Robin Wasserman - Envy

“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 all 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 small. “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 tell 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 tell 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, follow 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 filled 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 painfully 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 pull 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 really 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 all 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 fallen 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 small farm in the French Alps, and a bottle of Bordeaux snagged from her father’s ample wine cellar, before setting off for Jack Powell’s house. It was time for Little Red Riding Hood to pay a call 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 all, 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 doorbell, 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 thrill 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 finally 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 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.