Chapter Two
LILITH NEVER EXPECTED TO BE STARING into her father's eyes when she lost her virginity.
The early autumn evening was the perfect setting for John Alastair Stone's annual Beacon Hill event, the party that would fuel the society pages of newspapers within one hundred miles for weeks to come. Though Stone had spent the last few years in Toronto with his wife and daughters, he'd been born, raised, and machine-honed by the Mayflower pedrigreed family that had lived on Beacon Hill for generations. Now he'd come back to roost.
The Harvard-Boston Aero Meet was the topic of choice, as most of the party's guests had attended the airplane show. President Taft had been in town, and John Stone had met with him, a fact he worked into every handshake, each conversation, and any offhand comment he could. Former Mayor Fitzgerald monopolized as much of Stone's attention as possible, discussing a business venture with the billionaire, and Lilith gratefully took the opportunity, out from under her father's surveillance, to achieve her goal.
That night, Lilith positioned herself with Jack Reed, her father's new lawyer, and flirted until he knew exactly how to get her. And then she let herself be caught. The gardens were lush with ripe, turned Japanese maples and oak trees pregnant and laboring to drop their gold, pumpkin and adobe leaves on the New Hampshire granite stone floor. A bundle of mature hostas under a small maple tree provided ample ground cover and shade for Lilith and Jack.
“Are you sure?” he murmured into her lips, his mouth a buffet of red wine and garlic.
“Of course,” she purred. She was done with her maidenhead, ready to discard it like a broken pen or an old, torn towel. It did her no good, and at twenty-four it was a nasty reminder that she'd held on to her virginity for all the wrong reasons. In the beginning she was a good girl and stayed pure because her mother insisted. After a few years, though, she found that remaining a virgin was easy; finding a man worth sleeping with was the hard part.
No man met her standards.
And now her hymen was a niggling bother, something that she'd likely lost years ago riding horses at her father’s country estate, but whether the actual membrane was intact did not matter to Lilith. In fact, she doubted it, given her time at McLean and the treatments she'd received. The symbolism, however, was critical. She needed to free herself from the straightjacket of her untouched vagina.
Well, untouched by passion.
And with her consent.
An obstacle in her soul's path. Indeed.
Jack seemed nice enough, with a well-muscled body he hid under professional dress. Her eye had been drawn to him for the past year, a sympathetic man who seemed uncowed by her wealth and mind, though keen to exploit the former if it met his ambitions. A social-climbing lawyer, she knew he'd view this as a conquest but would, if need be, remain discreet. She also knew that she could trigger her father's temper with one careful whisper hissed within hearing distance of the worst Boston gossips.
Having a twenty-four year old, unmarried daughter was a source of great embarrassment to John Stone. Knowing she'd given herself up to a lawyer, a near servant in her father's eyes, would be unforgivable. Yet she could not help herself. Surges of desire consumed her these days, as if the recognition of the obstacle made it the center of all being. Right now her focal point was a hot spot of flesh that took over her mind, her senses, her nerves and her heart.
You're not untouched, a voice inside her whispered, like a snake sharing gossip, the hiss an echo that stretched out from seven years ago to now. She pushed it aside, imagining a hand reaching for a door to a cage that enclosed the snake. Whatever had happened in the mental ward was done. It could not be undone.
But this? This she could control.
Lilith smiled through another sloppy kiss. Jack took it as encouragement and a slow hand slid up her ribcage, searching for a breast. His other hand slid up her leg, past the garter clasp and under her bloomers to find her already wet. She'd known it would feel illicit to have a man's touch under dress but had not anticipated how her body would respond, the maddening flush of need and craving that would replace her racing thoughts. The quelling of intellect and the piquing of passion, the rush of want that only his mouth, his hands, his manhood could fill.
And all on her terms.
He groaned and she threw herself into the kiss, less from passion and more as an object lesson. This is how you kiss someone when you are about to make love. This is how it feels when his hand caresses your inner thigh. This is how it feel when his touch is wanted. This is how it feels when he places your hand on his clothed bulge. This is how you grasp an erect –
And then her father's voice boomed into the open air above their heads.
Now she began to enjoy herself, welcoming Reed's mouth against her own, a yearning tongue finding each inch of her, movements strong and close, helping to unleash a pent-up frustration that she'd carried for years, desperate now for release in the arms of a man whom she invited into her body.
“What a lovely night for a party, Fitzgerald.” A voice replied, its tone accented with an Irish lilt, but Lilith couldn't make out the words. “What's the return on investment, then?” her father replied, his voice conspiratorial and cunning.
He paused. His tone changed, a smile coming through his words. “And, apparently, young love is in bloom, even in this late autumn!” His baritone laugh carried through the garden and Jack froze, his arm wrapped around Lilith, holding one hip in his hand, inches from consummating the moment.
She pulled back and Jack's face made her laugh, his features a mask of horror, a guttural, yet silent, scream trying to come out. If her father, the richest man in Toronto and one of the richest in Boston, learned he'd slept with his daughter, not only would Jack lose his job, he'd likely be blackballed forever. Yet he wanted her still, a fact that warmed her. No one had dared make advances on John Stone's daughter. She'd been the one blackballed, rejected for her too-strong opinions and for the random event of being the gateway to a billion-dollar fortune that simultaneously attracted and repelled.
“Lilith!” Jack hissed.
“Kiss me,” she said, shifting her head to the right, the light from a gas lamp on the upper balcony spilling over her forehead and eyes.
Jack stayed still. Her heart dropped.
Lilith looked up without thinking, her head bent back, and met her father's eyes. The shock made her go slack, a chill running through her, driving all arousal from her as if she'd jumped off the Titanic in a fit of panic.
Seeing her wiped the smile off his face. Red coals of anger ignited in his eyes. He whipped around and stomped off the balcony.
Jack pulled away from her and began tucking his shirt back into his pants. “Your father! He heard us. What was I thinking? What were you thinking? I was drunk. You, you...tricked me!” Jack hastily made up his clothing, buttons half done and jacket askew. He wouldn't meet her eyes and she hardened.
“How did I trick you? Did I cast a spell and force you? Poison your drink? Make your penis attempt to enter my vagina?” She arched one eyebrow and now viewed him with disdain that – she hoped – covered her humiliation. For all she'd thought she would feel about losing her virginity, she'd not expected to find the man she'd nearly slept with to be so mousy. Cowardly. Relief filled her; she'd narrowly avoided giving herself up to this disappointment.
The relief battled an overwhelming vulnerability.
Sarcasm won out.
His nose wrinkled and his upper lip pulled up to reveal extremely crooked teeth as a look of revulsion passed over his face. “That's a vulgar way to put it!”
“And having sex with me in my father's open garden isn't vulgar?”
Jack's features had been of no importance when Lilith chose him, but now his eyes were a bit too deeply set, his chin a shade receding, and though he could do nothing about the crooked teeth, his brown hair needed a good haircut. It looked like his mother put a bowl on his head and cut, then piled lard from a homegrown pig as a pomade. She sniffed. Smelled like it, too.
She shook her head and turned, not waiting for a response. The hurt would flood her later, the pain of being used would sink in. But right now the only safe response was cool, calm rejection. Reject him before he could strike first. She could cry and feel and mourn and rejoice later. Right now, she needed to regroup.
The obstacle would remain intact, and right now she was a conduit only for her father's anger.
“My God, Lilith, what were you thinking?” her father roared. She'd seen a lion at the Bronx Zoo many summers ago, and he did, in fact sound like a lion. His beard and hair, both in need of a trim, added to the appearance of the African animal. John Stone looked a bit like an unkempt Andrew Carnegie, though taller and broader in the shoulders. He exuded disappointment in the world and in every human being he met, the waves as pungent as body odor. No one could please him, yet so many tried.
Lilith had decided long ago to stop trying to please him and, instead, to keep him in a constant state of irritation and horror regarding her activities. She knew she'd gone too far this time, though.
“You...that was an abomination against nature! Looking at me while you...” his voice trailed off into a low growl that ended in a spitting gesture.
A knock on the door startled them both.
“I've called for a review of your grandfather's trust,” Stone announced, a smug expression filling his jowled face.
“You can't do that!” Lilith replied. A cold flush ran through her arms and legs while her chest heated with a red blush, her hand creeping to her clavicle, fluttering there, transmitting the rapid heartbeat that took her during moments of conflict. Usually with her father.
“The provisions are quite clear,” she continued. “I inherit when I turn twenty-five. Should I marry before thirty, I lose the funds. Grandfather was careful to make sure you have no control,” she added. “Likely for moments just like this,” she muttered.
“Come in,” Stone announced to the callers at the door, ignoring Lilith's words.
Jack Reed walked in, a tight, professional expression pasted on his face. When his eyes settled on Lilith he paled, swallowed hard, and tried to look at anything other than Lilith or John, finally settling on the cuticle of his left thumb.
This did not escape John Stone's attention.
“Mr. Reed, you've come here to converse with me. Not with your digit.”
Reed startled and made eye contact with his client. “Yes, sir.”
“And who have you brought?”
An enormous man stood in the doorway behind Reed. Easily a foot and a half taller than Lilith's five foot even frame, he resembled a bear more than a man. Thick, coarse auburn hair slicked into submission couldn't be tamed; full-formed coils sprung from the lumpy, greasy mess at odd angles, attempting escape. His eyebrows were nearly as thick as one of Lilith's wrists, but the bright green eyes under the woolly canopies scanned the room with intelligence and cold calculation. He looked to be Lilith's age, and she pondered his weight. His chest mirrored the circumference of a wagon wheel. He was, nearly literally, a mountain of a man.
Reed cleared his throat and stepped in the room, clearing the way for the giant to step into the light. His suit was of a professional cut but at least ten years out of date. The seams strained against his build, and based on the stretch of wrist and his neck that were naked, the strain came from sinew and muscle. Not fat.
“This is my clerk. James Hillman.” John Stone had stepped forward to shake James' hand but stopped cold.
“A clerk? I see.” He pulled back abruptly and sat behind his desk, leaving James in mid-pose, leaning forward with his arm at a right angle, shaking hands with the air.
Lilith marched to fill her father's empty space. “I am Lilith Stone. Pleased to meet you.”
James' hand swallowed hers, the skin warm and hardened by calluses. He clasped as if shaking a man's hand. Lilith's shoulder shook before she could steady the muscles. She attempted to return the pressure and strength. One corner of his mouth turned up and Lilith could not determine whether the grin was conspiratorial or mocking. She decided it was likely a blend of both. As his flesh receded from hers a deep curiosity replaced it, her interest in Mr. James Hillman piqued.
The men remained standing until Lilith sat on a small settee, her back as straight as a steel beam. She scanned the room with eyes like a bird of prey, finally settling on Reed. The lawyer squirmed and shuffled aimlessly through a thick file in his hands, murmuring nonsense to himself.
James searched the room for the largest chair and found a Morris covered in thick, black leather. His hips fit neatly in the straight-backed, low-slung piece of furniture, his back reclined fully. When Lilith sat in it, she needed only the first half-foot of seat to sit up properly, feet flat on the floor.
She watched him pull a fountain pen and scribe notebook out of a tattered leather business bag. Ignoring her stare, James focused on Reed and Stone as they attempted to disinherit Lilith.
“Mr. Stone, unfortunately I've found no holes in the legal construction of this trust.”
“Unfortunately!” Lilith chided. “Unfortunately, the law is sound? A lawyer, one charged with the careful and neutral application of the law, is saddened that the law cannot be circumvented to disinherit me? What a fine, moral specimen you are.” She winked and Reed turned the same shade of red as the Japanese maple leaves outside Stone's library window.
“Blast. Well, then, what of McLean?”
Lilith shot her father an incredulous look. “The mental ward? Are you serious? You tried that a few years ago, father. It didn't work then and it won't work now. This is precisely why women need the vote, and need equal treatment under the law. If I were a man I'd be hailed as a powerful, virile icon in a wealthy family. Instead, you treat me like a hysterical female afflicted with nothing more than – ” she gestured at her breasts and torso “-- this!”
“Stop!” barreled the elder Stone. James tried, unsuccessfully, to turn a laugh into a cough, spilling ink all over his notes and his lapel in the process of covering his mouth.
Blooming anger that began in her pelvis boiled up into her mouth and spilled over. “Besides, Father, you were able to keep what happened at McLean quiet once. Even a billionaire cannot hide what they did to me twice. Your money and connections aren't that strong. Even God himself cannot hide from the muckrakers.”
Stone acted as if he'd heard nothing, though a simple nostril flare told her he'd caught the implicit threat. He motioned for Reed to talk. Reed shuffled through a thick packet of notes and said, “Committing Miss Stone to McLean will not dissolve the trust. She will simply inherit it at the age of twenty-five, as usual. Even if she were your legal ward at that time, you have no right to the money. Your wife's father, Mr. Weston, was clear. In the event of Miss Stone's mental incapacitation, the money goes to the Canadian government.”
Stone leaped to his feet, a crimson fury seeping from every pore. “What?”
Lilith's laugh captured the room, filling it with a mirth and delight she hadn't felt in years. Looking up toward a heaven she didn't believe in, she melodramatically gestured and said, “Oh, Grandfather, thank you for having the presence of mind to know how to outwit him.” She caught James suppressing a grin behind one beefy fist and he winked.
Jack Reed seemed to wish a sinkhole would open up and swallow him entire. His attention returned to his thumb's cuticle as Stone inhaled a through his nose, nostrils flaring as a warning sign for the bellow to come.
He did not disappoint.
“You!” he shouted and pointed at Reed. “You imbecile! Surely you can find a way to control her? Her mental state is addled. Surely you know that! I have proof. What normal woman reaches the age of twenty-four and chooses not to marry! And,” his voice lowered as he glanced around the room, as if gossips hid between the books, “last night she let a partygoer take her...innocence. Right beneath my balcony, in my own garden! The wanton promiscuity and lack of reason is enough to have her placed in a convalescent home to calm her nerves, yes?”
Reed's face paled to a shade of white that contained more green than Lilith thought possible in nature. Her lips twitched and she saw James' right eyebrow arch as he scribbled notes.
“My innocence? You want to send me to McLean again and you have the gall to discuss my 'innocence'?”
Stone ignored her again, stood slowly, and sighed. “Mr. Reed? Have you nothing to say for yourself?”
Lilith began to feel sorry for Jack. She'd picked him out of a motley group of professionals who fed off the Boston blue bloods. They'd known each other since they were children, and his father was every bit the ambitious sycophant Jack was.. It wasn't his fault that she'd compromised him. Then again, he had been an eager party in the moment, hot and bothered and all fingers and mouth, ready to take as much as she gave.
It also wasn't his fault that, as a lover, he was far worse than her friends had led her to believe could be found. A breeze swept through the room and sent a faint whiff of shaving soap her way, mixed with a musky scent of pomade and skin, a scent that stirred a small whirlpool of arousal. With great effort he held herself back from looking at James, sure her eyes would betray her body's response.
“I...I...sir, the law is quite clear on the matter.” Reed straightened his spine and licked his lips. “My associates looked through the trust with me. It has been reviewed by no fewer than six lawyers. Miss Stone's grandfather was extremely careful to make the provisions clear. Her...behavior notwithstanding, you can do nothing at this point to control her money. She will inherit at twenty-five as long as she does not marry. If she dies or becomes mentally incapacitated before reaching twenty-five years of age, the money reverts to the government. It is final.”
Reed bowed slightly and Stone slammed a palm against his desk, tipping an ink pot. In three large strides he was across the room, opening the door and slamming it. His secretary shrieked from behind the closed door.
Lilith, Jack and James sat in silence. She expected something, anything, from Jack, a flicker of recognition or empathy or camaraderie. Tears threatened to fill her eyes as she realized he would give nothing. This meeting, for him, was about pure social and professional survival. Lilith was nothing more than a pawn in a vicious game.
Jack finally stammered, “Good day, Miss Stone,” and nodded to James, who began to gather his leather cases and papers.
But pawns can take any piece – rook, bishop, knight or more – if the chessboard is set up just so.
“So now it's Miss Stone? Last night it was,” she changed her voice to a husky growl, “Lilith.”
James burst into a booming laughter and tipped his head back, showing gleaming white teeth the size of Lilith's thumbs. Reed turned the color of a purple tomato.
“Perhaps your father is right! Something is wrong with you.” Reed shook his head and seemed to measure his words, then thought the better of it.
“If something is wrong with me, what is it? I always endeavor to improve myself, and the worthy advice of my betters is crucial in making progress toward self development,” she replied, turning her face into a neutral mask, working to suppress the hysteria that rose from her belly up between her breasts and into her heart.
Reed faltered, then took her at her word. “You wish for me to speak freely?” James cracked his knuckles and leaned back in the Morris chair, eating up every inch of leather and making the wooden joints groan under his weight. His amused expression showed Lilith that he knew full well the undertone of her words, even if his employer did not.
“Of course. You have my rapt attention. As you did last night. Though in that instance, my attention did not appear to be enough to maintain your...” Lilith glanced at Reed's crotch with a skeptical look. Now she was all bluster, the anger a cover for the hot tears that buzzed around a pool of misery within, like mosquitoes in August on the duck pond in Boston Common.
Rather than laughing again, as Lilith expected, James peered at her with the curiosity most men reserved for fossils and mutant animals.
Jack Reed's mouth dropped open in full shock, then closed in a gritted fury. “You...if you weren't my client's daughter, I...” His voice dropped off and he stormed out of the room.
“I'd hate to see what he does to the daughters of men who aren't his clients,” Lilith remarked to James, turning to look at him.
Instead of his face, she found herself staring at his back as he strode out of the room without a word.
And now the tears came. She let them. Everyone she feared might see them had stormed out, driven away by whatever was wrong with her.