Envy Mass Market Paperback

by Sandra Brown

  “That yanked your chain.”

  “Yes. But only because you hit the nail on the head. Deep down I knew it.” She turned and looked into his face. “I caught him this week with another woman.” The simple statement was followed by a pause that gave him time to respond. He kept his expression neutral. “I won’t bore you with the sordid details.”

  “How sordid?”

  “Sufficiently sordid.”

  “Enough to send you scrambling back here? Payback time?”

  “No. I swear that’s not why I’m here. Noah’s affair provided me with justification for coming back. But the truth is, I didn’t want to leave in the first place.”

  “Then why did you go?

  “It was a matter of conscience.”

  “Over what? Nothing happened.”

  “Something happened to me,” she exclaimed softly, pressing her fist against her chest. “I wanted to stay with you, and that was reason enough for me to leave. Being around you wasn’t healthy for my marriage. What I was feeling for you frightened me. For my peace of mind, I needed to reestablish myself as a happily married woman. Ironically, I’d been back in New York only one day when I discovered that Noah had broken our marriage vows.”

  “He’s a fool.”

  She gave him a smile for the indirect compliment, but it turned rueful. “So am I. I’m a fool for not acknowledging sooner that our marriage wasn’t what I wanted it to be. Nor was Noah the man I wanted him to be. He wasn’t the hero of his book.”

  “And now you think of Roark as a hero.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I’m not confusing fact with fiction, Parker. I’ve outgrown that. You’re real. I can touch you.” She reached for his hand, studying it as she traced the veins on the back of it with her fingertip. “My marriage, such as it was, is over. Behind me. I don’t want to talk about Noah anymore.”

  “Fine by me.”

  He gathered a handful of her hair, then wound it around his fist and drew her closer until their faces were inches apart. He hesitated for several heartbeats, then settled his lips against hers, tested the angle, readjusted. He was moderately controlled until he heard a small whimper from her. He backed off, looked down into her eyes, and recognized a desire that equaled his own.

  Control was abandoned. He covered her face with wild, random, artless kisses and she was doing the same to him. Then mouths melded and tongues touched, and they kissed with carnal greed.

  Eventually Parker pulled back and caught his breath, then proceeded with more temperance. His tongue stroked her lower lip; he raked it gently between his teeth. He laid light kisses at the corners of her lips before pressing his tongue into her mouth. He angled his head first to one side, then the other, but he never broke contact. Even when he withdrew, his lips remained against hers, making sipping motions as gentle as the rainfall.

  Her lips barely moving against his, she whispered, “The night we met, when you kissed me…”

  “Hmm?”

  “I didn’t want you to stop.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Don’t you think I felt it, too, Maris?”

  In reply, she threaded her fingers up through his hair and played sexy with her tongue. As they kissed, he unbuttoned the row of buttons, untied the knot at her waist, and pulled open her shirt.

  Her breasts were proportionately small, beautifully round, and, now, sprinkled with rainwater. Heavier drops beaded on her skin. Some formed rivulets that trickled over the smooth curves, intersecting and crisscrossing in erotic patterns.

  “Parker? You know it’s raining.”

  “Yeah.” He cupped her breast and reshaped it with his hand. His thumb whisked a raindrop off the tip. He leaned down and rubbed his lips across it. “As you told me once, you won’t melt.”

  Then he took her nipple into his mouth.

  “I might,” she sighed.

  Making his dream a reality, she folded her arms around his head and clutched him to her, repeating his name on ragged breaths.

  His hand waded through what seemed like unfurled bolts of fabric until he found skin. He slid his hand between her thighs, all the way up, to her center. He touched her through her underpants. “Okay?”

  She made a sound that he took for a yes. Her sex was pliant and very wet. He eased his fingers into her.

  “Ohgod, Parker.”

  His fingers stroked her from within while his thumb drew circles on the outside. Soon she was thrusting her hips up against his hand.

  “Just let it happen, Maris.”

  She relaxed and, although her breathing was still shallow and quick, she stopped working at trying to climax. He continued to nuzzle her breasts. Her nipples became small and hard against his flicking tongue. The stroking of his fingers intensified and the circles drawn by his thumb shrank to center on one spot.

  Then he felt it, that unique tension that claimed her. Involuntary. Imperative. Impossible to bridle. Uncontainable. Her back arched. Her head fell back and she covered her eyes with her forearm. Her exposed neck begged to be kissed. He bent over it and pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat while sweet sounds vibrated from it. He remained there until the last of the aftershocks had rippled through her and she went limp.

  He withdrew his hand from beneath her skirt and smoothed it back into place. He then gathered her close, securing her against his chest by resting his chin on the top of her head.

  Weakly she laid her hand on his chest. “You buttoned your shirt.”

  “For supper. One of my mom’s rules.”

  She undid the buttons and rubbed her cheek against his chest hair, then laid her head against his heart. “Better.”

  The rain continued to fall on them, soaking their hair and clothes, but neither noticed or cared. He stroked her back, his fingers stopping at each individual vertebra. “He hasn’t fucked you worth a damn, has he?”

  He felt her stiffen, and for a moment he feared that he’d gone too far, said too much, offended her with his blunt language. But it was an initial reaction that passed quickly. She relaxed against him again and said softly, “I thought so. Until a few minutes ago.”

  “You were hungry for it.”

  “I didn’t know that until you touched me. My sex life was another self-delusion.”

  She must have felt his smile, because she raised her head and looked at him. “You must be feeling pretty good about yourself.”

  His grin was unrepentantly cocky, but it turned into a soft smile. “I feel good.” He kissed her lips softly, growling against them, “But you feel better.”

  They kissed long and deeply. He was reluctant to end it but eventually did. “We’d better get back to the house before Mike organizes a search party.”

  He reached for the brake lever to release it, but she stopped him. “What about you? This?” She rocked her hips against his erection. “Don’t you want me to… do something?”

  Wincing, he clasped her firmly around the waist and gasped, “Yeah, I want you to stop moving like that.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  He gave her a crooked smile and curved his hand around the back of her neck. “When we make love, I want to be concentrating on the pleasure of it and not worrying about how I’m going to come without dumping us out of this chair.”

  “It’s that earthshaking?”

  “It will be, yes.”

  “But I had all the fun.”

  “Shows how little you know.”

  She smiled and he kissed her quickly, then turned them around and headed for home. “By the way, since I need two hands to drive this damn thing, you’d better button up your shirt or Mike’ll get an eyeful.”

  * * *

  The following morning Daniel got up early. He showered and dressed quickly, then packed a few changes of clothing to take to the country before going downstairs. Maxine had been most unhappy to hear about his planned weekend without her and had made her displeasure known. So he was very meek this morning when
he asked her if it would be too much trouble for him to have his breakfast in the courtyard.

  “No trouble at all, Mr. Matherly. It’ll take me just a few minutes to get the tray ready.”

  “Perfect. I can use the time to make a couple of calls.”

  He went into his study and placed the first call to a number he now had memorized. He said little during the five-minute call. The majority of the time was spent listening.

  Mr. William Sutherland finally said everything he had to say and asked, “Do you want me to proceed, Mr. Matherly?”

  “By all means.”

  Daniel placed the second call of the morning to Becker-Howe. He wasn’t surprised that even at this time of day, when most New Yorkers were queuing up at Starbucks and crowding subways to get to their offices at a reasonable hour, his call was answered by Mr. Oliver Howe himself.

  Howe, rather pompously, had always boasted that he put in a fourteen-hour workday, except on holidays when he worked only eight. Apparently his schedule was as arduous as it had always been, despite his advanced age.

  Howe’s publishing career had been launched at approximately the same time as Daniel’s and in a similar fashion. Howe was bequeathed his company from his grandfather within months of his graduation from his university. He and Daniel had remained friendly rivals through the years, and eventually their acquaintance had evolved into a grudging friendship. They held one another in the highest esteem.

  “Ollie, it’s Daniel Matherly.”

  As expected, his old colleague was delighted to hear from him. After exchanging pleasantries, Oliver Howe said, “I can’t play golf anymore, Danny Boy. Goddamn rheumatism won’t let me.”

  “That’s not why I’m calling, Ollie. This is business-related.”

  “I thought you had retired.”

  “That’s the rumor, but you of all people should know better. The fact is, I’ve run across an exciting proposition that I thought might interest you.”

  Daniel emerged from his study a few minutes later without the benefit of his cane. He felt invigorated. He was even rubbing his palms together as he approached Maxine. “Would you please go out and buy some bread at that Kosher bakery I like?”

  “They don’t have bread in Massachusetts? Mr. Reed said he was going to have the house stocked with food.”

  “I know, but I’m hungry for… you know the kind. With the seeds on it.”

  “I know the kind. That bakery is across town. I’ll go after you’ve had breakfast.”

  “Noah will be picking me up after breakfast. Better go now. I can serve myself breakfast.”

  She eyed him suspiciously, and with good cause. His sudden yen for a particular bread was a ruse to get her out of the house. He had a guest coming for breakfast and he didn’t want anyone to know about it.

  Maxine continued to argue, but eventually she huffed out the service entrance, muttering to herself. She’d only been gone a few minutes when Daniel answered the front doorbell and invited his guest inside.

  “My housekeeper is out on an errand,” he explained as he led the way to the courtyard. Maxine always set the table for three on the chance that Maris or Noah or both would drop by. Even though Maris was out of town and Noah was due to arrive later, Daniel was relieved to see that she hadn’t broken with habit. He indicated a chair at the round wrought-iron table. “Please sit. Coffee?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Daniel poured. As he passed the cream and sugar, he said, “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

  “It wasn’t so much an invitation as an edict, Mr. Matherly.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “Curiosity.”

  Daniel acknowledged the candor with an appreciative nod. “So you were surprised to hear from me?”

  “Shocked, actually.”

  “I’m glad that we can speak frankly with one another, because I know your time is valuable and I’m on a tight schedule myself this morning. My son-in-law is picking me up at ten o’clock and driving me to our house in the country. He invited me to spend some quality time alone with him while my daughter is away.” He lifted a napkin-lined silver basket toward his guest. “Muffin?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “For bran muffins, they’re not bad. My housekeeper makes them herself.”

  “No, thank you.”

  He returned the basket to the tabletop. “Where was I?”

  “Mr. Matherly, I know that you’re not in your dotage, so please don’t insult my intelligence by pretending to be. You didn’t invite me here to sample your housekeeper’s bran muffins.”

  Daniel dropped the pose. Planting his elbows on the table, he clasped his hands together and looked at his guest from beneath his white eyebrows, now drawn into a steep V above the bridge of his nose.

  “I would stake my fortune on the probability that when Noah and I arrive at our country place, he will have in his possession a document of some sort that empowers him to conduct business for my publishing house.” He spoke with the brusque efficacy that had always been at his command and on which he had built his reputation for hard and sometimes ruthless dealing.

  “Over the course of the weekend, I will be pressed into signing this document.” He raised his hand to stop his guest from speaking. “No. Say nothing. You would do well only to listen.”

  Following a long, thoughtful, somewhat mistrustful hesitation, Daniel was motioned to continue.

  “Envy” Ch. 20

  Key West, Florida, 1988

  Todd hadn’t counted on it taking this long.

  He was impatient to attain wealth and achieve fame—in that order.

  After the mortgage on his parents’ house was paid off, the profit he’d made on its sale had been a pittance. Each parent had carried a meager life insurance policy, but his mother had used his father’s to bury him, and Todd had used hers to lay her to rest. Once all their affairs were settled, the leftovers that comprised his legacy were hardly worth counting. He barely had enough to finance his relocation to Florida and had arrived in Key West virtually penniless.

  The cost of living was far higher than he and Roark had estimated, even though they were living in veritable squalor and eating cheaply. He earned good tips parking cars, but the cash was quickly consumed by rent, gas, food, and other necessities.

  And his monthly installments on a pc. He, unlike his roommate, wasn’t fortunate enough to have a great-uncle he had seen only twice in his entire life but who had felt a familial obligation to give his grandnephew an expensive college graduation gift. Roark’s advantage had rankled. Todd had wasted no time in leveling the playing field and acquiring a computer on a lease-purchase plan.

  He was bummed over his chronic shortage of legal tender.

  He was even more bummed over his chronic shortage of creativity.

  Fame, even more than wealth, seemed so elusive as to be out of the question. Writing fiction was hard work. He had dozed through countless boring lectures on the subject, but he was fairly certain that none of his creative writing instructors had emphasized how labor-intensive it was. That had never been a starred point in his classroom notes. That question had never been asked on an exam. True or false, writing is damn hard work.

  At least once a week, he and Roark went to Hemingway’s home. The Spanish Colonial estate was their shrine, and they went as pilgrims to pay homage. Todd had always been an admirer, of course. But he was only now beginning to appreciate Hemingway’s greatness.

  Talent was something you were born with. Either you had it or you didn’t. But talent by itself was useless. Hours of tedious effort were required to awaken and exercise that talent, to write that riveting “one true sentence” that seemed so damn simple when read.

  That simplicity was deceptive. It didn’t happen by accident. Nor was it a skill easily acquired. Writing was demanding, solitary, backbreaking work. A writer mined the tunnels of his brain, using words for his pickaxe. A week’s effort might yield only one nugget that was wor
th keeping, and you could weep with pathetic gratitude over that.

  Todd admired those who wrote and wrote well. But his admiration was tinged with resentment. Hemingway and his ilk were stingy with their talent and skill. One would think that after having spent so much time studying their work, poring over every phrase, analyzing it word by goddamn word, the ability to write like that would rub off, that the brilliance would be contagious. Didn’t desire count for something? But there were days when he couldn’t find even a grain of genius in his own work.

  Nor could anyone else, it seemed.

  He balled up the written critique he had received from Professor Hadley and hurled it toward the corner of the room.

  Roark walked in just as the paper ball landed on the floor several inches short of the trash can. “Hadley was a hard-ass?”

  “Hadley is an asshole.”

  “Don’t I know it. He raked me over the coals, too.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Then left me there to smolder. So, what I thought is, tonight being our night off, we should get drunk.”

  “Love to,” Todd said moodily. “Can’t afford it.”

  “Neither can I. But being a bartender isn’t without its perks.” With that, Roark brought his hand from behind his back and waggled a bottle of cheap scotch.

  “You stole it?”

  “This piss won’t be missed.”

  “You’re a poet.”

  “And didn’t know it. Let’s go.”

  Todd rolled off his bunk. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

  On the beach, they passed the bottle back and forth between them, toasting the sunset, then the twilight, finally the night sky. They continued to toast the heavens until individual stars began to blur and bob and the universe became a little fuzzy around the edges.

  “Starlight, star bright, first star… et cetera. Make a wish, Roark.”

  “I wish you’d pass me the whisky.”

  Todd handed him the bottle. Roark drank, handed it back, then stretched out on the sand and stacked his hands beneath his head. He began to laugh.