Homecoming: The Billionaire Brothers (26 page)

If someone had told her when she woke this morning that before the night was over she’d be close to tears over the fact that Miles Harrington—proud, stuffy, condescending jerk extraordinaire—clearly had no designs on her body after all, she would have laughed herself stupid.

She certainly didn’t feel much like laughing now.

The car slid to a silent, elegant stop and Greta took care to hide her wince as she slid her aching feet back into the torturous high heels she’d been so excited about earlier. Telling herself she needed to shake off this let-down feeling and be grateful for the trouble Miles had gone to—even if it hadn’t been a prelude to seduction, as she’d assumed with a giddy tingle all day long—Greta looked up from wrestling with the strappy heels to see that Miles had already gotten out of the car.

He held out a hand to help her, and as she steeled herself against the sensual excitement of his touch, Greta’s feet hit the sidewalk and she looked up with a determinedly bright smile plastered to her face.

She looked up … and up … and up, all the breath leaving her lungs in a whoosh. Clutching Miles’s hand in an iron grip, Greta stared at the building spearing straight into the night sky, brilliantly lit and beautiful as only an architectural icon could be.

“That’s not your apartment,” Greta said, feeling as disoriented as if she were waking up from anesthesia.

“Nope.”

The anticipation in his voice was the only thing that could have dragged her attention off the building. Miles was watching her avidly, his intense blue eyes soaking up her every reaction, and Greta let him have it.

With a smile so wide her cheeks ached with it, Greta said, “You brought me to the Empire State Building.”

“You said you wanted to do the whole tourist routine. This place is on every tour of the city—although we’ll be seeing it a little differently from most tourists.”

“What do you mean, because it’s nighttime?”

Miles shook his head, clearly enjoying the mystery. “Actually, the Empire State Building is open every single day of the year, rain or shine, until late at night.”

“Then what?”

Tilting his chin toward the doors, Miles said, “You’ll have to go in to find out.”

Excitement and adrenaline flooded Greta’s bloodstream, a better wake-up call than a vat of coffee. Her tired feet forgotten, she bounded across the sidewalk and spun through the revolving door into the gorgeous art deco lobby.

Greta was so busy gawking up at the ornate silver-and-gold ceiling mural that she almost walked right into a trim, middle-aged black woman standing with an older man in the livery of an old-fashioned elevator operator.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Greta said, wobbling on her stilettos.

The woman she’d bumped gave her a small, professional smile and held out a hand. “No worries. You must be Greta. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Greta shook the woman’s hand just as she heard the click of Miles’s dress shoes on the tiled lobby floor. “Greta, this is Cleo Packard, my right-hand woman. I’d be lost without her. She’s the one who arranged everything we’ve done today.”

“Including this outfit, I bet,” Greta said, a little overwhelmed by the knowledge of how much work must have gone into today from behind the scenes. Impulsively, she threw her arms around Cleo and squeezed her into a brief, grateful hug.

“Thank you for everything,” Greta whispered, pulling back. She knew from the rising heat in her cheeks that she was blushing, but she’d never meant anything more. “It’s been the most amazing day of my life.”

Cleo’s wide, surprised eyes warmed. “I’m glad. And I’m even gladder Mr. Harrington invited me here to meet you.”

“After everything I put Cleo through today,” Miles explained, “I wanted to thank her.”

Turning a fond, indulgent smile on her boss, Cleo shook her head. “I work for you, Mr. Harrington. The exorbitant salary you pay me is thanks enough. I’ve told him before,” she said, shrugging in Greta’s direction. “But it never seems to sink in.”

“You do more for me than any amount of money could repay,” Miles said firmly. “So come on. Your thank-you gift is at the top of the building.”

Clearly reluctant, Cleo glanced back and forth between Miles and Greta. “Now Mr. Harrington, I don’t know. Having met this young lady, I’m not sure I should intrude on your evening.”

Greta didn’t have a crystal-clear picture of exactly what was going on, but she knew enough to link her arm through Miles’s elbow on one side, and Cleo’s on the other.

“Nonsense. You’ve known Miles a lot longer than I have, but even I am already completely aware of the fact that once he sets his heart on something, he gets it. You’re coming upstairs with us!”

With a little laugh, Cleo allowed herself to be towed toward the elevator. “All right, but only for a minute. Mr. Harrington, I think you may have met your match with this one.”

Ignoring the flutter of happiness that gave her, Greta bounced on her toes in anticipation as the silent old gentleman in the uniform called down the elevator. The metal doors engraved with a stylized deco outline of the iconic building’s exterior slid apart with a muted ding.

“Going up,” the uniformed man announced as they all trooped in.

Greta kept her gaze glued to the old-fashioned floor counter as the elevator zoomed upward. Her stomach fluttered as they climbed higher and higher, excitement sending chills over her skin.

They got off at the eighty-sixth floor, but instead of following the signs to the Observation Deck, the stony-faced elevator attendant ushered them across the hall to another elevator. “Wait, aren’t we…” Greta broke off as the second elevator’s doors whooshed closed. “Oh, my gosh.”

And farther up they went. This elevator had a series of numbers beside the floors, and as they climbed ever higher, Greta realized that the second numbers were estimates of height in feet.

When the elevator wound to a stop at the one hundred and second floor, the number illuminated next to it was one thousand, two hundred and fifty. As in, they were now one thousand, two hundred and fifty feet off the ground.

Greta’s mind could hardly process what she was about to see when they stepped through those doors.

It was a much quieter observation gallery than the bustling deck below on eighty-six, and her heart raced at the views through the glass picture windows. But instead of giving her time to wander and stare out over the tops of buildings and the ocean of lights, Miles prodded her toward a door she hadn’t even noticed.

Plain and unmarked, the door was entirely unassuming. For some reason, she expected it to be locked, but when Miles twisted the handle, it opened easily to reveal a narrow set of metal stairs going up.

“And … this is where I get off,” Cleo said suddenly, hanging back.

Miles frowned. “But your thank-you gift!”

“I know.” She cocked her head. “But now that I see those stairs … I think I’ll just enjoy the view from here, thanks. You two go on ahead.”

Greta’s heart leapt into her throat as she contemplated the stairs. She completely understood Cleo’s change of heart. They were so high already, the vast blackness of the night sky all around them and the city spread hundreds of feet below. Fear stalked her, the old familiar refrain of caution like her mother’s voice in her head, but Greta stuffed it down. “I’m not going to make it in these heels.”

“So take them off.” Miles shrugged, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll happily go up behind you and be ready to catch you if you stumble.”

Greta snorted, some of the fear dissipating in the face of his flirtation. “My hero, willing to climb a ladder behind me while I’m wearing a short, tight dress.”

Miles leaned in to murmur, “What if I promise I won’t look?”

The mixed signals were giving Greta emotional whiplash. She arched her brow in a clear challenge. “Look all you want, Miles. I’m not shy.”

It wasn’t completely true—more than a decade of hiding her body, her scar, from the world had left Greta with a few hang-ups. But she wanted Miles Harrington. And maybe if she showed him clearly enough, he’d get over whatever was holding him back.

Right then and there, Greta decided she wasn’t spending the night in any guest room. She’d either sleep in Miles’s bed … or she’d find her own way back home to Sanctuary Island tonight.

“Are you ready?” he asked, gesturing at the steep stairs.

Slipping out of her heels, Greta filled her lungs with a deep, cleansing breath, and set her foot on the bottom step. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Chapter Eight

“Surprise,” Miles said as they climbed. “These stairs lead to the private deck, at the base of the building’s mooring mast. The highest point in New York not open to the general public, with three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of the entire city on the other side of that door.”

Ducking under the network of pipes at the top of the stairs, he watched Greta hesitate for a second at the exit to the outside.

Concerned, he said, “If you’re nervous, we don’t have to go out. We can head back down to the observation gallery, or even to the regular deck down on eighty-six with the rest of the tourists.”

“I am nervous,” she muttered. “We must be so high up now! But I made it this far. I have to see what’s out there.”

Miles took her hand, unsurprised to find her fingers chilled with fear. Bringing them to his mouth, he blew warmth over them. “You have nothing to prove to anyone, Greta. Whatever you want, it’s all good.”

But she shook her head, her fingers curling around his as she stared up at him earnestly. “Thank you. But you’re wrong. I do have something to prove. To myself, more than anyone.”

And with that, she stepped away from him and out onto the narrow balcony. Pride, respect, admiration for the sheer gutsiness of her, filled Miles’s chest. Not wanting to miss a moment of her triumph over herself, he followed her.

Wind whipped across his face, and even this high in the clouds, it still carried the city scents of exhaust fumes and dirty-water hot dog carts. The secret deck up here was insanely narrow, no more than two feet of space between the exterior of the tower and the ludicrously short knee-high railing.

“Ever been up here before?” Greta called into the breeze as she inched her barefoot way around the ledge, back hugging the tower.

Miles shook his head. “I can’t believe they let anyone up here. I guess this explains the waivers I had Cleo forge my signature on so we could get this confirmed.”

Somehow, that loosened the taut line of Greta’s creamy shoulders, bared by the spaghetti straps of her sparkly cocktail dress. “So I’m not the only one who thinks this is a little crazy? We could topple over the side here any second. If the wind were strong enough…”

Her fingers went white-knuckled as she clenched them for purchase against the wall, and Miles forgot to be nervous about the thousand-plus-foot drop straight down into Midtown traffic. Stepping quickly, he maneuvered himself next to her and slipped a steadying arm around her shoulders, relieved when she relaxed into his side at once.

“What did I tell you,” he said. “You don’t have to do this alone. Hell, you don’t have to do it at all—but since you’re determined, I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to look over the edge.” Determination hummed in her low voice, threading steel through her limbs, and once again, Miles could only marvel at her.

Instead of arguing, the way he knew she half-expected him to, Miles silently nudged her forward and slid his body behind hers. Bracing his feet securely against the buffeting of the wind, he clasped his hands around her narrow waist.

“Go ahead,” he told her. “I’ll be your anchor.”

Greta folded her hands over his, shooting him a smile full of nerves, thrill, and the incandescent joy of doing something crazy for once in her sheltered life. And then she leaned out, trusting him to hold her securely.

Miles was ready to pull her back against him the instant he felt her stiffen in fear or panic, but she didn’t. She laughed. Wild and carefree, with her arms stretched out to the sides like wings that would catch the wind and let her soar off into the night, Greta laughed.

And Miles fell in love.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this!” she called over her shoulder, eyes glittering and hair flying in tendrils around her shoulders. “Look, you can see all the way to … gosh, there are three bridges all lit up. Is one of them the Brooklyn Bridge?”

“That one.” Miles risked letting go of her with one hand just long enough to point.

“Beautiful.” Her sigh was lost in the breeze, but he felt the way the breath pushed out of her rib cage. She leaned back against his chest, and Miles crossed his arms over her torso to hold her close.

“This is
my
island,” he said into the delicate pink shell of her ear. “I’m glad you got to see it like this. Thank you for coming here with me.”

“I’ll never forget today, as long as I live. I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

Guilt scoured out his insides with a merciless hand. “You don’t owe me anything, Greta Hackley. Today was for me as much as for you. I’ve lived in this city my entire adult life, and I guess I take the sights and sounds and smells of it for granted. You brought them back to life for me.”

He paused, everything he wanted to say getting stuck behind the giant ball of emotion in his throat. But this was too important, he had to get it out.

Dredging his voice up from deep in his chest, he rumbled, “You brought
me
back to life. I was dead inside, and didn’t even know it.”

Miles felt, more than heard, the broken noise Greta made before she turned to wrap her arms around his neck.

Right there, at the top of the world, Greta kissed him. And as Miles snugged her in tight and tried his best to breathe in her essence, he knew he had to do whatever it took to keep this woman in his life.

From here on out, Miles would be honest and open with her. He wanted a relationship, a future, a chance to make Greta fall in love with him for real. He’d started this campaign of seduction for all the wrong reasons, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t work. He’d just keep it up until Greta was as head over heels, crazy in love as he was.