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It was funny, because if he ever did look at me like that—as if he were going to sweep me up into his arms and carry me to the bedroom to ravish me—I would turn tail and run into the next state. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Anthony—I did. More than almost anything in the world. My passion for him was as deep and true as my passion for painting, but it was also more raw and uncontrolled. That was one of the reasons that, although I had always been close to Anthony and maintained that relationship even after my father’s death, I had never allowed myself to become particularly comfortable around the man.
My feelings wouldn’t allow for comfort, and seeing him too regularly, being reminded of that which I would never—could never—have, was just a bit too much.
My only saving grace was I didn’t think my father knew of my fixation on a man completely out of my childish league.
After Anthony had spanked my bare ass, Father had noticed that I tended to refuse to go to dinner with the two of them like I used to, and that I rarely made an appearance at the house if I thought Anthony was going to be there, and he told me outright that he understood. That Anthony made a lot of people nervous. That Anthony’s world was a scary place and he didn’t want me to be part of it at all. Hypocritical since my father had been delving even deeper into the Russian mafia.
I had choked on the lemonade I was drinking, and managed not to disgrace myself by telling Father that the reason I was uncomfortable around Anthony was that he could make me wet just by his mere existence. I let Father think what he wanted to think. No one in this world knew just how vulnerable I was—or could be—to his best friend.
Most particularly not the man himself.
I got up and poured myself a glass of water, coming back to stand in front of my version of Anthony and eyed him with a glare I would never dare use in real life. I loved him. I wanted him. But at the same time, I hated him because he’d only see me as his friend’s kid and nothing more. I knew he loved me. But as family.
Uncle Anthony.
A minuscule part of me worried that somehow, Father had known about the lustful thoughts that had filled my mind whenever Anthony was within a three-mile radius. That somehow, I’d caused Father’s death with those naughty, taboo thoughts.
Sinners must pay the price.
That maybe my punishment for being such an awful daughter was God taking Father away from me forever.
And yet, despite the needless guilt that sometimes snuck up on me, I still coveted him. Although, as far as I was concerned, he was just as off limits since Father died as he had been while he was alive. Anthony didn’t want me. He didn’t need me. He kept seeing me out of the goodness of his heart, and because I was all he had left. I snorted. It wasn’t like he had much choice. He was alone in this world just as I was.
“Why do you torture me?” I whispered at the portrait. Sometimes I hated him at least as much as I loved him.
I stood there, tears dripping down my cheeks, and stared at my image of perfection, of what I ached for but could never have as it seared its way slowly through my heart.
Chapter Three
Anthony
I threw my reading glasses down onto the top of my solid mahogany desk, pinching the bridge of my nose hard, when that was just why I’d removed the damned glasses in the first place. My eyes settled where they always did when I gave them free rein—which wasn’t often in my busy life running companies and acting as the operating manager of Black Secrets—on the picture of Dasha, my best friend, and the family I had become part of. We were all posed around the table during a vacation trip we had done.
Since we all adored the snow, we’d taken a vacation in the middle of the winter one year. We spent our time racing each other on snowmobiles, skiing down the mountain through inches of fresh powder, and traversing the slopes on snowboards. But we’d also taken a couple of days and gone down to the cape, thoroughly enjoying the fact that we practically had the place to ourselves. I had taken my thirty-five millimeter on our walks and had gotten some great shots of the sea, and even better candid photos of Raychel as she stared off into what she called heaven. Next to the picture of the family… Dasha’s family, I also had a picture of Raychel with the ocean highlighting every delicate and beautiful feature she had.
