Envy (Original Cover)

Grace’s words echoed in Evan’s ears: Kiss me again.

In their dark hideaway, away from the street, Evan stood dumb with his hands on the face of the beautiful woman. All he had to do was lean forward and put his lips on hers, but he was frozen to the spot, cataloging her details in case it was all a dream and he was about to wake. If it was, he needed those details—needed them like he needed air—so he could sketch her and pin the portrait to his wall. 

Her lashes were long and cast crescent shadows like wings on her cheekbones. Her small freckled nose was pink from the cold. Her square jaw made her eternally proud and confident. Her face had been dappled by the mist falling from the night sky, leaving little diamonds sparkling over her skin. But best of all, she looked up at him with eyes filled with want.

She’d just seen the real him. No layers of his alter-ego, but the pure, violent, impulsive, and now, electrical him. He’d wanted to end Sara, and she’d seen the murder in his eyes, but she hadn’t shied away. Instead, she saw his potential. Not a murderer, but… maybe a savior.

Kiss me again.

He pressed his lips to hers, this time slowly and with reverence. 

She had no idea yet, but he wasn’t going to let her go, and it had nothing to do with his body’s strange biological response pushing them together, but everything to do with the way she looked at him. 

His tongue darted past her lips, testing, until hers dueled with his. Sighing on a breath, her soft body sank into him, and his blood sang in response. Nerve receptors electrified. Waves of hot desire rolled through him, setting off his biological alarm that screamed. This is your mate. Catch her, keep her. Sweat broke out and his pores leaked pheromones. He knew it was wrong to influence her so, but for a short moment, he didn’t care. He kissed harder, fingers smoothing around her face to take hold of her silky ponytail. 

She responded to his passion with her own, lips, teeth and tongue fighting back. She tugged him closer by the belt, grinding into his painfully hard erection. Sparks in his body increased, building a sensation that wasn’t entirely natural. He recognized the reaction barely in time to thrust away and punch the wall beside her head, grunting in agony as pent up electricity crackled through his body. Power surged from his hands and thundered into the wall, showering them in sparks and debris. 

He sheltered her with his body.

Grace yelped.

Fuck!

Evan held his position over her until the last of the debris cleared, then he pulled back, agape, testing her once again for injury. He’d almost hurt her but, even though his mind knew he had to rein in the power rolling inside him, he couldn’t. It was too new. His muscles contracted and released in waves, like an ocean in turmoil. Shit. What if he couldn’t control himself around her? What if he never could?

“Grace,” he grit out. It was one word, but it meant so much more. An apology. A prayer.  

“Evan!” a deep voice boomed from the gallery. Parker. 

Evan shoved away.

The sense of envy in the neighborhood slammed into him with staggering force.

She hugged herself with trembling arms.

Dark, envious thoughts whispered through his mind.

She’s afraid of you. She’ll never love you, a frightful freak of nature. Not like she could love someone else. Someone normal.

Don’t go there. 

Not when Sara was out there, in that dark place where nightmares became reality. He had to be strong. No matter what Grace thought of him, he had to be strong for her. For his family. 

The family relied on him. Mary had been right; he was the only one left fighting for the truth to come to light. The only one fighting to restore their name. Mary said he had to choose this life, and he never wanted Grace to look at him like that again. The next time they saw each other, he wanted pride, not fear in her eyes. 

Wishing to be someone else would never help him. He had to be better.

His hands flexed at his side, biceps pumping. A deep breath later, and he calmed himself. She hadn’t run. She’d remained. A tiny kernel of hope flared in his chest. 

“We need to talk,” he said.