Burn Into Me (12 page)

Elle stops what she is doing and lifts up her finger menacingly.

“Are you for real? You don’t seriously think I’d move because
you
don’t like me living here? I told you, I haven’t had any problems. And I don’t need any charity handouts from you.”

I hold up my hands. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help.” With a grunt, she spins around and continues what she was doing earlier.
 

After what feels like a long, tense silence, she seems to be finished, for she stands in front of me, her fingers holding what looks like a peeled boiled egg.

I raise my brow. “An egg?”

“It’s an ancient Chinese remedy against bruises. Now sit still.”

I want to protest, but then she seats herself next to me, and I breathe in her exotic scent. She carefully presses the warm egg against my eye. It feels soothing and immediately alleviates the pain.
 

“The egg will prevent a bruise from forming. So hopefully your eye won’t be all black tomorrow.”

Elle’s face is inches from me, and I resist the urge of touching her flawless skin, remembering how soft it felt. And that luscious mouth… If I’d lean in just a fraction, I would taste the sweetness of her lips. I’d slide my arms around her, pull her against me, make her moan against my ear.
 

It takes everything in me not to act on my wayward thoughts. But I have to resist, because I know it will piss her off and scare her away. And that’s the last thing I’d want. For now, I’ll take what I can get—her warm breath against my cheek, her shapely thigh pressed to mine. What was I thinking, not wanting to play the sympathy card? I regret I didn’t do it earlier.
 

I relish her nearness, and it takes me a while before it registers she’s asking me a question.

“So, why did you go to the meeting?”

“I wanted to know more about your group. I wanted to know why you’re involved with them.” Pressing my body even closer to hers, I lower my voice. “I wanted to know more about you.”

Her beautiful eyes flick to mine. “So, did you?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t expect it to be so violent.”

She freezes, shrinking away from me, and returns her attention to the egg on my eye. “I swear, it’s never, ever happened before. I’ve no idea what suddenly got into Mark. But what I don’t understand is, why didn’t you fight back?”
 

Frankly, I have no idea myself. In any other situation, I wouldn’t have hesitated to bash him out cold, but my mind was so focused on her that I didn’t even consider fighting back.

“I don’t believe in using violence if I don’t have to. I don’t think it would’ve been a fair fight anyway.”
 

“For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry.” Elle looks into my good eye, and the warmth radiating from her makes something inside me melt.
 

“Well, I’m not. Otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here, with you. And get assaulted with a hardboiled egg.”

Grinning, she swats me on the chest with her free hand. “I knew I should have left you to get a black eye. You deserve it.”

She carefully lifts the egg off my eye. “How does it feel? Still sore?”

“It’s much better. But I don’t know if it was the egg or the cookie. Or maybe it’s just you.”
 

I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and grin when she turns her head away, clearing her throat. It’s so easy to make her feel uncomfortable. I like it—it must mean I affect her more than she’ll admit.
 

“By the way, how’s your bike? Have you tried it out yet? Is it okay?”

Elle’s shoulders drop, clearly relieved by the change of subject, and she spins back to face me.
 

“It’s more than okay. You really had it fixed up. You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to. I don’t want you to accuse me of sabotaging it.”

“No, I know you wouldn’t. And I want to pay you back. But I suppose you won’t let me.”

“I think you’ve known me long enough to know the answer to that.”

Crossing her arms, Elle lets out a loud sigh.
 

My lips curve into a smile. “But…there’s something else you can do.”
 

Her eyes widen. “Yeah?”

“Race with me.”

She rubs her eyebrow piercing, and I can almost see the conflicting thoughts whirling through her mind.
 

“I—I don’t know.”

“What are you worried about? You think you’re going to win.”

“Yeah, of course I will. But I’ve been thinking—instead of your bike, could you make a donation to the soup kitchen I volunteer at? They need a new dishwasher, new utensils, and supplies.”

“No problem. But if you want, you can still get my bike.”

“No, I’d rather you make a donation.”

I briefly wonder what made her change her mind. I saw the longing in her eyes when she was checking out my bike after hers broke down. But I shouldn’t really care, as long as she agrees to race me. I should set the date before she changes her mind.
 

“Let’s do it Saturday.”

“Fine. But I have one more condition.”

I nod, and she continues, “After the race, we don’t see each other again—ever. You don’t call me, text me, or come to see me. Whoever wins, the race will be the very last time we meet.”

She can’t be serious. Furrowing my brow, I examine the expression in her eyes: fiery, defiant, and yes, dead serious.

I have no idea how the race is going to turn out, but I’d prefer to keep my options open. She, on the other hand, wants to ensure we sever all future ties, even before we start. And the only reason I see her coming up with this is that she must be afraid, afraid of what could happen between us. It’s not much, but it’s a consolation nonetheless.

The longer I think about it, the extra condition she insists on doesn’t seem so preposterous. If she wins, I’m sure I’ll find a way to see her—if I’m still interested, that is. But if
I
win, I doubt I’ll be keen to get together with her again, because that’s what I’ve lived by for years: I don’t ever sleep with a woman more than once, other than an escort.

“If that’s what you want. But remember, if I win, you’ll be at my mercy.” I use my most threatening voice, and when I see a tiny shudder going through her, I can’t help breaking into a smug grin. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if you change your mind.”

“I can tell you now: there’s no way I’ll change my mind.”

A light flush covering her cheeks, Elle leaps up and strides to the kitchen area while I take the three steps towards the front door.
 

“I’ll text you the details later. Thanks for fixing up my eye.”

“You’re welcome.” She is back at the door, handing me a small plastic bag containing the hardboiled egg. “Put it on your eye a few times a day and make sure it’s warm. Your eye will recover quicker that way.”
 

I brush the back of my finger lightly down her silky cheek. I’ve never had to work so hard to chase a girl, but my reward’s worth it: seeing this sweet, caring side of Elle that’s normally hidden behind the tough barriers she puts up. Before I step out the door, I lean over and kiss her on the cheek.

“See you Saturday, beautiful.”
 

I walk towards the stairs and cast a last glance at her over my shoulder.
 

“And don’t forget to pack an overnight bag.”

Without waiting for her reaction, I head to the stairwell and bound down the stairs with a self-satisfied grin on my face. I’ve done what I thought was near impossible: win her over.
 

All I need is one more win, and then I’ll claim her as mine.
 

Elle

“You ready?”
 

Damon is leaning on the doorframe, his blue eyes sparkling, when I open the door.
 

“Almost done.”
 

It’s the day of the race, and I’ve been out of bed for only fifteen minutes or so after a restless night of tossing and turning, mulling over what happened last night and what would happen today.
 

It had been a terrible idea to have Ryder here, in my space, on my couch, drinking from my mug. All I’d wanted to do was care for his hurt eye, but I hadn’t anticipated how it would affect me sitting next to him, feeling his warmth, breathing in his scent, listening to his voice. I’m sure that if he had tried to hit on me, I wouldn’t have been able to resist that pulse of powerful, magnetic energy emanating from him. Damn, I really hate myself for being so attracted to him. I can’t even imagine what would happen if I lose today. But I won’t—I can’t. I have to win.

I head for the table to grab my helmet and turn back to Damon, who’s looking at his cell.
 

“Do you know where we’re going?” I ask him.

“Yep, I’ve already programmed it into my GPS. It’s close to East Hampton, about a two-hour drive from here. It looks like a huge place, right in the middle of the countryside. Does it belong to him?”

“No idea. He didn’t mention anything to me.”

I step through the doorway, letting Damon pass before I close it behind me, locking it.
 

“Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

Damon points at my helmet. “Shouldn’t you also be bringing some clothes? You’ll have to stay overnight if you lose, right?”

“I don’t need to bring anything. I’m not gonna lose.”
 

I scowl at him, and he throws up his hands. “All right, all right. Suit yourself. I think it’s very unlikely, but you never know.”

Ignoring the inner turmoil his words has triggered, I dash downstairs and head to the lock-up garage in front of which Damon’s truck is waiting. I take my bike out of the lock-up and help Damon roll it into his truck. I guess we could have ridden our bikes out there, but if I want to win this race, I’ll have to conserve my energy.
 

We drive out of the city, and I pull down the sun visor to keep the glare out of my eyes. It couldn’t be a more perfect day for a race, but the cloudless blue sky does nothing to calm my nerves. Frantically searching for something to keep my mind off what might happen today, I switch on the radio and settle for a rock song we both like.
 

“Hey, thanks for taking the time off to come with me.”

Damon taps his hand to the music on the steering wheel. “Not a problem. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. How you holding up? Nervous?”

“I’m okay. Actually, I can’t wait to kick his ass. I can’t wait to wipe that obnoxious smile off his face.”

“Well,
I
can’t wait to try out that RR of his.”

I don’t want to tell him I’m giving up the bike for a donation to the soup kitchen. I know he’d give me hell about it, saying how I’m trying to assuage my guilt instead of grabbing what I really want. And he would never understand my other reason why—I’d feel bad taking the bike when I know how much it means to Ryder: just as much as mine means to me.

As the music on the radio changes to “Diamonds” by Rihanna, I lean back and close my eyes. It’s the same song Ryder and I danced to at Shrine, and the memories come rushing in—of his arms around me, his forehead against mine, the warmth of his breath against my lips. Instead of pushing the thought away, as I should, I imagine his mouth on mine—passionate, possessive—until there’s nothing left but us, merged into one.

I must have dozed off because Damon’s voice jolts me awake.

“Wake up, sleepyhead, we’re nearly there.”

I open my eyes to a tranquil country scene: a divided highway flanked by stretches of what looks like harvested corn fields. The trees lining the road are mostly bare, with only a smattering of colored leaves left over from the fall foliage.
 

Damon points to a long, perfectly trimmed hedge on our left. “I think it’s here.”
 

We turn left through an opened white gate hanging off two stone pillars onto a long paved driveway. After a few minutes we reach the house—a grand Tuscan-like mansion fringed by tall and thin cypress trees. We park the truck on the circle drive between a green Aston Martin and a red Ferrari that Damon looks at as if he’s going having a fit. Before I know it, he’s jumped out to ogle it up close.

“Oh. My. God. Look at it. That’s a LaFerrari. There are only about five hundred in the world. Wow, I can’t believe I’m looking at it.”

Rolling my eyes, I step out of the truck. “Come on, it’s just a car.”

“Elle, it’s not just a car, it’s a LaFerrari!”

His eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, Damon saunters around the car while I march up to the front door and press the bell, hearing it ring inside. I take a deep breath, doing my damnedest to crush the butterflies in my stomach. Would he open the door himself, or would he have servants to do it for him? I don’t know which is worse.

The door opens, and it is him. Barefoot, he’s wearing a light-gray long-sleeved shirt that does nothing to reveal his muscular build, and faded jeans riding low on his hips. To my dismay, the butterflies I thought I’d successfully crushed come fluttering back to life.
 

“Hey. You found it.”
 

“Yeah. Cosy little place you have here.” I immediately regret using my mean, sarcastic tone, so I quickly add, “You’ll have to excuse my friend who’s drooling all over your car. Hey Damon, meet Ryder.”

Looking up from his daze, Damon grins when he spots Ryder.
 

“That’s some awesome car, man.”

“I know. Don’t ask me how hard it was to get hold of, though.”

“Yeah, luckily you already had five Ferraris, otherwise you couldn’t have nabbed this one.” Ryder’s black friend whom I recognize from that fateful race when we first met, appears next to him in the doorway.
 

Smirking, Ryder puts an arm around him. “Alex, meet Elle and her friend Damon. Why don’t you take them to the track while I get changed? I’ll meet you there later.”

Introductions out of the way, the three of us get into Damon’s truck, and Alex leads us around the house onto a paved road bordering a perfect lawn and cutting through a copse of trees. Taking in the imposing mansion and matching manicured gardens, I say, “This place is something else.”