Pride

crime, wading through the shallow waters of Haven hotties.

And together, they’d worked out rule #1: Any girl was fair game-as long as you saw her first.

So perhaps Kane could be forgiven for trusting his partner, for assuming that the rules of the game still applied and that Adam would work his magic and send Beth flying into his arms. Imagine his surprise, then, to find that Adam had decided to keep this one for himself.

It was a betrayal, and it had led to a loss-a public one. And that, Kane could not forget. He’d kept quiet, played along-it wouldn’t do to make a fuss, to be driven to unseemly emotion, not over a girl-but he’d also known that it wasn’t over. No girl could be allowed to choose someone over him. Not even Adam.

It had taken more than a year, but he’d gotten his way.

Beth, who had only grown more beautiful since that first sighting, had seen the light. She’d rectified her mistake, and this time, she’d made the right choice. And if ever Kane got a little bored with the whole relationship thing, he just reminded himself of his struggle. This was his rightful reward, and he was going to enjoy it. If Adam was man enough to have a relationship, to make this girl fall in love with him, then so was Kane.

And he certainly didn’t need Adam’s approval. Or his forgiveness. Kane didn’t need anyone. But if their friendship was going to end, Kane would be the one to make the decision-and Kane wasn’t ready for that yet. Without Adam, Grace was almost too boring to bear. So he’d talked his way back onto the team, bearing the humiliation of having to beg the new coach for a shot. If he stayed in Adam’s face, reminded him of how well they’d worked together, as a team, eventually Adam would have to give up the childish grudge. In the meantime, Kane would do the diligent teammate thing: go to the practices, run the wind-sprints, pretend he cared. Kane would do whatever he needed to do, he resolved, except one thing: apologize.

Eventually, Beth got bored and left Harper alone with the mop and bucket.

It’s like they always say, thought Harper, ignore a bully and she’ll go away. She’d just never been on the wrong side of that equation before.

This job was, if possible, even worse than Harper had imagined. But if she kept her eye on the prize, on Adam, then maybe the time would just slip by-she’d be in his arms again soon enough.

His arms-that was good. She pictured them wrapped around her, warm and strong. In her mind’s eye, they curled up together on a soft couch, next to a giant picture window. A beautiful mountain range loomed in the distance, and snow pelted the windows, but Harper was so warm, so cozy in Adam’s arms. She could, if she closed her eyes, almost feel his presence…

“Harper, is that you?”

Harper’s eyes flew open to see those joined-at-the-hip dolts Marcy and Darcy, staring at her in horror.

“Harper, what are you doing… here?”

She dropped the mop in alarm and backed away, struggling to recover the blase veneer she would need to make it through this. “I’m just, I-”

“Harper works here now,” Beth said cheerfully, suddenly appearing behind the wonder twins. “I’m sorry, I must have forgotten to put up the sign saying the restroom was closed for cleaning. Oops!”

She smiled at Harper, who knew it had been no accident. Just as Beth’s sudden arrival had been no coincidence. She’d come to witness Harper’s humiliation; she’d come to gloat.

“Is something wrong, Harper?” she asked sweetly. “Because otherwise, you really should get back to work.”

Harper drew in a sharp breath and held it for several moments.

“I’m all done in here,” she finally said. “Later, ladies.” She gave them a jaunty grin and walked away, towing the bucket behind her.

It had been a humiliating encounter, but there would be no long-term fallout, she assured herself. Nobody who counted listened to anything those airheads had to say. Still, when she tried to send herself back to that comforting vision of her and Adam cuddling in the ski lodge, she was just too angry-Beth’s smug face kept breaking into her reverie, hovering over her like the Cheshire Cat.

So Harper did what any good, disgruntled employee would do: She went with it. She imagined Beth coming in to check on her, ordering her around-and then she imagined herself picking up the giant bucket of hot, scummy water and dumping it over Beth’s smug little head.

She kept that image fixed in her mind, varying it for fun: Beth covered in ketchup and mustard, Beth smothered in relish, Beth drowning in a vat of cole slaw and pickle juice.

The possibilities were nearly endless, and Harper mentally ran through them all. The rest of her shift raced by in a flash. Time flies when you’re having fun.

Kaia’s father’s brand-new, mint-condition BMW had a 5-liter capacity, 10 cylinders, a 500 horsepower output, a V-10 engine, and 383 pounds per foot maximum torque.

It also, she discovered once she got out on the empty highway, had a dead battery. Or an overheated exhaust system. Or maybe it was a torn carburetor belt.

Who knew? And, really, who cared? All that mattered was that the car wouldn’t go anywhere, and she was stranded. In the middle of nowhere.

Typical, she thought, slumping down against the smooth black leather of the front seat and waiting for the tow truck she’d called. There was nothing to do now but stare out the window at the barren scenery and hope that eventually someone would show up to get her back to civilization. What a beautifully appropriate metaphor for my life, she thought bitterly. Trapped in desolation, forced to wait for a rescue that might never come.

She was on her way home from Jack Powell’s apartment, and she was already in a foul mood. Without apology, Powell had informed her that the little love nest they’d planned for their vacation would have to be put on hold for a few days, as he went off into the mountains, chaperoning the school ski trip. He’d forbidden her to come along-not that she’d wanted to. He was afraid of what she might do if they were in public together. As if she had no self- control.

Kaia had plenty of control-enough, at least, not to show him how disappointed she was. How repulsed she was by the thought of spending her winter break in Grace, sitting in her big, empty house, staring at the tasteful taupe walls. If Powell wanted to pretend he didn’t need her around, she could do the same.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, and the pink desert sunset was swiftly fading to a deep and dark night sky. Kaia shivered with a sudden chill and wondered what might be out there, in that empty stretch of land that lay beyond the road. Seventeen years in New York City had taught her an important safety lesson: Dark and isolated equals danger. Her flight instinct was difficult to suppress.

Not that she expected some drug-crazed mugger to pop out from behind the scrub brush-but still, it was dark and quiet, and she was miles away from civilization. If you could call it that. Her father had once told her there were jackals and coyotes roaming the land-and she’d seen enough cheesy horror movies to at least wonder what else might be out there, lying in wait.

Kaia could take care of herself. She’d had plenty of experience, hadn’t she? It’s not like anyone had ever looked out for her, or let her believe there was someone ready to catch her when she fell. But fending off a crazed pervert on the subway-or a crazed ex-boyfriend in a high school parking lot-was one thing. Being stranded, isolated, helpless? That was another.

Still, she sat motionless in the car, posing for an invisible audience, calm, cool, and collected. She didn’t call someone, anyone, just for the comfort of the sound of another human voice. She didn’t wrap her fingers around the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, and she didn’t whirl her head around at the slightest sound or movement coming from just beyond her peripheral vision. And when the tow truck finally arrived, an hour later, she didn’t crack a smile.

Especially not when she recognized the driver. It was that slacker from school, that scuzzy, stoned, frustratingly sexy guy who lately seemed to show up everywhere she turned. He wore a grease-stained T-shirt and oversize jeans with a gaping hole at the left knee, and as he hopped out of the truck and loped toward her, Kaia noted with disgust that his shoes were held together with duct tape. His scruffy black hair was crying out for shampoo, and his face was covered with dark stubble-five o’clock shadow, maybe, but from which day? This was her conquering hero: tall, dark, and dirty.

“Took you long enough,” she grumbled as he helped her into the cab of the tow truck.

“Nice to see you again, too, Kaia,” he said, checking one last time that the BMW was firmly attached to the back of the truck and then climbing into the driver’s seat.