At the Brink

by Anna del Mar

  A Story of Sexual Obsession

  Lily:

  I should never have agreed to it.

  A woman will do a lot to keep her husband happy. But when my husband sells me to the highest bidder—billionaire, former navy SEAL, pride of Boston’s business scene—I agree, not to keep him happy, but because it gives me the chance to finally escape. Escape my marriage, escape my debts, escape my life...

  Josh Lane demands a steep price: my pride and my morals. But the truth is, I’ve never felt anything like what I feel for him. He brings color into my gray world. And his insistence that I submit to his commands—his depraved, filthy, amazing commands—only feeds my craving to be taken by him. Again. And again.

  I should never have agreed to it, but I’m so glad I did.

  Josh:

  I don’t need to pay to keep women in my bed. Though my preferences may be unorthodox, I never leave a woman unsatisfied—far from it. Lily Boswell, though... Her innocence draws me, her secrets intrigue me. Having her is worth dealing with her cowardly scum of a husband.

  I want to release her passions and heal her wounds.

  On my terms.

  Because the blindfolds and restraints hide more than she could imagine. I must keep her safe from the people who would destroy me—and the demons that haunt my dreams.

  Edited by Kerri Buckley

  Dear Reader,

  I don’t know about you, but when someone asks me for book recommendations, I first ask them what some of their favorite authors or books are, so I can give them something similar, but different. Taste matching is a pretty common way of getting recommendations for anything, really, from chocolate to TV shows to books, so I decided to do some taste matching with our Carina Press May titles.

  If you love Kristen Ashley...

  Anna del Mar’s contemporary romance may be just up your alley. One of the things I love about Kristen is that she tends to write long, giving us a chance to dive into the characters and relationships, and Anna offers the same great escape. In At the Brink, Josh Lane is blunt, ruthless, intense and exacting; a workaholic driven by internal demons; a man who doesn’t play games, except in bed, of course, where he is always in command. Lily Boswell is trapped in a dangerous situation and Josh has no problem taking advantage of that—to protect her and to get her into his bed.

  If you love Jackie Collins or Sidney Sheldon...

  Remember the awesome sweeping international feel of the ’80s glam romances? The characters were wealthy, they were dramatic, and they were no-holds-barred. Join Laura Carter’s Vengeful Love trilogy as it takes us from London to Dubai in a dark and suspenseful, sinfully sexy tale of love, betrayal and sex. Pick up books one and two before diving into this month’s nail-biting finale, Vengeful Love: Black Diamonds.

  If you love Josh Lanyon...

  You’ll love A.M. Arthur. Both Josh and A.M. are wonderful at sweeping readers into brilliant characterization and developing relationships. In Come What May, the first book in the brand-new All Saints series from A.M. Arthur, we meet Jonas Ashcroft—son of a conservative state senator, carefree frat-boy player, and definitely not gay. But when Jonas meets Tate, he’s introduced to a life he’s never known. One filled with acceptance and sex and a love that terrifies them both.

  If you love Eloisa James or Sarah MacLean...

  The sharp wit of Sarah and the fabulous heroine-centric story lines of both Sarah and Eloisa are some of my favorite things about their historical romances. Amanda Weaver’s Grantham Girls trilogy shares similarities with both and is absolutely delightful. A spirited heiress is determined to land a titled husband, but an undeniable passion with a man from her past threatens both of their futures in A Common Scandal.

  If you love Pamela Clare...

  Suspense, romance, action...what’s not to love about Pamela Clare? Piper J. Drake follows in Clare’s bestselling footsteps with her romantic suspense Safeguard series. Kyle Yeun is a very bad man and way too tempting in all the wrong ways, but mercenary Lizzy Scott needs to keep him alive long enough to provide Deadly Testimony in court even if it means there will be no rest for the wicked.

  If you love Heidi Cullinan...

  Annabeth Albert is an author you should check out. Fun and fabulous, romantic and swoon-worthy. Beta Test is an enemies-to-lovers, opposites-attract road-trip romance that will remind you of all the things you love about male/male romance.

  If you love Linnea Sinclair or Sharon Lee or Steve Miller...

  That’s right, if you’ve been craving a dynamite space-opera romance, then you’ve been missing out on the Chaos Station series by Kelly Jensen and Jenn Burke. Love in space? Yes, please. Good versus evil? Check. An ongoing romance that sweeps the galaxy book over book? Delivered. Start where the adventure begins in Chaos Station and devour the titles leading to this month’s release, Phase Shift.

  Backlist bonus taste matching:

  If you love Jaci Burton...

  Make sure you’re not missing out on Kate Willoughby’s In the Zone contemporary sports romances.

  If you love Liliana Hart...

  You’ll be enamored with the spunky Lexi Carmichael mysteries from Julie Moffett.

  And if you love the Hitman series from Jessica Clare and Jen Frederick...

  The dangerous hero of Didn’t I Warn You by Amber Bardan is right up your alley!

  As always, until next month here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  Dedication

  To those who dare us to dare ourselves. The path always lies ahead.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Excerpt from The Stranger by Anna del Mar

  Chapter One

  Lily

  The silk gown propped up on my couch announced the end of a truce and the beginning of yet another battle. After a long day at work and a dreary walk through the cold drizzle soaking Boston, I wanted a bath and my bed. But I knew
better. Martin and trouble always came together. Dressed in an ill-fitting tux, Martin sat on the couch between the gown and a shopping bag from Second Hand Concessions, twirling a pair of six-inch stilettos by the heels.

  “Beautiful, yes?” He lifted the shoes in the air. “A present. For you.”

  I shut the door behind me and dropped my purse on the table. “Why are you here?”

  “Why, Lily, you forget,” he said, voice tilting with the French accent I’d once found charming. “This is my place too. I’ve come to take you out. Tonight. You need to get ready. We’re going to a party.”

  “A party?” My heart tripped and my mouth soured. “You know I don’t do parties.”

  “You’ll do this one.”

  “No, Martin, I won’t.”

  “There’s no need to argue.” He rose from the couch and, clutching the shoes in one hand, tucked a handful of salt-and-pepper curls behind his ear. “You are going to the party and that’s final.”

  I kept him at bay with a narrow-eyed glare and retreated behind the kitchen counter. “What are you up to this time around?”

  “You blush so prettily when you are angry.” He launched a shoe up in the air and began to juggle the pair. “You might be surprised, but I’ve found a solution to our problem.”

  “Our problem?” I stared at him in disbelief. I wasn’t the one who’d gotten booted out of a professorship at MIT for cavorting with students. I wasn’t the one who’d lost my grant, maxed out our credit cards and mismanaged my research project. And I sure wasn’t the one who’d defaulted on one bank loan after another.

  “Yes, dear, our problem.” Martin flashed a joyless smile, eyes fast on the shoes, hands moving with practiced ease. “Don’t forget that you’re my wife.”

  “I’ve told you many times,” I said. “I don’t want to be your wife anymore.”

  Martin fumbled his juggling act, but he managed to catch the shoes against his chest before they hit the ground.

  “Merde,” he cursed under his breath and glowered at me. “See what you made me do? This is not about what you want. It’s about what I need. The simple fact is that you’re still my wife and, tonight, I need your support, which means you need to get ready.”

  “I want no part of whatever this is.” I stood my ground. “I’m not going.”

  “Oh, come on, let’s go dancing, my dear.” He tapped the stilettos’ heels on the kitchen counter. “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy. Be nice. Do as I ask.”

  I took a deep breath and dug my nails into my fists. “I want you, the gown and the shoes, gone.”

  Martin stopped the impertinent tap dance and asked. “For such an agreeable soul, you’re in a bad mood today. I didn’t want to disrupt your dull little routine, but I’ve got news for you.” His stare hardened. “WindTech is out of money. We’ve run out of time. Either I find a funding source or we go bankrupt.”

  The news didn’t come as a total surprise, but it hit me like a jab to the gut. My belly roiled. WindTech had gone under even sooner than I’d expected. Another blow to my efforts to keep us afloat. But living in bankruptcy couldn’t be much worse than the way I lived now. Could it?

  “I’m sorry, Martin,” I said and I meant it. “I know the project is important to you. Maybe this will give you an opportunity to regroup?”

  The look he gave could’ve vaporized me on the spot. “I’m not going down and neither is WindTech. I’ve arranged for an introduction to the man who can change my fortunes. It’s happening tonight. At the party. You’d better pray he takes the lure.”

  “The lure?” I moistened my lips, even more alarmed. “This sounds like a really bad idea, Martin. I’m out. If you really feel like you have to go to this party, go without me.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, suddenly too amiably for comfort. “If you come to the party, go along with what I say, smile and act the part of the charming wife, you’ll be done for a while.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll leave you alone. I swear, if I get the funding, I’ll stay out in Ohio and I won’t disturb your life here. Oh, and I’ll pay for the nursing home. I’ll pay the late charges and bring the account current. Come on, Lily.” He flashed his best smile. “Do it for me. Do it for your mother.”

  A life free of Martin might not seem like a lot to anybody else, but it would be one humongous gift to me. I wouldn’t have to put up with his verbal abuse, his mood swings and his condescension. I wouldn’t have to deal with his bar bills and his reckless behavior when he came to town. Best of all, my mom would be safe from eviction.

  Careful, Lily. I suppressed an inkling of hope. Martin had never kept his promises before. Why would he start now?

  “Martin,” I said, “I... I don’t want to go.”

  “Zip it.” The smile wilted on his face. “Do I have to remind you of the deposition that sits ready with my attorney?”

  I swallowed hard. “Blackmail will only get you so far.”

  “Far enough to make you do what I want,” he said. “Fraud is such an ugly charge.”

  I snapped. “You set me up!”

  “And what judge is going to believe you?”

  I clenched until my teeth hurt. “The day you use that deposition, you’re done too.”

  “So, I get to go back to France while you get to face the music. Not too bad. For me.” He adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses and smirked. “But we’re jumping the proverbial gun, dear. I don’t wish to return to Europe yet, especially not under such unpleasant circumstances. Which is why you’ll help me save WindTech. If my world comes to a sudden end, so will yours.”

  He grabbed the dress and tossed it over the counter. It skimmed across the laminate and billowed in the air for an instant before it plummeted to the floor, where it lay flat like a corpse.

  The walls of my small apartment closed around me. My throat tightened, allowing only a trickle of air to get through to my lungs. The weight of his threats crushed my resolve. He meant every word he said and I knew it.

  I hated the tears that welled in my eyes. I bit down on my lips. I wasn’t going to cry, not in front of Martin, not in front of anybody. I wasn’t going to have a panic attack either. My circumstances might suck, but I had some dignity left in me. I’d survived heartache and managed on my own for many years, until desperation struck, along with Martin. I was no dimwit. I was smart, educated and hard-working. And yet, here I was, trapped by a single, fatal mistake. I couldn’t believe my life had been reduced to this.

  I gulped down my tears and my pride. “Please, don’t make me go.”

  “No more discussion.” Martin stalked around the counter, snatched the dress from the floor and shoved it into my hands. “Get ready. The benefit is for a good cause. Rich people love wounded warriors. They make for wonderful photo ops. So hurry up, my dear. Who will take care of your mother if you go to jail?”

  * * *

  My mother used to say that my mind worked like a color wheel. Color defined my world and explained it too. My mom, for example, fell into the violet spectrum, somewhere between lilac and tyrian purple, the color of emperors. I belonged in the yellow spectrum, which I used a lot in my portraits. Martin, well, he belonged in the neon red category, a color that happened rarely in nature and then only to announce extreme danger.

  On good days, primary colors filled my canvases. On not so good days—and there had been a lot of those lately—my eye craved neutrals, mostly whites and grays, since I feared black, the color killer. Despite the vibrant display of high fashion crowding the ballroom, Martin’s party fell squarely into the grayscale range. Very appropriate, since right after the speeches, I ended up in the bathroom, where I now knelt on the floor staring into the depths of a stark toilet bowl.

  Panic attacks were a bitch. Mine came on without warning. Sometimes I could
n’t breathe. Sometimes the full blow of my anxieties hit my weak belly. I couldn’t say that I preferred one over the other.

  “Come on, Lily.” I wiped my mouth and hovered for a few more seconds over the toilet. “You can do this.”

  I flushed the toilet, took a deep breath and, finding my feet, steadied myself against the stall’s marble wall. Focus on the positives. If one had to be sick with panic and anxiety, the plush women’s lounge at the Ritz Carlton on the Commons wasn’t the worst place in the world for a powwow with my lunch.

  The sounds of music and conversation drifted through the doors as someone walked out, leaving me alone with the empty stalls. In my hand, the little satin clutch I’d borrowed for the evening began to vibrate again. My gut ached with an additional pang of dread. I pulled out my battered cell. I had five texts from Martin.

  Come out. The words glared on the cracked screen. Think consequences.

  My stomach churned some more.

  Hurry up, the next text said. He’s here.

  And Come out now or I’ll come in there and drag you out myself.

  I took another deep breath and staggered out of the stall. I stumbled on my way to the sinks. Damn high heels. Martin had insisted I wear them. I made it to one of the crystal bowls lining the granite counter. Despite the tremors shaking my hand, I rinsed my mouth, reapplied my lipstick and straightened my dress.

  “Lily Boswell,” I said to my reflection in the mirror. “You’re perfectly capable of handling this.”

  My stomach completely disagreed.

  I forced myself to walk through the threshold anyway. The alcove that connected the restrooms to the ballroom held a small crowd swarming around a Navy sailor wearing dark sunglasses and dress whites. A bar full of medals adorned his chest. I recognized him right away. He’d been one of the speakers earlier tonight, a war hero and a wounded veteran whose appeal to assist his injured comrades had made me wish I had more than thirty dollars to my name.

  On the stage, the veteran had introduced himself as Petty Officer Chavez. He’d been poised and inspiring, an excellent spokesman. But standing at the center of this smaller crowd, he didn’t look nearly as comfortable. On the contrary, he looked nervous. The anxiety etched on his face mirrored my own. Sweat beads gleamed over his lip as a few clueless donors clustered around him to examine his state-of-the-art prosthetic arm, which was furnished by the Healing Warrior Development Fund, the not-for-profit sponsoring the gala tonight.