Envy fa-3

by J. R. Ward

  “How old were you?” he asked tightly.

  “Three and a half. She was fighting with him over a dirty needle, which was nothing new, but then she just snapped and went after him with a knife. He shoved her away in self-defense, but she kept coming at him until he hit her. Hard. She told the cops he beat her, and they took him to jail. And that’s how we ended up in the shelter—it was his apartment that we were staying in.” Reilly hit her directional signal and headed over for the entrance onto the Northway that was down by the high school. “Anyway, we were staying at the place my parents volunteered at, and the woman who gave birth to me stole some things from another family, so that was the end of that. We went to stay with her other two boyfriends for about a week and then . . . she took me back and dropped me off at the shelter. Just left me.”

  Veck met her in the eyes. “Where is she now?”

  “Not a clue. I never saw her again, and I know this is going to sound bitter, but I don’t care what happened to her.” She came up to a stoplight and hit the brakes. “She was a liar and an addict, and the only nice thing she ever did was leave me—although to be honest, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t for my benefit. I was probably cramping her style, and she had to know that killing a child was the kind of no-no that would guarantee her life behind bars.”

  At that point, it was time to merge onto the highway—which was fine, because this was the hard part of her story.

  Little break, little breath, as she found a space for them in the traffic.

  “Boy, the rain’s really starting to come down,” she said, speeding up the wipers.

  “You don’t have to finish.”

  “No, it’s okay. The real nightmare is what would have happened if my parents hadn’t taken an interest in me. That’s what still scares me to this day.” She checked in the rearview mirror, changed into the fast lane, and hit the gas. “My parents happened to be working that day—and I just stuck to them like glue. I’d loved my father from when I’d met him before, because he’s just so big and strong, with that deep voice—I knew he’d protect me. And my mother always gave me cookies and milk—and played with me. Almost immediately, I was determined to go home with them, but they were trying to conceive at that point and, gee whiz, weren’t necessarily all about some drug addict’s baby.

  “That night, and for a week afterward, they tried to find the woman and talk sense into her, because they knew that once a kid gets into the system, it can be hard to break out. When they finally found her, she didn’t want me—and she said she’d sign her rights away. They came back later that evening and sat with me. I wasn’t supposed to be staying at the shelter, because you needed your guardian there, but my mom had been camping out with me so I could have a bunk. I remember knowing they were going to tell me I had to go, but one more day turned into two . . . which turned into another week. I was really well behaved, and I had the sense my dad was working on something. Finally, they came back and asked me if I wanted to stay with them for a little bit. He’d gotten them cleared as foster parents by pulling strings like only he could.” She glanced over and smiled. “Little bit turned into twenty-five-plus years. They officially adopted me, like, a year after I moved in.”

  “That’s awesome.” Veck returned her smile, and then got serious again. “What about your biological father?”

  “No one knows who he was—including the woman who birthed me, according to my parents. They told me much later, when I was grown up, that she’d maintained it was one of two exes of hers—both of whom were in jail for dealing drugs.” She sped up her wipers. “And listen, I know I sound . . . angry in places. I guess I just struggle with the whole addiction-is-a-disease theory. With a pair of addicts as my biological basis, there’s a statistical probability that I’d end up like them, but I didn’t go that route—I knew it was a door I shouldn’t open, and I never have. And yeah, you could argue that my parents provided me with opportunities my biological mother never had, and that’s true. But you make your own destiny. You choose your way.”

  For a while there was just the beat of the wipers and the subtle rush of water whipping down the underside of the car.

  “I’m sorry, I probably said too much.”

  “No, not at all.”

  Reilly glanced over and had the sense Veck was back in his own past. Staying quiet, she hoped he’d open up, but he kept silent, elbow propped on the door, hand massaging his jaw.

  From out of nowhere, a massive black SUV roared by in the middle lane, the Escalade splashing up gallons of water over Reilly’s hood and obscuring the view.

  “Jesus,” she said, easing off on the gas. “They must be going a hundred.”

  “Nothing like a death wish to cut your travel time.” The vehicle dodged right, then left, then right again, jogging by other cars like a football receiver on the way to the goal line.

  Reilly frowned as she imagined Veck on his bike in this downpour with that kind of maniac on the road. “Hey, are you going to be able to ride home in all the rain? This is getting dangerous.”

  “Nah, it’s no problem.”

  Cursing to herself, she was not at all sure of his read on the situation. And the fact that he was stupid enough to get on that rocket of his in this sort of weather really didn’t put her in her happy place.

  * * *

  As Veck sat next to Reilly, he found himself thinking about his father . . . and his mother, too—although the latter was someone he couldn’t dwell on. How ironic. DelVecchio Sr. was almost always on his mind, but his mother—

  “I think I’d better take you home,” Reilly said. “This is nothing you need to be going through on a bike.”

  “I had no idea about your St,” he heard himself murmur. “And I wouldn’t have ever guessed it. You’re so totally put together.”

  There was a pause, as if she had to change conversational lanes in her head. “Well, a lot of it is my parents. By example and in actuality, they are who I wanted to be and who I became. It always wasn’t easy though. For a long while, I was worried that if I wasn’t perfect, they’d return me like a defective toaster. But then I wrecked my father’s new car on my learner’s permit—tested that theory pretty damn well, and guess what? They kept me anyway.”

  Staring at her profile, he said, “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

  “The only thing I did was take advantage of the good example that was in front of me.”

  “And that’s tremendous.”

  When she turned into his neighborhood five minutes later, he realized she’d taken her own advice about him and his bike and the weather.

  The brakes squeaked slightly as she stopped in his driveway, and abruptly, the rain hitting the roof of the car sounded like Ping-Pong balls.

  “I think we’re having some hail,” he said.

  “Yes.” She stared through the front windshield. “Bad storm.”

  “No thunder.”

  “No.”

  The wipers flopped back and forth, clearing the view only momentarily.

  Eventually, he looked over at her. “I want to kiss you again.”

  “I know.”

  He laughed a little. “Am I so obvious.”

  “No . . . I want it, too.”

  Then turn your head, he thought. All you have to do is turn your head and I’ll take it from there.

  The rain fell. The wipers slapped around. The engine idled.

  She turned her head. And focused on his mouth. “I really want it.”

  Veck leaned in toward her, and pulled her to his lips. The kiss was very slow and very deep. And as her tongue met his, he was well aware he wanted something more from her than just sex, but if he’d had to name what the hell it was, he’d have been out of words. Ultimately, however, the definition didn’t matter. Not in the interior of this unmarked, parked in his driveway, with the storm on the outside of the car.

  What they both needed had nothing to do with talking.

  God, she was still so soft benea
th him, soft skin, soft hair, soft scent, but it was the tough inner core of her, the resilience and the single-mindedness, that really turned him on. The idea that she was such a survivor, that she was so strong and clear with who she was and where she was from, made him respect the shit out of her.

  And what do you know . . . that was sexier than anything that came in a Victoria’s Secret bag.

  With a surge of his torso, he tried to get even closer, but the steering wheel bit into his side, and blocked him. The caveman in him actually growled as he gave it another shot, but he got nowhere near where he wanted to be.

  Which was naked and on top of her.

  On a curse, he eased back. In the reflected brightness of the headlights on the garage door, her beautiful face was illuminated clearly, the pattern of the rain on the windshield playing across her features, spotting them up before the wipers cleared away what looked like tears.

  He thought of her with her family, so happy and at peace.

  He thought of her, period.

  “I’m going to go in alone,” he said abruptly.

  Veck didn’t wait for a response. He was out of that car a split second later, and he hotfooted it over to the front door of his house, not because of the storm, but because he could see too clearly into himself.

  “Wait!” she called out as he palmed up his keys.

  “Go back to your car,” he muttered in a rough, hungry voice.

  Rushing over to him, she shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

  With that, she lifted up her hand and pointed it in the direction of her unmarked. As she hit her remote, the locks punched down and the blinkers flared.

  Veck closed his eyes and let his head flop back on his spine, the rain hitting his forehead and cheeks. “You come in here, I’m not going to be able to stop.”

  Reilly’s reply was to take the keys out of his hand, unlock the dead bolt, and subtly, inexorably push him back into his house.

  Just as with the kiss in the car, he took it from there.

  Kicking the door shut, he unleashed himself, grabbing her and yanking her against him, holding her hard, taking her mouth again. And she attacked him right back, locking her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself against him.

  The couch.

  He’d moved the couch.

  Thank fuck.

  It was a shuffle to get over there, and the fact that he was taking off her wet coat and his, and then both of their gun holsters, didn’t make the going any easier. But soon enough he was maneuvering her down so she was stretched out on the cushions . . . and he mounted her, all but jumping on top of her body.

  The kissing was heavy-duty desperate, the kind of thing where their teeth hit every now and then, and he didn’t want to stop to breathe, even though his lungs were burning from lack of oxygen—especially as she started clawing at his shoulders.

  He was not nice to her button-down.

  Without breaking their lip-lock, he took its lapels in his fists and split the damn thing from collar to hem, popping free all kinds of pearly white UFOs that sailed through the air and bounced off the carpet.

  Her bra underneath was buff colored, and nothing but simple cotton that looked spectacular over her breasts. And what a relief not to have to worry about whether he’d rip delicate lace.

  As he went for the uncomplicated front clasp, she was breathing fast and hard, and the undulation of her ribs under her skin was one hell of a turn-on—that was nothing compared to when he sprang the bra and those modest cups snapped to the sides.

  “You’re amazing,” he groaned as he took a proper look at her . . . something he’d cheated himself out of the night before.

  Oh, man, her breasts were heavier than they appeared with her clothes on, fuller and rounder—which made him wonder whether she didn’t deliberately wear tight bras to constrict them. And what a waste f h was.

  Then again, the idea of any other man ogling her like this made him want to go for his gun.

  Palming up what he had revealed, he got another surprise that he’d missed in his hurry back in her kitchen. She was all natural, a gift from God, undoctored by insecurity or vanity. And the heavy, supple weight of her made his cock throb—reminding him how long it had been since he’d been with a woman who didn’t have hard-as-rock implants.

  Pushing her together, her nipples were tight and erect, and he bent down, sucking on one and then the other. Then he nuzzled the undersides of what was in his hands.

  So he was a breast man, after all, he thought as his hips rolled against her legs. Who knew.

  Or . . . maybe he was just a Sophia Reilly man.

  “You are so fucking beautiful,” he growled as he went back to work on those pink tips.

  As desperate as he was to get in her, he was so captivated by her upper body, he just explored her, licking at her and touching her and watching her respond. Somehow her thighs parted—maybe it was his knee, maybe her need; who gave a shit—and then the two of them were flush where it counted most.

  Pushing himself up with his arms, he started to grind against her, his erection rubbing against her core. In response, she arched in the most erotic way, her chest rising as her spine torqued, her fingernails biting into his forearms.

  As he pumped against her, her breasts swayed to the beat and got him drunk, his body numb and hypersensitive at the same time—except he missed her lips. Resealing their mouths, he knew he was close to the edge of no-control . . . and then he felt her hands tugging at his shirt.

  Guess he wasn’t the only one.

  Abruptly, he lost his patience with his clothes, and what covered his chest was gone a moment later, ripped off like hers had been.

  “Feel me,” he bit out, as he arched back over her.

  He kissed her hard as her hands went everywhere, tracing over his muscles, grabbing his shoulders, streaking her nails down his ribs.

  More.

  “Can I get you naked?” he said.

  “Yes . . .”

  She lifted her hips and went for her belt at the same time he rose over her. And she did such a good job on those pants, he just sat back and watched as a pair of white cotton panties made an appearance.

  When she had trouble going any further, because hello, she had a two-hundred-pound man looming over her, he helped her draw the slacks down her long, smooth legs.

  Oh, man . . . he thought, running his hands up and down her thighs. She was lean, and gently muscled, and he found himself imagining that he was spreading her wide, and dipping his head—

  Snapping, he lunged at her, stretching out on top of her once more and pumping himself against her. His plan? Ease his way south and take those panties off with his teeth. Then he was going to spend a while making sure her body was good and ready for him. With his lips and his tongue and his fingers.

  Turned out he had a little gentleman in him after all.

  Yeah. That was it. Not because he was dying to taste her—

  Except thee went for his belt.

  He froze, and put his hands over hers, stilling her.

  “If that comes off,” he said roughly, “I’m not going to be able to wait for more than a split second.”

  With Veck’s massive body poised above her, Reilly’s brain was focused on one and only one thing—and that was getting his pants down.

  “I don’t want to wait.”

  “You sure?” His voice was so guttural, it was nearly inaudible.

  In reply, she shifted her hand between his thighs and palmed his sex. The instant the connection was made, he cursed on an explosive exhale, and his body bucked against her, the soft material of his pants doing nothing to hide that rigid length.

  “I want to see you,” she demanded hoarsely.

  Not something she had to ask twice: With fast, violent hands, he went to work on his fly, and she was the one who pulled at the waistband. Then they were working together on his boxer briefs to free his—

  His erection jutted straight out from his hips, and the li
ds of his eyes went low as he watched her take him in.

  Holy . . .

  Well, she could use a thesaurus’s worth of terms for “magnificent,” couldn’t she. And it was safe to say that if she’d been impressed when she’d seen him in his bathroom that first night, or when she’d felt him through his clothes in her kitchen, fully revealed and ready to roar, she was blown away. And his sex wasn’t the only sight worth seeing: His chest was just as smooth and muscled as she remembered, and his abdominals were amazing, a tight double row of ridges that led down to his pelvis and his—

  “Fuck—”

  As she gripped him, palm to skin, he shuddered violently, and she loved the sense of power that came from rocking his world. And oh, God, he was thick and long, pulsing and kicking against her hold as she stroked him.

  She was never going to forget this, she thought, this sight of him above her, teeth bared, head back, huge chest straining as he struggled for control. It was the hottest thing she’d ever seen. And exploration was a virtue, for sure . . . but she wanted him in the deepest way before she took the time to learn his ins-and-outs.

  Although phrased like that . . .

  “Your wallet?” She’d seen what he kept in there when she’d handled his billfold out in the woods—and the sight of those condoms had embarrassed her then. Now, she was grateful, because Lord knew she didn’t have anything of the sort. And there was no need to dwell on the reason a man would always have to be prepared. Besides, it wasn’t as if she didn’t know about that side of him. She’d witnessed the Britnae effect, thank you very much.

  “Now,” she barked.

  Yet another thing she didn’t have to ask twice about. As he found his slacks and got out his wallet, she lifted her butt and swept her panties down and off—so that she was ready when he brought up his hand, a condom held between his fore- and middle fingers.

  He paused, like he was giving her a chance to look hard at the thing.