Island Road: The Billionaire Brothers

by Lily Everett

  “Thank you for everything,” Greta whispered, pulling back. She knew from the rising heat in her cheeks that she was blushing, but she’d never meant anything more. “It’s been the most amazing day of my life.”

  Cleo’s wide, surprised eyes warmed. “I’m glad. And I’m even gladder Mr. Harrington invited me here to meet you.”

  “After everything I put Cleo through today,” Miles explained, “I wanted to thank her.”

  Turning a fond, indulgent smile on her boss, Cleo shook her head. “I work for you, Mr. Harrington. The exorbitant salary you pay me is thanks enough. I’ve told him before,” she said, shrugging in Greta’s direction. “But it never seems to sink in.”

  “You do more for me than any amount of money could repay,” Miles said firmly. “So come on. Your thank-you gift is at the top of the building.”

  Clearly reluctant, Cleo glanced back and forth between Miles and Greta. “Now Mr. Harrington, I don’t know. Having met this young lady, I’m not sure I should intrude on your evening.”

  Greta didn’t have a crystal-clear picture of exactly what was going on, but she knew enough to link her arm through Miles’s elbow on one side, and Cleo’s on the other.

  “Nonsense. You’ve known Miles a lot longer than I have, but even I am already completely aware of the fact that once he sets his heart on something, he gets it. You’re coming upstairs with us!”

  With a little laugh, Cleo allowed herself to be towed toward the elevator. “All right, but only for a minute. Mr. Harrington, I think you may have met your match with this one.”

  Ignoring the flutter of happiness that gave her, Greta bounced on her toes in anticipation as the silent old gentleman in the uniform called down the elevator. The metal doors engraved with a stylized deco outline of the iconic building’s exterior slid apart with a muted ding.

  “Going up,” the uniformed man announced as they all trooped in.

  Greta kept her gaze glued to the old-fashioned floor counter as the elevator zoomed upward. Her stomach fluttered as they climbed higher and higher, excitement sending chills over her skin.

  They got off at the eighty-sixth floor, but instead of following the signs to the Observation Deck, the stony-faced elevator attendant ushered them across the hall to another elevator. “Wait, aren’t we…” Greta broke off as the second elevator’s doors whooshed closed. “Oh, my gosh.”

  And farther up they went. This elevator had a series of numbers beside the floors, and as they climbed ever higher, Greta realized that the second numbers were estimates of height in feet.

  When the elevator wound to a stop at the one hundred and second floor, the number illuminated next to it was one thousand, two hundred and fifty. As in, they were now one thousand, two hundred and fifty feet off the ground.

  Greta’s mind could hardly process what she was about to see when they stepped through those doors.

  It was a much quieter observation gallery than the bustling deck below on eighty-six, and her heart raced at the views through the glass picture windows. But instead of giving her time to wander and stare out over the tops of buildings and the ocean of lights, Miles prodded her toward a door she hadn’t even noticed.

  Plain and unmarked, the door was entirely unassuming. For some reason, she expected it to be locked, but when Miles twisted the handle, it opened easily to reveal a narrow set of metal stairs going up.

  “And … this is where I get off,” Cleo said suddenly, hanging back.

  Miles frowned. “But your thank-you gift!”

  “I know.” She cocked her head. “But now that I see those stairs … I think I’ll just enjoy the view from here, thanks. You two go on ahead.”

  Greta’s heart leapt into her throat as she contemplated the stairs. She completely understood Cleo’s change of heart. They were so high already, the vast blackness of the night sky all around them and the city spread hundreds of feet below. Fear stalked her, the old familiar refrain of caution like her mother’s voice in her head, but Greta stuffed it down. “I’m not going to make it in these heels.”

  “So take them off.” Miles shrugged, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll happily go up behind you and be ready to catch you if you stumble.”

  Greta snorted, some of the fear dissipating in the face of his flirtation. “My hero, willing to climb a ladder behind me while I’m wearing a short, tight dress.”

  Miles leaned in to murmur, “What if I promise I won’t look?”

  The mixed signals were giving Greta emotional whiplash. She arched her brow in a clear challenge. “Look all you want, Miles. I’m not shy.”

  It wasn’t completely true—more than a decade of hiding her body, her scar, from the world had left Greta with a few hang-ups. But she wanted Miles Harrington. And maybe if she showed him clearly enough, he’d get over whatever was holding him back.

  Right then and there, Greta decided she wasn’t spending the night in any guest room. She’d either sleep in Miles’s bed … or she’d find her own way back home to Sanctuary Island tonight.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, gesturing at the steep stairs.

  Slipping out of her heels, Greta filled her lungs with a deep, cleansing breath, and set her foot on the bottom step. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Chapter 8

  “Surprise,” Miles said as they climbed. “These stairs lead to the private deck, at the base of the building’s mooring mast. The highest point in New York not open to the general public, with three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of the entire city on the other side of that door.”

  Ducking under the network of pipes at the top of the stairs, he watched Greta hesitate for a second at the exit to the outside.

  Concerned, he said, “If you’re nervous, we don’t have to go out. We can head back down to the observation gallery, or even to the regular deck down on eighty-six with the rest of the tourists.”

  “I am nervous,” she muttered. “We must be so high up now! But I made it this far. I have to see what’s out there.”

  Miles took her hand, unsurprised to find her fingers chilled with fear. Bringing them to his mouth, he blew warmth over them. “You have nothing to prove to anyone, Greta. Whatever you want, it’s all good.”

  But she shook her head, her fingers curling around his as she stared up at him earnestly. “Thank you. But you’re wrong. I do have something to prove. To myself, more than anyone.”

  And with that, she stepped away from him and out onto the narrow balcony. Pride, respect, admiration for the sheer gutsiness of her, filled Miles’s chest. Not wanting to miss a moment of her triumph over herself, he followed her.

  Wind whipped across his face, and even this high in the clouds, it still carried the city scents of exhaust fumes and dirty-water hot dog carts. The secret deck up here was insanely narrow, no more than two feet of space between the exterior of the tower and the ludicrously short knee-high railing.

  “Ever been up here before?” Greta called into the breeze as she inched her barefoot way around the ledge, back hugging the tower.

  Miles shook his head. “I can’t believe they let anyone up here. I guess this explains the waivers I had Cleo forge my signature on so we could get this confirmed.”

  Somehow, that loosened the taut line of Greta’s creamy shoulders, bared by the spaghetti straps of her sparkly cocktail dress. “So I’m not the only one who thinks this is a little crazy? We could topple over the side here any second. If the wind were strong enough…”

  Her fingers went white-knuckled as she clenched them for purchase against the wall, and Miles forgot to be nervous about the thousand-plus-foot drop straight down into Midtown traffic. Stepping quickly, he maneuvered himself next to her and slipped a steadying arm around her shoulders, relieved when she relaxed into his side at once.

  “What did I tell you,” he said. “You don’t have to do this alone. Hell, you don’t have to do it at all—but since you’re determined, I’m right here with you. I’m not going a
nywhere.”

  “I want to look over the edge.” Determination hummed in her low voice, threading steel through her limbs, and once again, Miles could only marvel at her.

  Instead of arguing, the way he knew she half-expected him to, Miles silently nudged her forward and slid his body behind hers. Bracing his feet securely against the buffeting of the wind, he clasped his hands around her narrow waist.

  “Go ahead,” he told her. “I’ll be your anchor.”

  Greta folded her hands over his, shooting him a smile full of nerves, thrill, and the incandescent joy of doing something crazy for once in her sheltered life. And then she leaned out, trusting him to hold her securely.

  Miles was ready to pull her back against him the instant he felt her stiffen in fear or panic, but she didn’t. She laughed. Wild and carefree, with her arms stretched out to the sides like wings that would catch the wind and let her soar off into the night, Greta laughed.

  And Miles fell in love.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this!” she called over her shoulder, eyes glittering and hair flying in tendrils around her shoulders. “Look, you can see all the way to … gosh, there are three bridges all lit up. Is one of them the Brooklyn Bridge?”

  “That one.” Miles risked letting go of her with one hand just long enough to point.

  “Beautiful.” Her sigh was lost in the breeze, but he felt the way the breath pushed out of her rib cage. She leaned back against his chest, and Miles crossed his arms over her torso to hold her close.

  “This is my island,” he said into the delicate pink shell of her ear. “I’m glad you got to see it like this. Thank you for coming here with me.”

  “I’ll never forget today, as long as I live. I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

  Guilt scoured out his insides with a merciless hand. “You don’t owe me anything, Greta Hackley. Today was for me as much as for you. I’ve lived in this city my entire adult life, and I guess I take the sights and sounds and smells of it for granted. You brought them back to life for me.”

  He paused, everything he wanted to say getting stuck behind the giant ball of emotion in his throat. But this was too important, he had to get it out.

  Dredging his voice up from deep in his chest, he rumbled, “You brought me back to life. I was dead inside, and didn’t even know it.”

  Miles felt, more than heard, the broken noise Greta made before she turned to wrap her arms around his neck.

  Right there, at the top of the world, Greta kissed him. And as Miles snugged her in tight and tried his best to breathe in her essence, he knew he had to do whatever it took to keep this woman in his life.

  From here on out, Miles would be honest and open with her. He wanted a relationship, a future, a chance to make Greta fall in love with him for real. He’d started this campaign of seduction for all the wrong reasons, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t work. He’d just keep it up until Greta was as head over heels, crazy in love as he was.

  And he’d make damn sure she never, ever found out the truth about how this all started.

  *

  Jittery anticipation made Greta fumble as she slipped off her heels and kicked them across the marble-floored foyer of Miles’s penthouse. She caught herself against a sleek, glass-topped display case that held what looked like an ancient family Bible and several framed photos.

  Greta nudged the spindly legged table back into place with a guilty glance over her shoulder at Miles, who was distracted by a phone call to check in with Cleo, who’d been gone by the time they came down from the secret deck.

  The baritone hum of his low voice behind her sent pleasurable vibrations into her stomach and chest. Her heart rate, which had finally slowed to something resembling normal on the car ride uptown, ticked up again.

  To distract herself while she waited for Miles, Greta leaned down to study the pictures in the display case. Several were old, sepia-tinted shots of people staring straight at the camera without smiling, and there were a few soft-focus baby pictures.

  But the one that caught her eye was of a bright, smiling woman with her head leaning on the broad shoulder of a tall, handsome man with Miles’s stern jaw and electric blue eyes. Ranged in front of them was a toddler waving a wooden bulldozer and an older kid with a bored expression and a book clutched to his chest. A tall, teenaged boy stood beside his father, mimicking his straight-backed posture and the gleam of pride as he gazed at his family.

  Eyes and nose stinging, Greta blinked quickly to stop any tears as Miles stepped up beside her. She pointed at the photo. “I love this one.”

  “It was taken a few years before our parents died. Car crash, very sudden,” he said, sounding totally matter of fact. But the slow, tender way he took out his silk pocket square and wiped at the fingerprints she’d left on the glass told another story.

  She’d seen it over and over in the short time she’d known Miles Harrington. From the outside, he appeared so buttoned up and focused, nothing but will, arrogance, and pride. But that wasn’t who Miles was inside.

  Greta believed the real Miles was the one who knew the name of every person who worked for him, and freely showed them his appreciation for all that they did. The real Miles was the man who invited his assistant along on their date as a thank-you, and then called to make sure she’d made it home safely.

  The real Miles was the man who met a woman who’d always longed to see the world … and gave her a view of it that would be seared into her memory for the rest of her life.

  “I never knew my father, and I still miss him,” Greta said, feeling her way. “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you, to lose both your parents so young.”

  Miles shrugged heavily, and Greta could almost see the weight that had dropped onto those shoulders along with that tragic loss. “It was worse for Dylan. Poor kid was on his own, had to go live with our grandparents. At least Logan and I could escape to school. I was almost done with college, and once I finished, I always planned to ask Dylan if he wanted to come live with me instead. But by then, he was settled with Nana and Gramps, and the board of directors was pressuring me to pick up the reins at Harrington International. I got my MBA at Columbia, working weekends and nights while trying to make sense of the chaos the company had fallen into without a Harrington at the helm. Dylan was better off where he was.”

  Greta swallowed, not sure what to say. “I’m sure Dylan was fine with your grandparents. But Miles, he would have been fine with you, too. You know that, don’t you?”

  He glanced away, into the dark interior of the spacious living room. “Maybe.”

  Grabbing for his hand to keep him from walking away, Greta insisted, “No maybe about it. I’m not saying you did the wrong thing by concentrating on the company—that’s your family’s legacy, it’s important to all three of you. But if you’ve been thinking all along that you couldn’t have taken care of Dylan when he was a teenager, I just have to tell you, I think you’re completely wrong. I’ve never known anyone to take care of people the way you do, Miles. It’s part of your nature, it’s who you are. The way you treat the people who work for you, the things you’ve done for me—even how you fight with your brothers! All that tells me you have a whole lot of love to give. Don’t ever think different, okay?”

  Even in the muted golden glow of the backlit display case, Greta could see Miles’s throat work silently for a long moment before he shuddered and reeled her in for a deep, drugging kiss. Greta’s knees wobbled, and with a few short, sure steps he’d backed her against the foyer wall and pinned her there.

  Need, hot and urgent, raced through Greta’s body with every beat of her fast-pounding heart. She made a muffled moan, the noise trapped between their lips, and wrapped one leg as high as she could around Miles’s lean hip. There was an achy emptiness at the core of her that made her restless and fretful, unable to simply dissolve into the kiss and let Miles set the pace.

  Greta wanted him. And now she knew he wanted her b
ack, despite his earlier assurances of her own guest bedroom.

  “Shh,” he whispered against her lips when she whimpered again. “God. We need to slow down, sweetheart.”

  Clutching at his shoulders to feel the line of his hard muscle under the stiff structure of his suit jacket, Greta shook her head. “Don’t want to go slow. Please. I know you’ve already given me everything I asked for today—but I’m greedy. I want this, too.”

  Groaning, Miles fell on her mouth again, licking into her voraciously. She could feel each separate imprint of his fingers where they shaped the curve of her waist. When he came up for air, shaking his head as if he were attempting to shake some sense into himself, Greta panicked.

  Reaching for the concealed side zipper, she whisked it down and shrugged out of the black sequined dress before she had time to think it through or get nervous. The light was perfect, a low glow that gilded the skin and minimized the faded line scored above her hip. The look in Miles’s wide, stunned eyes as he took in the sight of her small breasts cupped in black lace and the matching lacy undies, made Greta feel beautiful. Womanly and desirable, for the first time in her life.

  “Come on, Miles.” Her voice was a low, husky whisper in the darkness. “I want the whole fairy tale.”

  His eyes went hot and wild, but when he reached for her, his touch was soft, tender, careful. He slid his hands into the tumbled mess of her hair so gently, his fingers never snagged on a tangle. Framing her face, Miles’s thumbs drew lines of fire over the fragile skin below her eyes, the blood-warmed flush of her cheeks.

  Greta stood there, stripped down to her underwear while Miles still wore his three-piece suit, and smiled. She ought to feel naked or embarrassed, she thought dimly—but instead, clothed in nothing but wisps of lace and the heat pouring off of Miles’s big body, she’d never felt safer.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his gaze searching her face intently.