Brody’s whisper brushed across my hair as his arms encircled my waist from behind. “Vik, I’m here. I’m watching out for your best interests. You never need to doubt that.”
Leaning into his embrace, I craned my neck until our lips met. The emotion bubbling within me rushed forth as his tender yet firm lips willingly accepted my kiss and encouragingly demanded more. Spinning me around, our tongues once again fought for supremacy, wrestling and submitting, tasting and savoring. Again, the fire within me sparked to life.
“How long has it been since someone has really held you and loved you?”
Brody’s question brought a deep ache deep to my chest. “How long has it been since we’ve been together?” I replied. From the way we were standing, I could see shimmers of light from the ocean below reflected in his unique irises.
“Jesus, Vik. I want to pick you up and throw you on that bed.” He lifted my chin and peered deep into my eyes. “Look at me, damn it. I’m not like the others. I don’t want to fuck you.” A deep rumble came from his chest. “That’s not true. I want that too. But…” He brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. “What I want more than anything is to make love to you, to hold you, to watch you sleep, and be there when you wake. I want to love you so hard that when those beautiful eyes are closed, I have no doubt that you’re dreaming about me. And when you wake, I want to be the one to make every one of your dreams come true.”
“Brody, please, please, don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”
“But I do. I’d do it right now, if you’d let me.” He tugged my fingers though I stayed fastened to the carpet, refusing to budge. His forehead wrinkled as his cheeks rose. “I make good money. Tell Stewart to go fuck himself. Tell all the ass-wipes on his board of directors and Parker Craven to shove it. I know you said it could be any day, but it could also be a week, a month, or more. Don’t subject yourself to him and his fucked-up idea of loyalty any longer.”
I shook my head from side to side. “Stop. I told you that I’m a mess right now. And you’re not making sense.” Without admitting the truth, that no one had ever proclaimed undying love to me, I rallied, “I haven’t devoted ten years of my life only to walk away when the prize is within sight. It isn’t just about the money. It’s the satisfaction I’ll get when I whisper in his ear that I made it. He underestimated me, and my ability to handle everything he threw my way. I want his last thought to be of me in control of everything he holds dear.”
“You deserve that,” Brody said dejectedly.
“I do. I’m not feeling guilty for wanting what I deserve.”
Again he wrapped me in his arms. “Victoria Harrington, I know without a doubt that I don’t deserve you, but I’ll be damned if I feel guilty for wanting you.”
The ringing of my phone stilled us both. Stewart’s distinctive ring cut through the chilled hotel air. Hurrying to my purse, I put my finger to my lips and said, “Hello?”
“Tori.” My husband’s voice was stronger through the phone than it had been earlier in the morning. Obviously he’d succeeded in decreasing the pain medicine.
“Stewart, is everything all right?”
Brody’s eyes widened.
“Hardly,” Stewart replied sarcastically. “Travis said that you’re at the Harbour Shoppes?”
“Yes, do you need me home?”
“No,” his tone gained strength. “I want you at the warehouse in an hour.”
Shit! My stomach sank. “Stewart…” I could argue, but he knew I wouldn’t. Despite his weakened state, he’d already proven he could still orchestrate. My only option was to pray it would be the last time.
Once Stewart was gone, the warehouse would be the first thing I sold, or maybe I’d torch it? The thought brought a feeling of resolve. Swallowing my retort, I replied, “I’ll be there,” and hit disconnect.
Brody’s hands brushed my arms. “What is it?”
I looked away. “I need to go. Please keep me posted.”
His eyes opened wide as panicked concern infiltrated his voice. “Why, Vik? Where do you need to go?”
I didn’t answer, but picked up my purse and headed for the door. Before I walked away, I heard Brody, his voice a low growl. “I hate that damn motherfucker. I swear, if he weren’t dying…” The closing of the door drowned out the rest of his sentence. But I knew what he was about to say.
MY HANDS SHOOK as my body trembled. Why was I even surprised he’d gone back on his word? The fucker had promised! He’d promised to always be with me!
Holding my midsection, I doubled over as revolt took hold and my lunch was purged onto the concrete of the private garage. The sound of my distress wouldn’t bring anyone’s attention. There was no one there. I knew that. I knew once the friend, as Stewart liked to call them, was done, he was gone. It was one of the ways they tried to secure their anonymity. Besides, Stewart’s voice had told me that he was gone, told me to stay where I was, not to move until he said the word. I’d disobeyed in the past. I no longer considered that on option. Stark naked on the freaking four-poster bed, I waited as the damn music came through the headphones.
Sometimes I hated the music as much as his voice. For almost nine years it had been the same eerie playlist. When I asked, Stewart refused to tell me the names of the songs, only that they reminded him of a time long ago. As the years passed, I think I found reassurance in the predictability of the order. Without my sense of sight, it gave me something to hold, something expected. Each time he restarted the music, it was always from the beginning. I’d heard the first melody so many times it haunted my dreams. One day I searched and searched the Internet until I found it: Fatal Lullaby. Knowing the title made it even more depressing—if that were even possible. Death Dance came next. All of the songs he chose were composed by Adrian von Ziegler and were only instrumental music. None contained words, only dark, tortured strains that resounded through my ears as I struggled to make sense of the world around me.