Envy

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 pulled 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 recall, 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 rolled 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 willing 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 all bets were off.

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

Waiting time was over.

Chapter 10

The next day they met at dusk.

When Kane pulled 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 ball into the cool concrete, sinking shot after shot. Warming up. Practicing. Kane, he knew, had called him out here for a friendly game of ball. Nice and easy. That was the thing, wasn’t it?

Adam slammed the ball 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 unapologetically sexist pig. Who was the best basketball player in town despite the fact that he was too lazy to practice, too above it all to join the team.

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

And all without even trying.

Adam slammed the ball 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 ball, the harder he threw it. What should have been a smoothly arced two-pointer became a spasmodic air ball; 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 ball as Kane fell backward.

He shot and, finally, scored.

And it felt good.

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

“No problem,” Adam replied, suddenly whipping the ball 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.”

“Tell 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 ball, 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 equally off balance. Today shouldn’t have been different from any other day, but it was. Today Adam just wasn’t in the mood.

“Shut up,” he snapped, grabbing the ball away and dribbling it down the court. Kane hounded him, but Adam knocked him off balance again, this time with a sharp jab in the stomach.

Kane dropped to the ground with a soft sigh, as if all the air had been let out of him, and Adam raced for the basket with a spurt of renewed, righteous energy. His path was clear, his mind was clear, and the basket lay