Lust

It was on the third date-the date he’d figured would never happen after she’d run away from him on date number two-that he knew. They’d stood in the park, looking up at the stars-Mars and Venus would be spectacularly bright that night, she had told him. And with any other girl, that would just be a tactic, a ruse to get him somewhere dark and alone. But Beth just wanted to show him the stars. They’d stood close together, his arm brushing hers, their necks craned toward the sky.

“It’s so beautiful,” she’d said in a hushed voice.

“Yes,” he’d whispered. But he was looking at her. He put a hand on her waist, another on the back of her head, on her soft, blond hair, and drew her face toward his. And their lips met, their bodies came together. She’d been so hesitant, so scared and tense, almost pulling away. And then she took a deep breath-he could feel her chest rise and fall in his arms-and her arms wrapped around him, her fingers running through his hair and caressing his neck. When they finally broke away from each other, she didn’t move away, but stayed close to him, her arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders. At first he’d thought she was crying-but she was laughing.

“I had no idea,” she’d told him, when he asked why. “All this time, and I just-I had no idea.”

But she wouldn’t explain, just kissed him again.

That was the beginning of everything. They had still talked, all the time, for hours, but they talked in quiet voices, their lips inches apart, their bodies wound together. It seemed like it would last forever-but here they were, or rather, here he was, alone.

It was all different now, now that there was this thing in their way that they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, talk about. And that was the problem. It wasn’t about what he wanted or what she didn’t want-it was about what neither of them could say. She was tense again, scared, hesitant, but this time there was no endless conversation, no soul baring. After all they’d had together, she wasn’t turning to him, and he was afraid to push-afraid that this time, if she ran away, she might not come back.

He stripped down to his boxers, fell into bed, and, as his tired mind began to wander, pictured himself back in bed with Beth, curled up tight against her warm body.

Except-

Except that Beth didn’t have long black hair that cascaded down her back like a shimmering river, or eyes of deep green that you could lose yourself in for days. Glistening, full red lips and a mischievous smile. And she didn’t cling to him, didn’t lean on him-didn’t need him.

But someone did.

Chapter 4

They decided to meet that week to discuss logistics for the party. An anti-Dance Committee committee. Kaia had offered her place-though it was a fifteen-minute drive out of town, on a deserted stretch of broken-down highway, it had plenty of space and came with a guarantee of no parental supervision. And by Grace standards-both Grace the town, whose mining elite had had neither the time nor the inclination to build grand estates even when there was money to do so, and Grace the family, whose four-bedroom house, a holdover from the good ol’days, may have been on the right side of the tracks but was in dire need of a fresh paint job and a new roof-it was a palace. Five bedrooms, three bathrooms, maid’s quarters, a shiny stainless steel kitchen that would have been at home on the Food Channel-and the crowning glory, a capacious living room that took up half of the ground floor and was walled by floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the wide desert expanse. Kaia’s father had flown in an architect and designer from Manhattan, and the two had guaranteed that every detail-from the moldings to the banister of the spiral staircase, from the towels in the pool house to the sterling silver cocktail shaker on the fully stocked bar-worked in concert, creating a pristine world in which everything had its place. (Everything except Kaia, of course, who hadn’t been prescreened and carefully selected for her ability to match the wallpaper-and, mainly out of spite, never used a coaster.)

Pool table, hot tub, open bar, an inside glimpse into the lifestyles of the very rich if not so famous? It was an offer even Harper couldn’t refuse.

After all the oohing and aahing had ended-quicker than might be expected, since Adam had already seen the place from the outside and he’d had plenty of time to imagine what wonders the inside might hold; Kane’s excitement was rarely roused by anything he couldn’t smoke, drink, or snort; Harper would rather have died than admit even a fraction of the awe and envy that struck her as she stepped through the doorway, and Miranda loyally followed Harper’s lead-they got down to work. Almost.

“So, what’s this I hear about a hot tub?” Kane asked, sauntering through the large living room and pausing before one of the oversized windows that looked out over the pool deck.

Harper cleared her throat in exasperation and waved her notebook in the air. “Forget the hot tub, Kane-we’ve got work to do. Remember?”

Kane spun around to face the room, a slow grin creeping across his face. “Yeah, yeah, work beforeadviser,” Adam play,” he allowed. “But…” He strode to the edge of the room and squeezed himself behind the mahogany bar. “Rum and Cokes before work-don’t you think?” He cocked an eyebrow in Kaia’s direction-the closest Kane ever got to asking permission.

“Be my guest,” she said, shrugging. “That’s what it’s there for.”

“Harper?” Kane asked, brandishing an empty glass at her and temptingly dangling a bottle of rum over its rim.

Harper sighed and tossed her notebook down on one of the leather couches. “Okay Fill ’er up.”

She was only human, after all.

Delighting in his favorite role, Kane began to dole out the drinks-vodka cranberry for Miranda, beer for Adam, dry martini for Kaia, and, of course, rum and Coke for Harper. Finally, Kane poured himself a glass of single-malt scotch, then stepped out from behind the bar and suggested they get started. He was already getting bored.

“So Beth’s definitely not coming?” Miranda asked, catching Harper’s look and trying not to laugh as her eyes practically rolled out of their sockets.

Adam shook his head. “She’s got some meeting for the school paper,” he said, frowning. “She told me to say she was sorry she couldn’t help out, though.”

“Now, how could I begrudge her when she’s devoting her time to the worthy cause of Haven High investigative journalism?” Harper asked.

Miranda and Kaia snorted in sync.

“I’m on the paper,” Miranda commented. “There was no meeting scheduled for today.”

“Some one-on-one thing with her and the new adviser,” Adam explained. “To discuss the ‘new direction’ or something.”

“One-on-one with Jack Powell? Lucky bitch,” Miranda sighed.”! guess there’s some benefit to being editor in chief after all.”

“Hear that, Adam? Looks like you’ve got some competition,” Kane smirked. “And from what I hear, you and James Bond aren’t even playing in the same league.”

“Whatever,” Adam growled. “Can we just get started?”

Harper perched on an ottoman at the end of the room and pulled out a checklist. She loved being in charge, all eyes on her. (And she was studiously ignoring the fact that two pairs of those eyes kept darting glances over to a certain raven-haired beauty at the other end of the room who’d splayed herself out along a black leather couch like a particularly flexible cat.)

But even though Harper was in charge and thus had a power trip to keep her awake, and even though they were planning what Harper was determined would be the best-or at least most entertaining and depraved-after party yet, the meeting was boring. As all meetings inevitably are.

Logistics, list making, blah, blah, blah.

It was hard to keep her mind on topic-and neither the rum and Coke nor Adam’s distracting grin were much of a help.

Decisions, decisions.

Miranda would handle music.

Kane-unsurprisingly-volunteered to take care of alcohol and “miscellaneous substances.”