Gilded Lily
Loose Id Titles by Pauline Allan
GILDED LILY
Pauline Allan
www.loose-id.com
Gilded Lily
Copyright © June 2013 by Pauline Allan
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Lewis Carroll,
Alice in Wonderland: Through the Looking Glass
(Garden City NY, International Collector’s Library, 196?), 54.
eISBN 9781623001896
Editor: Larke Butler
Cover Artist: Mina Carter
Published in the United States of America
Loose Id LLC
PO Box 809
San Francisco CA 94104-0809
www.loose-id.com
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * *
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Dedication
To JL, for making my sixteenth-birthday wish come true when I blew out the candles. C, for getting out of the truck in the pouring rain at the stop sign in the middle of town. And J, for showing me that strawberry glaze isn’t just for dessert.
Acknowledgments
First I must thank my wonderful editor, Larke Butler. Thank you for your patience and smiley faces. My publisher, Loose Id, for giving me such creative freedom. My father’s late-night debates inspired the writer in me. My angel, for always being on my side and believing in me. A very special acknowledgment for Pauline Réage. Without the
Story of O
I would never have had the courage to pursue my truth.
Chapter One
Lily stood outside the funeral home with a cigarette clenched between two trembling fingers. The stale taste lingered against her lips as she blew the small billow of smoke into the warm afternoon breeze. It was only on rare occasions she needed to light up. The day her ex walked out. The reading of her grandmother’s will. When her mother called to state, matter-of-factly, that the lump in her breast wasn’t a caffeine deposit. This was another event to tag on to the growing list.
Cigarette teetering between her lips, she rifled through her purse for a mint. She should’ve pulled her hair up. Tony always knew what was best, she thought. Should’ve worn the flat sandals too, and definitely should’ve swiped on some extra deodorant. All the wishing in the world wasn’t going to bring Tony here. He didn’t care much for New York; besides, he was overrun at the office. But the patients could’ve waited. She’d been his submissive for three years, after all, and needed him more than ever.
Finally.
She thumbed the tiny lid on the plastic container and shook the last green pellet into her palm. After grinding the fire-red end of the cigarette into the sand pit ashtray, she shoved the candy into her mouth. She stuffed the container into her purse and fished out the compact mirror. She checked her lipstick and hair. “Nicholas was right,” she said to herself, clipping the compact closed and dropping it back into her purse. “If there’s not a man marching with an umbrella and a band behind him, what’s the point of a funeral? Why else is the word
fun
in it?”
Two tall men stood by the frosted glass doors. Their gentle nods preceded their opening the doors for her to enter. Lily politely smiled and walked through into a hall lined with the other guests. Clutching her bag, she tightened her fingers together around the leather straps. The feel of leather was a reminder of comfort. The sensation of a supple belt snapping against her bare skin always led to the delicious heat of the sting.
The reel in her head played in repetition. It was Tony’s voice telling her she could do this.
You can do this. Deep breaths… Follow the line.
God, Tony, I need you.
Deep breaths… Follow the line. You can do this.
Tony…
She slid the purse straps over her shoulder and tucked her hands to their familiar position behind her back. The silk blouse Tony had chosen for her to wear fluttered against her heated skin. Nicholas, God rest his soul, used to tell her she dressed like a schoolteacher and acted like a schoolgirl. Lily grinned, thinking about his handsome face, the way he’d pull his baseball cap down to shade his eyes from the bright sun. She stifled fresh tears and took a deep breath before stepping toward a small podium.
It was her turn at the guest book. She penned her name, then stared at the space next to her shaky handwriting.
Affiliation.
That’s all the title read. What should she write there?
Friend… simply friend.
That was as good a title as any, she guessed.
She moved aside to let the man behind her have access to the book. An older couple passed and she followed them through the archway. The line to the coffin was long. She decided it’d be best not to go up to see him yet. Seeing her friend lying in a box wasn’t something she was ready to face.
Such a colorful man. Greenery and white roses?
Lily gave a quiet snort.
Anyone who really knew him would’ve brought hibiscus and daffodils.
Choosing a folding chair in the rear of the large seating area, she inconspicuously sat down.
The overwhelming heaviness in her chest pushed her senses into a numb void as she scanned the room, watching people come and go through the wide set of French doors. Some stood at the coffin for what seemed like an eternity, wiping away tears as the person next to him or her held the weeper’s shaking shoulders. An older gentleman with distinguished salt-and-pepper hair stood at the head of the mahogany coffin. Nicholas’s father, she guessed. Nicholas had spoken of him often enough that Lily recognized the distinct features Nicholas had described. He’d say he got his father’s chiseled jawline and big hands, while his brother got his father’s brooding attitude and broad shoulders. The memory of long nights spent in two lawn chairs with a couple of bottles of red lingered after the summer had said good-bye. Lily was sure the last bottles they’d shared were still sitting on the stable-house porch.
Standing close to the gentleman’s side was another man, quite younger.
The brooding brother.
Both brothers shared striking features. Nicholas’s natural hair color was dark. He’d have Lily lighten it on occasion, but it was as chocolate brown as the man’s standing by the coffin. This man was a bit taller than Nicholas, with broader shoulders, but both had the same long legs and easy stance.
Lily adjusted in her seat and crossed her ankles. Immediately remembering Tony’s instructions, she unwrapped her ankles to gently press her knees together. Her dominant might be loving, but he was also insistent she obey him at all times. Even when he wasn’t present.
She lowered her gaze before anyone could see her admiring her friend’s brother.
It’s a funeral, for Christ’s sake.
Couldn’t she keep her thoughts clean long enough to mourn her dear friend? She snickered, realizing Nicholas wouldn’t have minded. He’d have done the same thing, along with commenting on the atrocious outfit his aunt was wearing or how the white roses looked silly in the little cherub vase.
The way he used to talk about his boyfriends was hilarious. If his dates wore the wrong color sweater or ate like a pig on safari, he shut them down. There always seemed to be some quirk that turned him off. Every man tried too hard, robbed too much of his time. Lily admired his independence, his ability to walk away and always find acceptance in the next man. She was learning, with the help of Tony, to discover the strength within her, a courage she’d longed to claim and embrace.
She could hear Nicholas’s sweet voice,
“I’m a little devil, not a little angel.”
Lily looked up as the tall, dangerously handsome man came closer. Had Nicholas told his brother about their relationship? She knew while Nicholas had lived on her property, he’d kept up correspondence with his brother. A nauseating panic filled her stomach. Did he know who she was? What would she say? Did he know the nature of her friendship with Nicholas?
God he’s sexy.
The way his long legs moved with a smooth and easy stride spoke of confidence, an awareness he had no one to impress. This was a man who took his sweet time whenever he pleased. A man who made her mouth water and her nipples harden, and he was walking right toward her. He was almost within reach. Lily sat on her hands with her purse resting on her lap.
“Hello.” He extended his large hand. His voice was a deep baritone, much like Tony’s.
The way his emerald gaze skimmed her face made the funny feeling in her stomach ease. She couldn’t look away from the hint of melancholy shimmering in his eyes as his smile rose with his warm greeting. An ache seethed through her. Taken aback by his size and beauty, she had an overwhelming urge to touch him.
Is he real?
“Hello,” she managed to say before reaching out to shake his hand. The warmth of his palm made her fingers tingle.
Safe.
“May I?” He gestured to the empty seat next to her.
Lily nodded and tried to say, “Of course,” but wasn’t sure if that was what had actually come out of her nervous mouth. She repeated the words, in case she’d looked like the idiot she felt like. “Of course.”
“So, you must be the elusive flower,” he said and leaned back in the folding chair, which was obviously too small for his height.
Lily repositioned the purse on her lap. “I’m sorry?”
“Nick’s Lily Flower. That’s what he called you.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “It
is
you, isn’t it? Lily Desclose—famous writer, world-renowned educator of religious history? Oh, and subject of all my brother’s letters. I’m Adam Stark.”
She scooted farther back into her chair to get a better view of him. “Yes, I guess I am. I mean, I’m a writer and religious history professor—on leave at the moment. I didn’t know Nicholas wrote letters about me.”
“My brother had quite an imagination, a real eye for beauty.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
She looked over in time to see him peeking back at her from the corner of his intense eyes. “Yes, he did.”
He returned his attention to the guests standing by the coffin. “You’re very beautiful.”
“Like you said, Nicholas had a wonderful imagination,” she said, trying to shrug off the embarrassing compliment. “He was quite lively. I rather enjoyed that about him.”