Envy

by Lana Pecherczyk

  He took a risk and brazenly pressed his hips into hers, showing how he really felt.

  She nudged back.

  Hells, yeah.

  He kissed her deeper, reveling in every sense she awakened in him.

  Touch—so soft. Taste—salty and sweet. Smell—like sun-kissed linen washed in lavender. Sight—flashes of hot, steamy woman, eyes fluttering closed beneath him. And then there were her sounds—little whimpers of pleasure every time she took a breath.

  It had never been like this with any other woman. Sex had always been tainted with envy… always niggling at him, never allowing him to fully let go. But now, nothing. Nothing but her in every sense, begging for more. He was consumed by her. Before he knew what he was doing, he gripped her ass. Damned coat was in the way.

  So he moved his attention to the front, wanting her skin. Flesh against flesh. He tugged at the hem of her silk blouse and pulled it free from her jeans.

  “Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “More, Evan.”

  She plunged her cool hands under his shirt and splayed her fingers against his torso.

  He gasped at the temperature shock and then did the same to her. Hot hands against cool skin. She arched into him.

  Trailing his rough, battered fingertips up her body, he didn’t feel they had the right to touch her. Silky. Smooth. Satin.

  Bra. Nipple.

  Shit.

  He found both firm buds through her thin fabric and rolled between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Evan,” she begged.

  “Grace.” He loved the way her name hissed from his tongue on a breath when he pronounced the c. He slid a hand down her stomach, fingers first, to dip beneath the barrier of her waistband. “Say yes again.”

  She made a feeble sound and scraped her nails up his back. The stark contrast of her soft body at his front, and sudden pain at his rear had him panting, needy.

  Fuck, he was a big guy and this little woman reduced him to one word thoughts and baser instincts. He would do anything for her at that moment, and somewhere deep in the scary part of his brain taking a back seat, he knew he always would.

  He needed her to want him. To say she wanted him, and no one else. It was an irrational cave man urge. He pushed his hand under her panty-line, until they passed her curls to slide along her slick center. “Jesus,” he moaned, gently stroking her, teasing her, relishing in her moans of pleasure. When his finger entered, she gasped, trembling beneath him. Hot. Tight. Wet. For him.

  “Grace,” he said. “You want me.” Please. Say yes again.

  “Yes.” She pushed against his hand, wantonly driving herself against him. “God, Evan. More.”

  He pulled on her ponytail, just like he’d fantasied and lifted her lips to his, while the other hand focused on her core. Plunging, sliding, testing and playing. He probed her mouth with his tongue, like his fingers moved below. The pressure of electricity built inside him, and for a moment, he thought he’d not be able to suppress the power. But he didn’t want to hurt her, just please her, and make her putty in his arms. It wasn’t him letting go, it was her.

  “Let go, Grace. I’ve got you.”

  Soon, she tensed in his arms, fingers flexing and scraping down his back. “Oh, God. Evan… I—”

  A tiny pitched mewl cut off and she bit sharply into his pec to muffle her voice as she shattered, trembling and shuddering around him. When she went limp in his arms, he smiled, satisfied. His messy girl knew how to let go, to feel, and throw caution to the wind—in a hospital supply closet.

  Then the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

  Someone was coming.

  “Doc,” he warned, hand still down her pants and slick with her desire.

  She made a muffled protest on his chest.

  That feeling of urgency grew. All that energy he had inside had projected out of his body and into the hallway in a field, sensing any passer by in his web. He buttoned her fly back up and straightened her coat. “Someone’s coming.”

  “What?” Haze cleared from her eyes. “Now?”

  He cleared his throat and nodded.

  “Oh, no.” She dug into her coat pocket, pulled out her hospital staff ID and clipped it on her breast pocket, as if that created order from her disheveled appearance.

  The person approaching was too close for them to escape unnoticed, so Evan flicked on the light to further illuminate the room full of shelves and supplies.

  The door opened.

  “And we’ll need ten packets of gauze.” Grace snagged a handful of plastic covered packages and indicated for him to do the same. Then she strode confidently out the door, past the gawking orderly, and into the hallway.

  Evan bit his lip to hide the smirk dancing there.

  “Doc needs her gauze,” he said to the orderly, made an awkward face, and then rushed after his woman already halfway down the corridor.

  He jogged to catch up. “Wait.”

  She was doing her stubborn stride thing again.

  “I can’t believe I did that,” she said.

  “You mean, I did that. To you.”

  “Oh my God, Evan.”

  “You said that a lot.” He barely dodged the gauze she swatted at him. He laughed.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  “I’m happy.”

  A chagrinned glance shot his way.

  “Plus, your hair.” He pointed to the crooked ponytail.

  “Damn it.” She eyed a bathroom nearby and pushed her gauze package into his arms. “Give me a second. I’ll be back.”

  Five minutes later, she returned from the bathroom in less disarray. Her still-flushed cheeks, and too bright eyes, made him want to push her back in there and finish what they started.

  She pulled out a phone from her pocket to check the time. “It’s getting late. I have to go.”

  “New phone?”

  “Yes.”

  He took it and entered his number. Then dialed his phone so he’d have hers. His pocket vibrated to confirm the call, and he handed it back to her.

  “Where are we going?” he asked as they left the hospital.

  “You can’t come with me, Evan.” She turned to him on the street. “I’m having lunch with a girlfriend.”

  “I told you, I’m not leaving you alone. Not until we deal with Sara.”

  She frowned. “We can investigate the address after lunch. Then we can sit down and talk properly about what just happened.”

  “Where is lunch?”

  “You can’t come with me. Don’t you have something else to do? It’s just for an hour or so.”

  He checked the time. It was getting close to when he’d said the family would meet to break the news to Wyatt. He didn’t like leaving her alone. Not one bit, but he couldn’t miss the family meeting.

  “I’ll drop you off at the restaurant. Which one is it?”

  “Heaven. Just a few blocks from here.”

  “Heaven? You’re kidding me.”

  “No. Is there something wrong with the place—oh.” Her eyes widened. “The head chef is your brother.”

  “Yes. I’m going there too.” The anticipation must have bled onto his face because her eyes softened on him.

  “Is he the one who was engaged to Sara?”

  Evan nodded.

  “You're going to tell him about her?”

  “Yeah.”

  She patted him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You love him.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “C’mon. Let’s split a cab.”

  Nineteen

  Evan helped Grace out of the cab and then followed quietly until they entered Heaven.

  Heaven was a five-star restaurant decked out in luxury retro decor. Sometimes he felt like he stepped out of a Rat-Pack movie in the sixties. Sinatra crooned over the internal speakers, and on the weekends and nights, a performer played from a piano at the center stage.

  The maître d, a bald man wearing a vest over a whi
te shirt, greeted Grace. When he spied Evan over her shoulder, his eyes widened in recognition. He lifted a finger as if to say he’d be with him in a minute and then showed Grace to her seat.

  Evan’s eyes followed her like a hawk. After spending the entire morning together, he wasn’t comfortable with the sudden distance. Her soothing presence receded in an ebbing wave, but he knew it was for the best. Shit was about to get real. At least he knew she wouldn’t be in danger in here.

  “Mr. Lazarus,” The maître d said, returning. “I wasn’t expecting you today. I haven’t booked the private dining room.”

  He retrieved a menu from the cashier’s podium.

  “That’s cool, Colin. Today we need a booth. We’re all going to be here.”

  “All seven?”

  “Nine. Mary and Flint, too.”

  Colin scanned the list of reservations with a frown on his face. “We’re almost booked out. If I had known…” He glanced up and caught Evan’s eyes. “You said all, so Parker will be here?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Um…” As he glanced at the bookings, his face went red, and little beads of perspiration appeared on his bald head.

  Maybe he should have called or maybe they should’ve sent Liza here to get a table, she was better at organizing these things. Evan took a deep breath, closed his eyes and focused. It had been only minutes since Grace left his side, and already envy battered his defenses. He stole a glance her way to find her settled into a booth across the main stage at the center of the room. Instantly he felt better.

  She was safe. She was there.

  “Okay. I think I can do something with this booking,” Colin said under his breath, marking notes on his ledger. Two-seconds later, he ushered Evan to a u-shaped booth. Trimmed in beige leather; it matched the rest of the soft, luxury decor in one of the most upmarket eating establishments in the Quadrant. A swell of pride hit Evan in the chest. Parker was the owner, but Wyatt had built the reputation of this place all on his own, despite losing what he thought was the love of his life.

  That pride diminished when he heard an enormous crash from the kitchen. Wyatt ruled his kitchen with an iron fist, and it was well known around town that you needed balls of steel to work there. Being a Michelin starred chef hadn’t come easy. But if you made it at Heaven, then you earned your bones, as they said in the mafia—you’d become a made man in the industry. The field was as cutthroat as the mafia, so he got the association. No wonder Wyatt’s nickname here was the Godfather.

  Evan’s attention wandered across the glossy stage, past the piano and to the booths opposite, to where Grace sat. Even across the divide, he felt her magnetic pull. There was nothing he enjoyed more than watching her smile at the waitress serving her.

  “Don’t say it,” he said over his shoulder without moving his eyes from Grace.

  The immediate response was the clatter of a black leather handbag as it slid across the empty table top, skidding to a halt just before it slipped off the edge.

  “You’re a fucking party pooper, little brother.” Liza had arrived, and she brought her potty mouth. “I wasn’t going to say anything, Jesus Christ.”

  “Sure you weren’t.” Evan smiled at his eldest sister and drew her in for a hug. “I hope you’ve been looking after yourself, sis.”

  Tall, brunette, and blue eyed, Liza was the living embodiment of a Brazilian Barbie doll. But don’t tell her that, she’d slice your carotid with a tainted knife before the words left your mouth.

  A grim expression crossed her face as she took a seat. “As opposed to how you’re looking after you?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Every day.”

  “Uh, TMI, sis.”

  Evan grinned and joined her in the booth.

  “Speaking of. You tap that yet?” She nodded in Grace’s direction, making an obvious movement with her eyes. “Your lust is making my eyes bleed.”

  “No couth. Seriously, sis, you’ve got no couth.” He sheltered his eyes with his hand, embarrassed, hoping Grace hadn’t heard. Thankfully, with the music playing through the stereo, he doubted it.

  “Holy shitballs. You actually like her.” Liza laughed and then flagged down Colin to order a couple of beers. In one minute flat, they had two ice cold brewskis sitting on their table, perspiring with condensation. Considering their location, they probably should have stuck with wine or some wanky champagne, but Colin was well used to their average tastes by now. The only two that gorged themselves on luxury were Parker and Wyatt. Sometimes Tony, but he wasn’t fussy. He’d overindulge on anything given the opportunity.

  “Sort of,” he said.

  She choked on her beer. “Sort of? You got a sort-of-dick-issue? Jeez, if you don’t want her, I’d hit that. Does she have a brother?”

  “No!” Hell, how did this sister always make him feel like a bumbling idiot. Maybe because he assumed she knew all there was to know about lust. But the truth was, she was as tight-lipped as a nun about her exploits. Sure, she teased them a lot, and they knew she went on dates, but she never spoke about them afterward. He had no idea if she was into women, or men, or both… or all of them. Unlike Tony, whose sexual accomplishments were often plastered over the entertainment news reels, Liza was a mystery, and that’s the way she liked it.

  “So how was the exhibition?” she asked. “Apart from the death and destruction?”

  Evan glanced again at Grace. Finding his mate was a huge revelation, but it might not go over so well with Liza. She didn’t think she’d ever be happy with someone who embodied the opposite of lust, so set herself up to never be disappointed by pretending the bonding story was a myth. He placed his arm lengthwise on the top of the booth, contemplating where to begin. Liza did the same and thrummed her fingers on the leather. He snorted. Tomboy.

  She kept staring at him and then back towards Grace.

  “So what’s so special about this girl? What’s got you hot under the collar?”

  “You haven’t spoken with Parker, or Griff? Mary?”

  Liza shook her head. “Been busy, bro.”

  “You really want to know?”

  Liza wiggled her eyebrows in excitement and then held up her hand. “Wait. There’s Sloan. Tell me when she gets here. Can’t believe she’s not late.”

  “Well, she only has to come from upstairs.”

  Liza grunted in agreement.

  Evan stood when he caught the sight of his other sister crossing the crowded restaurant and waved her over. He’d been so used to her in her socks and underwear that he almost didn’t recognize Sloan fully dressed in jeans and a long sleeve flannelette shirt. She adjusted her fake black-rimmed glasses on her nose and then tugged on her braid. She widened her eyes in greeting.

  “Bras,” was all she said and slid in the booth after Evan.

  “Ugh. You sound like a moron.” Liza sipped as she appraised her younger sister. “You dress like one too.”

  “Whatever,” Sloan said to Liza, then turned to Evan. “So when’s this thing going down, I gotta get back.”

  Evan checked his phone. “Wyatt clocks off in twenty.”

  Sloan pulled her sleeve over her fingers and chewed on the hem at the wrist.

  “You want a brewski?” Evan asked.

  “Nah. We won’t be long, right?”

  The daggers Liza sent her sister would’ve pierced if she’d noticed. Liza opened her mouth to chastise when Evan chimed in.

  “It’s no trouble, Colin will get it.” Evan ordered another beer by holding his finger in the air at the waiter across the room. The good man knew exactly what he wanted and brought it over.

  “Thanks.” Sloan gave Colin a small smile before he returned to his duties.

  “So, sis, Evan here was about to tell me why his dick is so bottled up with frustration that he’s about to blow.”

  Sloan’s dark eyebrow lifted on one side. “You know there're pills for that, bras.”

  Evan snorted, cheeks reddening. “That shit doe
sn’t happen to me.”

  “So, this sexy-assed woman. Spill, little bro.”

  “You think I’m going to tell you now?”

  “Okay, okay.” Across the table, Liza threw up her palms. “I’m done with the smack talking. Serious.”

  Since neither of the girls were at his exhibition, and Sloan had only received the cliffs notes version last night, he explained what happened, from the bits about Sara turning up, and the bits about Grace—minus the nookie details in the alley. He displayed his tattoo. “If you recall, that was heavily weighted to the dark a few days ago. I spent the morning with Grace and simply being in her presence evened it out. It’s starting to itch like a mother-fucker, which means it’s going to regress soon, but I don’t give a shit. For a few hours, it’s been bliss.”

  They reacted with silence. Eyes reflecting thoughts turned inwards. If they understood him, they didn’t reveal any emotion.

  “There’s more.” He went on to explain the physiological reactions his body had when around her and what Mary had hypothesized about its purpose—pheromones for attracting a mate. She was the polar opposite to his sin, and his body recognized that intrinsically. Neither of them had believed Wyatt went through the same reaction, making his relationship with Sara a false start. When he finished his explanation, he pushed his sleeve back down. “I know we all gave up on finding a mate, and believed Mary’s stories were a joke, but it’s true. I’ll prove it.”

  He touched Liza’s hand and let a volt slip free. She yelped in surprise and then rubbed her hand with a scowl befitting a queen. Sloan laughed.

  Movement in Evan’s periphery across the stage caught his attention. Grace glanced at them and he gave a tentative smile back.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Liza said, eyeing him and Grace. “You step into the vicinity of this chick, your dick-dar goes haywire, fireworks go off, angels sing and all of a sudden she’s your soul-mate and you unlock some freaky powers.”

  “Basically,” he said.

  “I don’t think it matters.” Sloan absently scratched her tattoo through her shirt. “None of us are going to live long, anyway. No point getting into a relationship when we’re all ticking time-bombs.”

  Liza thwacked her over the head. “You’re not listening. He’s saying we don’t have to be. If anyone gets to be morose about this, it’s me. I mean, who the fuck isn’t going to feel lust? Do I have to find a saint? I mean, I like sex. I don’t want to give it up.”