Wrath

“I am sorry,” she said, hoping to convince herself as much as him.

He kept his back to her, placing both hands flat against the wall of lockers. His shoulders rose and fell as he took several deep, slow breaths. Harper couldn’t tear her eyes from the fuzzy blond hair at the nape of his neck-she used to love to run her finger across it, making him shiver.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. She came closer, but even as she stood just behind him, close enough to touch, he didn’t turn. He must have known she was there, but he didn’t move away. “Adam.” She put her hand on his back, ran it lightly up toward his bare neck. It felt so good to touch him again. “Please…”

“Harper, don’t,” he said, a low current of anger running through his voice. His fingertips turned white as he pressed them against the wall. “Just walk away.” He slammed his right palm flat against the locker, and a sharp crack echoed through the empty hall. “Go. Please.”

Adam would never hurt her-but, suddenly, Harper was afraid. She put her hand down and watched his frozen form for a moment.

Then she walked away.

Harper didn’t lose. She got what she wanted, without exception. She didn’t give up, ever.

But maybe this time, she had no choice.

“And what are you wearing?” Kaia asked, trying to keep the phone from slipping through her wet fingers as she sank lower into the hot tub. “Oooh, sexy.”

She’d cancelled yet another rendezvous with Powell, but the man was insatiable-and so she’d given in to a little foreplay by phone. Thirty seconds in and she was already bored out of her mind; even that sexy British accent, describing where he would touch her and how, had lost its ability to thrill.

Kaia stretched a long, bare leg up into the air, enjoying the bite of the cool wind against her skin. She closed her eyes, straining to pay attention, wishing she could just tune out Powell’s prattling and enjoy the silence of twilight.

Though she would never admit it to her father-and he would never bother to ask-there was one thing she appreciated about this desert hellhole: sunsets. Spectacular splashes of pink and orange, a blazing ball of reddish yellow sinking beneath the haze, lighting up the open sky. Best of all were the moments just after the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, and the sky gradually darkened, pinks fading to purples and blues until the first stars broke through the dark fabric of the sky.

“What? Oh yes, it feels good. Great,” she said quickly, trying to sound enthused (though not trying too hard). “And if you just moved your hands down, and then I-” She sighed. “You know what? I’m just not feeling it.”

Powell grumbled, but Kaia was done with him for the night. And finally, after she’d agreed to model her new Malizia bikini for him in person sometime soon, he let her go.

She hung up the phone, but before laying it down on the deck, had a better idea. She dialed Reed’s number and held her breath, surprised by how much she suddenly wanted him to answer.

But the phone rang and rang, and eventually Kaia gave up. She slid down farther and farther into the water, until only the tip of her nose and her dark eyes hovered above it. Kaia never let herself depend on anyone, and so she wouldn’t let it bother her that Reed was unavailable. Still she couldn’t help wondering where he was…and whether he was thinking of her.

Adam blew off practice.

He had to.

Once, basketball had been an escape, a way to get out of his own head and relax into the rhythm of running, leaping, throwing, pushing himself to the limit. It had been a refuge.

And then Kane joined the team.

These days, Adam didn’t have the energy to sink many shots or work on his passing. Every ounce of strength was devoted to resisting the temptation to bash in Kane’s smug face, and pay him back for ruining Adam’s life.

Only, after the encounter with Harper, Adam didn’t have much strength left.

So he ditched practice, seeking a new refuge from the ijiess he’d made of his life. He needed to turn off his brain, and the 8 Ball, a dank pool hall at the edge of town, was fhe perfect place to do it.

It was dark, even during the day-black boards over the windows ensured that no afternoon light would slip in and disturb the handful of surly regulars. It was a place to hide. And, with five-dollar pitchers, a place to forget.

He’d come here with Harper once, and she’d put on a disgusting show, throwing herself at the sleazy goth bartender. Maybe it should have been a sign. But Adam had ignored the warning, and instead dumped a pitcher of beer on the bartender’s head in a jealous rage.The bartender had vowed to make him sorry if he ever returned-and so, since then, Adam had known to stay away.

But Adam was tired of doing what was good for him-things managed to blow up in his face, anyway. So why bother?

“Can I get a Sam Adams?” he asked the bartender. It was the same guy. Good.

“Don’t I know you?” the loser asked, pushing his greasy hair out of his eyes to get a better look.

“Is that supposed to be a pickup line?” Adam asked sarcastically. “Because trust me, I’m not interested.”

“You’re the asshole,” the bartender exclaimed. As if, in a place like this, that was a distinguishing characteristic.

“Who are you calling an asshole?” Adam stood up and gripped the edge of the bar. All the emotion that had been simmering within him finally rose to the surface-and in a moment, he knew, he could give it permission to explode.

“I thought I told you never to come back here,” the scrawny weasel complained. He turned away. “I’m not serving you. Get out.”

“Or what?” Adam growled.

“Or I’ll call the cops on your underage ass. In fact, maybe I’ll do it, anyway, just for fun.”

Adam flexed his muscles.

Made a fist.

Pulled back, and-

Stopped.

If he let himself lose control, he might never get it back again.

So instead of smashing in the bartender’s face, he grabbed a glass from the bar and threw it, hard as he could, to the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?” the bartender cried, as glass sprayed across the floor.

“I have no fucking idea,” Adam said honestly, and walked out. There were plenty of other bars in town, plenty of cheap drinks. Plenty of ways to forget.

And that was exactly what he needed.

If it was too dangerous to let himself react, then-at least for one night-he could let himself drown.

She was like a statue in the moonlight, pale, graceful, glowing in the night. He sucked in a sharp breath, forcing his body to stay calm. He couldn’t afford to give himself away.

She was so close-and it was so hard not to reveal himself, and take possession of her. As was his right.

He’d been with her before; he would be again. But nothing was more delicious than watching from a distance, knowing that she belonged to him.

She climbed out of the hot tub, and he held his breath. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. Her perfect, glistening body, slicing through the air, every step precise, premeditated. As she toweled herself off, shivering, she suddenly froze, staring out into the darkness.

He froze, too, and it felt as if their eyes had locked. Had she sensed his invisible presence? His heart slammed in his chest, and his fingers tightened against the fence post he’d crouched behind. Moments like this-the threat of being caught, the chill of a near miss-made the game worth playing.

But he’d learned well how to minimize the risks, and knew she would never catch on. Nothing was sweeter than facing her day in and day out, knowing that she could never imagine what lay behind his mask.

She liked to think she didn’t trust anyone, but she trusted him. She underestimated him, and he allowed it.

For now.