

“Mr. Lane?” Her eyes shifted between my face and her wrist where, beneath my fingers, her pulse thumped like an MP5 in a firefight.

I forced myself to lift one finger after the other until I let go of her wrist. She’d stepped into the center of my scope’s crosshairs. The sniper in me inhaled the disciplined, stabilizing breath usually paired with a finger to the trigger.

“Allow me to explain,” I said in my trained operator’s voice. “I thought if someone like you—someone smart, talented and brave—had a good reason to bet on Poe, then maybe I would too. But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, Lily. We can leave it up to chance. Or fate. Whichever you like best.”

“I... I don’t understand.”

“I think you’re an honest person,” I said. “I’m going to leave this up to you. If you want, you can tell your husband to come see me at the office on Monday at eleven.”

“I can?” She stared at me with those extraordinary eyes.

“That’s what he wanted, right?” That’s why he’d brought her along. “You don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to. You can say I wasn’t interested and we’ll be done. On the other hand, if you decide to tell him and he decides to come, I’ll see him only if you come with him. Be prepared. Tell him to come only if he’s willing to put everything he’s got on the table. Will you remember all that?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” I said. “You’re a remarkable person, Lily, a brave one. There aren’t too many of you left in the world.”

“Um, Mr. Lane?” she said, twisting the little purse between her hands. “Perhaps I’ve given you the wrong impression. You don’t know any of that about me.”

I took my shot. “I’ll see you on Monday, Lily. Maybe, and only if you want.”

Chapter Three

Lily

I clutched my purse against my chest as if it were a lifejacket. I didn’t want to be there, sitting on the posh chair outside Mr. Lane’s office, but Martin’s project meant everything to him and success today could translate into respite for me and security for Mom. In the end, I’d had no choice but to tell Martin about the meeting with Mr. Lane. Martin had made it clear that if he failed at persuading Mr. Lane to invest in WindTech, I’d suffer the consequences. If his world was brought to a sudden end, so would be mine.

Martin had insisted I come. He told me if the meeting went well, there might be some paperwork that would require my signature. It made sense. I knew he needed to rush the deal if WindTech was going to survive. Besides, I had to come. Mr. Lane had said so. But the prospect of seeing him again had my stomach in knots. He was such a daunting presence. I admired the way he’d stood up for the wounded veteran, but I feared his scrutiny. Intensity radiated from him like the hum of a high voltage cable. He terrified and intrigued me at the same time. And his questions. God, they felt like an outright interrogation.

My eyes fell on the modernist painting on the wall. It featured a lot of grays, ash gray like the sky outside and my mood inside. I hadn’t been able to paint in months. I had no money for canvas, let alone oils. I’d taken on two full-time jobs just to keep up with the rent, but the electric was past due and the gas was about to be disconnected. Worst of all, after a six month grace period, the nursing home was asking for payment again, and this time, they weren’t going to cut me a break.

The phone on the assistant’s desk buzzed. The stunning brunette picked up the receiver. “They’re ready for you,” she announced in a practiced falsetto.

I took a deep breath and stood up. I smoothed the wrinkles off my black pencil skirt, straightened the jacket I wore over my blouse, and took quick stock of my reflection on the frosted glass wall. With my hair fastened into a bun, I’d wanted to look professional and yet I looked straitlaced instead.

For a moment, I feared my knees would give out, but I managed to walk all the way to the door without tripping. Martin had insisted I wear heels again today. At least they weren’t the stilettos.

Martin. He believed the reason he’d been booted from MIT was not so much his failure to show up to teach his classes. It wasn’t his “alleged” involvement with the students who interned at the WindTech facility in Ohio that got him fired either. He maintained that we—which really meant me—didn’t fit in with the rest of the faculty.

Surely, his boss would’ve never fired him if I’d been a more eager participant in the department’s social activities. Surely, people would have seen him in a different light if I’d gotten over my hang-ups, attended more events and generally acted more supportive of his career. Fraternizing with students had nothing to do with it. Yep, that was Martin for you.

The assistant opened the door for me. As I entered Mr. Lane’s ultramodern office, I was certain that my overactive imagination had been playing tricks on me at the gala. There had been no connection between Mr. Lane and me, no overwhelming chemistry, no erection—I blushed just thinking about that. Any odd vibes I’d gotten from him had to be of my own making, a product of my stress-induced panic attack.

Well, I wasn’t going to have one of those now. Nope, I wasn’t. I didn’t dare look in Mr. Lane’s direction. I avoided his disturbing gaze. The mere memory of those implacable eyes had kept me unsettled all weekend. Instead, I focused on Martin’s face.

“There you are, dear.” He gestured toward the empty chair next to his. “Mr. Lane and I have been having an interesting discussion. I’d like to consult with you on something.”

Consult with me?
I kept my mouth closed. Martin never consulted with me on anything. The knots in my belly tightened. I made my way to the chair, managing a passing glance at Mr. Lane.

He nodded a sober greeting. “Lily.”

His eyes. His voice. His presence. I shuddered with the memory of his touch. He sat on the other side of a massive glass desk, impressively attired in a three piece suit of the latest cut, accented with a brown and cream silk tie that brought out his eyes’ caramel tones. He looked striking, no doubt about it, but in a totally intimidating way. His gaze followed me as I took my seat. The intensity in his eyes was disconcerting. It had haunted me in my dreams just as surely as it haunted me now.

Looking around, Josh Lane fit precisely into his stark, beige-and-white, cutting edge environment, where everything had a place and an inordinate number of wall-mounted screens streamed massive amounts of information. Yikes. Surely no one, not even him, could make sense of all that gibberish.

Martin cleared his throat, started to say something, then stopped. “I’ve changed my mind.” He stood up abruptly. “It’ll be better if you two tackle this without me. You must understand, dear.”

“Understand what?” I said.

“Mr. Lane will explain, won’t you, Mr. Lane?” Martin headed for the door. “He’s better suited than I am for this kind of discussion.”

“Martin?” I called out, unable to suppress the panic in my voice. “Come back. Don’t leave me here. Where are you going?”

“I need a drink of water.” He pretended to cough.

I watched Martin’s escape through the glass wall that separated the sprawling office from the posh reception room. While waiting outside, I hadn’t been able to see past the frosted glass wall. But from where he sat, Mr. Lane could see everything, including the reception room and beyond. As far as I knew, he could have been watching me the entire time I’d been sitting out there.

“Lily.” His voice startled me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, unable to keep the disgust from my voice. If Martin was, as usual, incapable of getting the deal done and getting us out of the mess he’d gotten us into, then I’d have to do it myself.

“You’re very brave, Lily,” Mr. Lane said. “I like that about you.”

I didn’t feel brave at the moment, but I put on a calm front and stayed seated, mostly because my knees were too wobbly to carry me out of the office.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked quietly.

“I’m here because you implied you might be willing to fund WindTech,” I said, still hopeful for a positive outcome.

“I am considering funding WindTech,” he said evenly. “It would take a lot of money and a lot of work, but...”

“But what?”

“Sometimes extraordinary rewards require enormous efforts.”

The way he looked at me ignited waves of heat, scorching me from the inside out. A blow of anger and confusion clobbered my stomach. What gave him the right to look at me like that, as if he knew me, as if he owned me? What was this overwhelming emotion rattling my senses? Why couldn’t I think straight?

I forced the words out. “Are you going to give Martin the money or not?”

“It depends,” he said, leaning back on his chair. “It’s a matter of whether he—and you—are willing to meet my conditions.”

This was just business. Then why did I have such a bad feeling about being here? I looked away.

“Lily. Look at me. There’s nothing to fear.”

His voice was gentle, his tone soothing. I forced myself to meet his stare.

“Better,” he said. “You’ve got beautiful eyes. You’ve got to learn to show them off. Keep up the eye contact, even when it gets hard to do so. There you go. Now, let me ask you again. Why are you here?”

“You know very well why I’m here,” I said a tad too sharply. “You said I had to come and Martin said that I might have to sign some papers. Can we get those out of the way so that I can leave?”

“Not yet,” Mr. Lane said. “Are you aware of the nature of your husband’s proposal to me?”

“I don’t know all the specifics, no, but you should know that Martin is committed to this deal and so am I.”

“Is that so?” His eyes flickered with an emotion I didn’t recognize. Surprise? Disbelief? Desire? “Your husband’s proposal included some very unusual elements that pertain to you.”

Unusual?
“I’m willing to co-sign for him if it helps.”

“That’s not what he proposed.”

“No?” I frowned, confused.

“Your signature would be inconsequential to any deal I made with Martin,” he said. “I don’t want to waste your time or mine. By now you must at least have an idea of what your husband proposed. Your consent is a must to me.”

My consent?

The weight in my belly coalesced into a brick of pure horror. I wasn’t a complete fool. At twenty-nine, I was an educated woman with a master’s degree. Even if I’d made some mistakes, I was smart and the last few years had taught me a great deal about winging life solo. Sure, I’d grown up under Mom’s overprotective watch and I hadn’t had a lot of experience in the male department, but even I wasn’t that naïve and, well, I knew what Martin was capable of.

The heels and the dress he’d gotten for me. The way he had fretted over my hair and makeup, both on the night of the gala and today. The way he insisted I attend the gala first, then this meeting...

“Oh, my God.” My throat tightened. My face burned.
Please God, no.
“Did Martin tell you that I would...that you could...that you and I would...?” My voice trailed off as my lungs ran out of air.

“Are you all right?”

Fine, perfect, peachy, fantastic. I just couldn’t say so at the moment.

“Lily?” Mr. Lane tapped softly on the desk. “I need you to work with me here. Talk to me. I need you to verbalize.”

I sucked in the air and called on every ounce of courage available to me. “He said I’d sleep with you, didn’t he?” I knew the instant I said it aloud that it was true. “He said I’d do it if you agreed to fund WindTech. Martin had nothing else to offer, so he offered...me.”

The look on Mr. Lane’s face confirmed my suspicion. His low bass caressed my ears, smooth as silk. “How do you feel about that, Lily?”

“How am I supposed to feel?” I clenched my jaw until my teeth hurt.

“Does the idea bother you?” he said. “Are you mad?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know!”

“Which one is it?”

“All of those,” I rumbled like a volcano about to explode. “Frankly, right now, I’m too angry with Martin to think straight.” I got up and snatched my purse from the floor. “I’m sorry that my husband is a creep. I’m not a business asset Martin can redeem at the bank. I’m sorry that he put you in this position. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I headed for the door. “I’m going to tell that SOB exactly what I think of him.”

“I told him myself.”

I stopped in my tracks and turned around. “Why...why would you do that?”

“Because it needed to be done.”

I gulped dryly. “What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

The bluster just fell out of me. I gnawed on my lips until they hurt.

“Come back and sit down, Lily. I need to ask you some questions. Hear me out. You can’t do anything about Martin. He’s just who he is. Please.” He motioned toward the chair. “Sit.”

I inched my way back to the chair and, reluctantly, sat down. God, the things that Martin did! I could’ve killed him right now. To put me in this position. Worse, to put me in this position and then run away like the freaking coward he was. What was I supposed to think? What was I supposed to do?

Poised, cool and detached, Mr. Lane sat at his desk, studying me as if I were a laboratory specimen smeared on a glass slide and displayed under a microscope. Blank face unreadable, he clasped his hands on his lap.

“Did you know what Martin intended to offer me when you came to the gala the other night?” he asked as if he were the prosecutor and I the defendant.

“No!”

“Did you know what he intended to offer me today?”

“No.” Then, in a small voice, “Well, perhaps deep inside I suspected he’d try something, but not this. This is a reach, even for Martin.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Lane frowned. “Has he done this before?”

I shook my head. “No, not this, not exactly, not that I know of. But he once tried to sell my womb to the highest bidder. God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

I sank my face in my hands. I wanted to cry. No. I wanted to scream in frustration. But I was not going to cry. I was furious with Martin, with myself.

Mr. Lane’s face showed no shock, sympathy or change. When he asked his next question, he did so briskly, as if he were discussing the price of stocks or the market’s quirks. “Why do you feel you can’t divorce your husband?”

I glared at him. “That’s a completely inappropriate question.”

“Perhaps it is,” he admitted, “but I could recommend a competent attorney.”

The only person in the world who could help me was me. All I had to do was face the facts and be done with it. But my mom. What about my mom?

“Mr. Lane, I have an attorney and this is none of your business.” I finally grew a backbone. “If you’re done, I’d like to leave now.”

He melted any semblance of me having a backbone with his glare. “I’m not done yet.”

He leaned back in his chair, measuring me with his unsettling stare. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, the whirring of his calculating brain and the ticking of an old-fashioned clock that marked each passing second, even if it only existed in my mind.

“Lily, I’m not going to beat around the bush,” he said. “You can change your situation if you’ve got the courage to do so. Would you consider going along with Martin’s plan?”

“Of course not.”

“You should weigh all of your options.”

I’d tried to help Martin succeed. Short of selling my womb and compromising my dignity, I’d done everything I could to support his efforts, until today, when he went too far and smashed the bounds of decency.

And even if I’d been crazy enough to consider going along with Martin’s plan—which I wasn’t—there was still the matter of Mr. Lane himself. I stole a look at him. He hadn’t made his millions by stumbling from one scam to another. He’d never incur the risks of such an outlandish idea. He’d never consider taking someone like me to his bed. He’d never go along with Martin’s deranged scheme.