Three Wishes(115)

As Lily shut down the house for the night, Nate still not home, Fazire approached her in the hall.

“Lily-child –” he started gently, his eyes soft on her.

“No, Fazire,” she held up her hand as if to ward him off, “not now.”

Then before he could press as Fazire was wont to do, she’d run up the stairs. She got ready for bed but didn’t get in it, instead she paced. And she waited. And her mind tumbled over its thoughts, none of them good.

Very late, she heard Nate enter the house but he didn’t come up and, as minutes ticked by, she went in search of him.

She found him in their back garden, now lushly appointed with planters, pots and beds brimming with flowers and greenery, all of this well-tended by a weekly gardener. She was stunned to see him standing at the balustrade by the cliff looking toward the Victorian pier, smoking a cigarette. Not since their night on Laura and Victor’s stoop had she seen him smoke a cigarette or even smelled it on him.

She stood just outside the new French doors to the garden and called, “Nate?”

His body jerked and his head snapped around to look at her through the darkness. She was just as stunned that she’d surprised him. He was always alert to anything but most specifically her. Sometimes she felt he knew she was approaching a room even before she’d cleared the door.

She couldn’t imagine what had him so lost in thought but she wanted to know, needed to know and damned well was going to know.

She walked across the garden and stopped in front of him.

“You’re smoking.” Her voice was a soft accusation.

“Yes, Lily, I’m smoking. And you’re standing in the garden wearing your pyjamas,” he replied as if her transgression was as bad as his.

“When did you start smoking?” she ignored his comment.

“When I was nine,” he responded immediately, nonchalantly sharing a piece of his history with her like he did it every day and this information hit her like a blow.

Dear God, who started smoking when they were nine? She thought but he didn’t allow her to respond, he went on.

“Get back into the house.”

She blinked, momentarily thrown by his harshly voiced command coming so quickly after he’d shared something personal about himself, something she hadn’t had to wheedle out of him. Determined to get to the bottom of what was bothering him, she decided to ignore it.

“We need to talk. Something’s –”

“Lily, get back into the f**king house. No woman should stand outside barely clothed, especially not you. You’re the mother of my child, for God’s sake. This is a terraced house, the neighbours can see you.”

She had to shake her head trying to clear away his words, his tone, his meaning.

“Nate, it’s nearly midnight, no one –”

“Get back into the f**king house,” he snarled savagely, losing patience and leaning into her so menacingly, she couldn’t help but take a step back.

She hesitated, her heart stuttering again.

Then she squared her shoulders, determined to have it out even if it was midnight and she was in her pyjamas. Yes, they were pyjamas and yes, there wasn’t much to them but she wouldn’t describe herself as “barely clothed” for goodness sake.

“Don’t speak to me that way,” she snapped. “We have to talk. Something’s wrong with you and I want to know what it is.”

Without answering, he turned away from her and resumed his contemplation of the pier.

At this action, she tried a different tactic.

She stepped into his line of sight and put her hand on his arm.

“Nate,” she said in a gentler tone, “please talk to me.”

He looked down at her like he had when he was standing in his parent’s foyer and Victor was shaking her, like when they were in the conference room that awful day talking about Natasha’s custody, as if she was a not very interesting bug he was watching crawl across the pavement.

Pulling all her courage to her like a shield, she threw pride into the wind and leaned into him, putting her arms around him even though nothing about him was inviting her actions.

“Talk to me,” she urged, all her love for him in her words.

He didn’t touch her. Instead, he calmly flicked his cigarette over the cliff as if she was a mile away instead of holding him in her arms.

“Nate!” she cried, beginning to panic. “Talk to me.”

That’s when he touched her. His fingers went into the hair on either side of her head and held her there while his mouth slammed down on hers in the first kiss he’d given her in days.

It was not a loving kiss, it was hard, insistent, greedy, taking everything while giving nothing in return.

She was too happy he was touching her, kissing her, to let it register. She simply opened her mouth under his and gave him everything as she’d always done.

Lily heard his groan and was thrilled by it, but inexplicably he tore his mouth from hers. Then she was being lifted, carried, not to their room but downstairs to the family room. All the while he kissed her in that awful way, his mouth then moving to her neck, shoulders, behind her ear, his teeth sinking into her flesh in a dangerous, erotic way.

He kicked the door to the family room shut behind them and threw her on couch, following her down. He pulled off her clothes, tore off his own, his actions not gentle, nor were his mouth and his hands on her na**d body and it finally slid into her consciousness that he was not the same. This wasn’t violent, stormy passion. This was selfish and devouring.