Envy(125)

He took several rapid breaths and as he exhaled, he whispered, “Wait.”

So she remained still. He slid his hands up and down her thighs. His thumbs met in the mesh of their public hair and stroked her V until her head fell back against her shoulders and she moaned his name.

Only then did he angle his hips up, encouraging her to ride him. She did, changing tempos and angles, holding still when he indicated that’s what he wished her to do to protract the pleasure. During those pauses, she used the walls of her body to milk him; his eyes would darken, he would swear lavishly, then he would nudge her into motion again.

Leaning down, she guided his head to her breast. He rubbed his rough cheek against it, then his closed lips, before caressing her nipple with his tongue. Lightly and rapidly. Until she called his name and pressed her hips deeply into his belly, securing him inside her.

He pulled her down onto his chest and they came together. As he pulsed inside her, he splayed one hand over her bottom, and cupped the back of her head with the other, and, holding her possessively with both, kissed her mouth. They couldn’t get close enough, deep enough, into each other far enough to satisfy the passion.

When it finally waned, she stretched out on top of him. She could feel the rugged terrain of his scarred legs beneath hers. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t, think about that now. She had scars, too. Less visible than his, but there nonetheless. Later, there would be time and opportunity to ask questions and to listen and to sympathize, and then to return their previous unhappiness to the past where it belonged.

Right now she wanted nothing to intrude on the present. She wanted to bask in the knowledge that she had pleased Parker well. She hated Noah Reed for all the times he had rejected her overtures, making her feel awkward and undesired, and then if he did respond for making her feel somehow insufficient.

But she didn’t waste this precious time thinking about him, either. The thought of him was fleeting, like a twinge in one’s side, that’s painful only for an instant before it disappears.

Instead she concentrated on the wonderful pressure of Parker still nestling inside her. She kept her thighs tightly closed, her belly pressed firmly against his to maximize the closeness.

Moving only her lips, she kissed his throat. “The end?”

Several moments elapsed before he replied. “Not quite, Maris.”

But she had already fallen asleep.





Chapter 29


Daniel stood at the kitchen window, eating a sandwich and staring out at the rainy night. Periodically lightning illuminated the countryside, but it was a friendly storm, unthreatening and nonviolent, a summer thundershower that would dissipate quickly and leave the skies clear by dawn.

His telephone conversation with Maris had thrust his mind into overdrive. It was churning a mile a minute. He wished his body, like his brain, would experience occasional energizing jump starts like this. If it did, he’d be able to bicycle back to New York and then run a marathon. Mentally, he felt that athletic and robust.

After the call, he’d tried for an hour to fall asleep. Finally surrendering to his insomnia he had come downstairs. Midnight snacks were verboten at home, especially when they added up to more fat grams than he was allotted for a week. But Maxine wasn’t guarding the refrigerator tonight, and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. She would be here soon enough, bossing and monitoring him as if he were a child.

Thank God, he thought with a chuckle. He didn’t know what he would have done without Maxine caring for him and Maris all these years.

He polished off the sandwich. The leftover Reuben had been satisfying—to say nothing of the warmth that two fingers of brandy had spread through him. Rather than making him feel languid and sleepy, however, the alcohol had invigorated him. He was restless and ready to act.

He’d always been a man of action, seldom placing problems on the back burner and letting them simmer. He favored confronting them immediately. Standing still wasn’t his style. He preferred channeling his energy positively and productively rather than squandering it on self-doubt and hand-wringing indecision.

But this situation warranted more consideration than most. He was uncertain about the order in which to take the actions necessary to rectify it. He had his strategy in place, but it required careful orchestration and perfect timing. That’s what had his mind working double-time tonight.

This situation didn’t have a nucleus on which he could focus his problem-solving ability. It didn’t lend itself to a swift and fatal attack. It was mercurial, constantly changing. It was a multilayered and complex conundrum involving both family and business, individuals and money, power and emotions. A complicated mix. Especially when one of the persons involved was his daughter.

He was glad Maris was in Georgia, away from New York. Things were about to get ugly. Bluntly, the shit was about to hit the fan. The more distance between it and Maris, the better. Inevitably she would catch some of the media fallout, but he hoped to buffer her as much as possible, and the geography would help. Sorting through the personal aspects of this mess was going to be painful enough for her. Doing so in the public eye would be hell.

Although, he thought, smiling, she won’t be without consolation.

It had been evident to him for months that she was unhappy with her husband and their marriage. It had become equally evident that the book-in-progress alone hadn’t drawn her back to the sea island, exotic and lush as it might be.