Envy - 2 (18 page)

“Right,” he muttered. “When it’s something you care about, it’s important. When it’s something I care about, it’s just stupid.” Beth sighed. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I wish I could go, Adam, I do,” she said desperately. “I just
can’t
—I mean, if it were some other weekend.
Any
other weekend. This just isn’t the time.”

He gripped the wheel tightly. “It’s
never
the time. You just don’t get it, do you? You and me, we need—I need—can’t you just
make
the time?”

“
You
just don’t get it,” Beth cried, as al the anger and frustration she’d been suppressing for the past few weeks bubbled to the surface and burst through. “Why do you have to be like this? Why can’t you understand that this is my future we’re talking about? It’s your future too,” she pointed out, even though she’d promised herself she would never bring this up, wouldn’t try to force him to see what he was missing out on. “It wouldn’t hurt you to do a little studying of your own. I mean, even Kane—” She cut herself off, realizing as soon as his name came out of her mouth that she’d made a serious mistake. But it was too late.

“So that’s what this is about?” Adam snarled. “I knew it.”

“No, that has nothing to do with what this is about. Why can’t you just let this go?”

“Are you seeing him tonight?” he asked in a low, calm voice.

“Yes, but—”

“And tomorrow?”

“Adam—”

“And I guess
he’ll
be ditching the swim team, staying here with you for some hot and heavy studying while your boyfriend conveniently goes out of town?”

“You got me!” she cried. “You figured out my secret plan. As soon as you get out of town, Kane and I are just going to hop into bed together. That’s al you care about, isn’t it?

Not spending time with me—keeping me away from him!”

Adam stared straight ahead at the road, fingers tightly clenching the wheel. The car suddenly felt very, very smal . “I didn’t realize that staying away from him would be such a sacrifice.”

“I’m not your property, Adam. You don’t get to tel me who to spend time with. And acting like this isn’t the best way to keep me from cheating on you—or breaking up with you.”

“What is the best way, then? You tel me. Because I’m beginning to think there isn’t one. You’re just going to do whatever you want to, no matter what I say.”

“You’re right,” Beth spluttered, barely able to believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. She would
never
cheat on Adam—and she’d never throw away her relationship just to preserve some barely-there friendship with Kane. But that was
her
decision to make. Not his. “If you want someone who’s just going to take orders from you, fol ow you around like you’re her almighty ruler, you’re dating the wrong girl.”

“Maybe I am,” he agreed angrily.

“You know what? Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car. I’m getting out. I can’t be around you when you’re like this.”

He glanced over at her incredulously. “You want me to stop the car and let you out on an empty road in the middle of nowhere?”

“Anything would be better than being stuck in this car with you,” she said, her voice fil ed with spite.

“Fine.” He swerved to the side of the road, slammed on the brakes, and the car skidded to a stop. “Get out. See if I care what happens to you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I know you don’t. You’ve made that painful y clear.”

“Don’t try to—”

But she slammed the door in his face, and his voice trailed off as he saw she was serious. She turned away from the car and began walking slowly down the narrow shoulder of the road. At that rate, it would take her an hour to get home from there—and it was getting dark.

Adam knew he should pul up alongside her and try to persuade her to get back into the car. If that failed, he should drive beside her the whole way home, just to make sure nothing happened.

It was the right thing to do. He knew that.

And he real y meant to do it, right up until the moment he put the car in gear and pressed a leaden foot down on the gas pedal. The tires screeched as the car peeled onto the road and sped past her solitary figure.

By the time he’d calmed down enough to realize what he’d done, she had long since disappeared into the dark distance. He could have turned around. Gone back for her.

But he didn’t.

Kaia’s favorite French film was part of a trilogy:
Bleu
,
Blanc
, and
Rouge
. She’d seen al three in a row during a foreign film festival at Lincoln Center. One rainy day, she’d barricaded herself in the theater and, shivering in her Anna Sui raincoat, she’d fal en in love. The best of the three, she’d decided, was
Bleu
. The plot was elegant and obscure: A young, beautiful woman loses everything, everything that matters. She is alone, disconnected, disenchanted, and free. Ultimate freedom, at the ultimate price. Death of the spirit—and, ultimately, a reawakening.

It was intense, it was sexy, and it was the way Kaia wanted her world to be. Elegant, beautiful people, awash in a cool, bluish gray light, speaking in clipped sentences packed with suppressed passion and cryptic meaning.

So it was this DVD that she tucked into a picnic basket, along with some gourmet cheese imported directly from a smal farm in the French Alps, and a bottle of Bordeaux snagged from her father’s ample wine cel ar, before setting off for Jack Powel ’s house. It was time for Little Red Riding Hood to pay a cal on the Big Bad Wolf.

She wasn’t completely sure that now was the time to make her final move—though it was quite obvious the move would need to be hers. He wasn’t about to take the step. But was he ready yet? Oh, she saw the glint in his eyes when he looked at her, the hint of desire in his voice every time he told her to go away. And the spark between them when they’d touched the other night, that couldn’t be denied.

Yes
, she told herself once again.
He’s ready
.

And so was she.

She wore a filmy black slip dress and strappy black kitten heels. And beneath it al , a custom-made camisole of red lace, and black panties with a red lace trim. She looked good,
all over
. And she knew it.

She rang the doorbel , savoring the nervous energy fizzing inside of her—it was rare, these days, that a guy could set her blood boiling with anticipation, that the thril of the chase came paired with the arousing fear of rejection. It was one of the reasons she wanted this so badly. That, and the way his designer shirts hung on his sculpted body, the sound of his elegant British accent, his easy charm, his icy anger.

He was the complete package. And it was such a turn-on.

He opened the door, unlike her dressed down for the night—adorably rumpled hair, tight jeans, Oxford T-shirt. His eyes widened when he saw what was waiting on his front doorstep.

“You,” he said simply, blocking the entranceway to the house.

“Me.” She smiled.

“You’re out kind of late,” he final y observed. “Won’t Mommy and Daddy be wondering where their precious little one has run off to?”

“Daddy’s off screwing his secretary in a Vegas hotel room, and Mommy’s back in Manhattan, probably having a nice, long sleep courtesy of Dr. Valium,” she informed him bitterly. “So … no.”

“What’s in the basket?”

She pul ed out the wine. “Reinforcements.”

He looked down the dark and deserted street.

“Did anyone see you? Does anyone know you’re here?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re trouble,” he reminded her. “But as I recal , we’ve already had that conversation.”

“Ad nauseam … are we ready for a new one?”

He looked her up and down, then sighed appreciatively. “You are
not
what I expected when I came out to this hick town.”

“Ditto. So—what do you want to do about it?”

There was a pause, and a palpable tension in the air. This was the moment, she knew. He was on the brink, and it was now that he would either step back to safety—or grab her wrist and plunge them both into the depths.

He took a deep breath. “There are going to be some rules.”

“Of course.” She nodded, disguising her relief. Now they were getting somewhere.

“No one can know.”

She rol ed her eyes.

“
No one
,” he repeated.

“Yes, sir.” She saluted.

“No other guys.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your—”

“High school boys get jealous,” he explained. “When they get jealous, they get curious. And
that
I don’t need.”

“Right. No extracurricular activities,” she agreed. She had the sneaking suspicion this wasn’t the first time he’d had this conversation. He was too quick, too smooth.

“And no more of this stalking nonsense. I don’t want you showing up in my classroom, in my bar, at my house—we meet
when
I say,
where
I say. I don’t like surprises.” Kaia gave him a slow, simmering smile.

“Then you’re going to hate me.”

His face remained frozen. “Are we agreed?”

“Completely.”

“You break the rules, and we end this,” he warned her. “Immediately. I’m not some horny teenager who’s so desperate to get some that I’m wil ing to throw my life away.”
Could have fooled me
, Kaia thought, wondering—not for the first time—what had brought a man like that to a town like this.

But if he wanted to believe he was in control, that was just fine with her.

“Your wish is my command,
Jack
.”

“In that case, what are you waiting for?”

She took a step toward him, tilting her head up as if to seal the deal with a kiss, but he backed away and shook his head.

“Not out here,” he chided her. “Never where people can see.” He swung the door open a bit wider and stepped aside, ushering her in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.

No matter, she could wait. For another minute or two, at least. And then, she thought, pausing in the doorway and marveling at his cocky good looks and the sizzling current of sexual tension flowing between them—then al bets were off.

She stepped inside the house, and Powel slammed the door shut behind her.

Waiting time was over.

The next day they met at dusk.

When Kane pul ed up in his silver Camaro, Adam was already on the court. He’d arrived a half hour before and had spent the time running up and down the length of the court, slamming the bal into the cool concrete, sinking shot after shot. Warming up. Practicing. Kane, he knew, had cal ed him out here for a friendly game of bal . Nice and easy. That was the thing, wasn’t it?

Adam slammed the bal against the backboard. Nice and easy. Story of Kane’s life. You want something? You take it. Just like that. Kane, who got good grades without studying. Who had every girl chasing after him despite being an unapologetical y sexist pig. Who was the best basketbal player in town despite the fact that he was too lazy to practice, too above it al to join the team.

He won everything, always—every game, every argument, every girl.

And al without even trying.

Adam slammed the bal again, harder.

Not this time. Everyone had to lose sometime. Everyone.

The game started off slow. Friendly. Nice and easy. But then Kane scored. And scored again.

And Adam began to simmer. And the angrier he got, the harder he tried, the harder he gripped the bal , the harder he threw it. What should have been a smoothly arced two-pointer became a spasmodic air bal ; what should have been an easy layup bounced off the rim. And every time, Kane grabbed the rebound.

He shot.

He scored.

“Dude, what's up with you today? You’re playing like a girl,” Kane taunted him.

Adam ran past his opponent, giving him a hard shove with his left shoulder and grabbing the bal as Kane fel backward.

He shot and, final y, scored.

And it felt good.

“And your problem is …?” Kane asked, picking himself up off the ground.

“No problem,” Adam replied, suddenly whipping the bal toward Kane, whose lightening fast reflexes caught it just before it smashed into his nose.

“Hey, watch the face—I’m nothing if I’m not pretty.”

“Tel me about it,” Adam growled.

“Oh, I get it,” Kane said, dribbling down the court with swift, sure movements.

“Get what?” Adam asked irritably.

He lunged for the bal , but Kane veered away, faking left, then cutting right as Adam’s hands swiped uselessly at the empty air.

“You’re tired of always coming in second,” Kane said, tossing in another basket. “You’re always the runner-up, I’m always the champ. You’re tired of being a loser.” It was nothing more than their standard trash talk. They always did it. You got a rise out of your opponent, put him off his game. Kane, to be sure, had made a science of it—and used the same technique off the court to keep his opponents equal y off balance. Today shouldn’t have been different from any other day, but it was. Today Adam just wasn’t in the mood.