Burn Into Me (7 page)

“Glad you liked it.” I surprise myself by using the pad of my thumb to wipe off a smidgen of sauce that he missed from the corner of his mouth, causing it to curl into an amused grin.
 

“Thank you. Ready for dessert?”

I furrow my brow. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Dessert turns out to be pastries from La Bella Ferrara bakery in Little Italy, its glass display shelves laden with a wide range of mouthwatering Italian delicacies. Ryder orders in rapid Italian, and in no time we are outside again with a bag of pastries and two double espressos. When he’s hailed a cab, he tells the driver our destination before I enter.
 

“What are you up to?”

“It’s a surprise.” Winking, Ryder flashes me an enigmatic smile.
 

And when he reaches out to take my hand in his, this time I let him.
 

Ryder

I feel triumphant like I’ve just conquered Mount Everest—Elle doesn’t wrest her hand away from me, as I expected she would. It’s about a half-hour drive to where I want to take her, and holding hands with her in the cab, I can’t suppress a smug grin in anticipation of what’s going to happen tonight. An electric energy is pulsing between us in the confined space, but right now I’m reluctant to take it any further than drawing slow circles on her hand with my thumb. I don’t want to scare her off; I have plans for her—for us.
 

When we get out of the cab, Elle furrows her brow. “Fort Tryon Park? Isn’t this the place where teenagers go to make out?”

“Never thought of that, but hey, sounds like an idea.” I chuckle when I notice how her face turns into a scowl.
 

The park is quiet and dark but for a single light shining on the winding path up a hill. Surrounded by towering trees we begin our ascent, breathing in the cold, crisp air. Grasping her hand again, I lead her up the path in the semi-dark. The uphill climb leaves us both lightly panting when we finally reach the top. Elle’s mouth falls open when she takes in the glorious view of the Hudson River in the moonlight and the George Washington Bridge spanning it in the distance. Stars are twinkling in the clear sky above.

“Wow. This is amazing.” Elle can’t tear her gaze away from the view, and I let go of her hand. I open up my bag and take out a picnic mat, a blanket, and a battery operated light that I’d prepared especially for this occasion. I’ve been dying to take her to this special place, one of my favorite spots in the city. Judging from the way she is admiring the scenery, she has also come under its spell.
 

I take in the sight of her lanky figure, illuminated by the moonlight, with her impossibly long legs standing slightly apart; the river and the bridge in the background, and the blanket of stars above. I can’t imagine a more perfect sight.
 

“Elle, come sit here.” I pat my hand on the spot next to me.
 

She swivels around and takes a hesitant step towards me before lowering herself slowly next to me, right where I want her.

I point at the bridge. “Did you know that the George Washington Bridge is the most traveled bridge in the world? It’s also one of the most popular spots for committing suicide.”

“Really? I’ll keep that in mind—just in case you turn out to be some crazy maniac. But it’s not likely I’ll be committing suicide, I think I’ll probably toss
you
off the bridge instead.” Smiling, she pushes her fist into my shoulder.
 

“Even if you do, I won’t let you go. I’ll be taking you with me. We’ll go to hell together.”

“Yeah, that’s where we belong.”

She laughs, and I join in. This is one of the few times I hear her laugh wholeheartedly—I love hearing that beautiful sound.

“Cannoli?” I take a chocolate-covered one off the plate and lift it up to her mouth.
 

Elle takes a bite and rolls her eyes. “Oh, this is really good.”

“My aunt’s are even better. She used to make them for me and my cousins when we came home from school. We always fought for the chocolate ones.”

She raises one brow. “What do you mean? I thought you—”

“My mother abandoned me when I was seven and my aunt took me in. She isn’t my real aunt, but that’s what I call her. I lived with her and her family in Chicago until I finished high school. I was really lucky; I don’t know what would have happened to me if she hadn’t adopted me. I’d probably still be living on the streets, or more likely, I’d be dead.”

It was the dead of winter when my mother left me on a doorstep with nothing but the flimsy clothes I was wearing, claiming she had to see someone and would be back soon. When she didn’t return, I was about to go and look for her when my aunt came home. She let me in, fed me a big bowl of her famous osso buco, and I never left.
 

I owe my aunt and her family for everything: for my success, for everything I’ve achieved. But that’s not just what I am grateful to them for. It is that they have given me a home—a secure, loving place that I can always fall back on, no matter what problems I’m facing. Even though we are not blood-related, they love me like one of their own and even got me to carry their family name, De Luca.

“So what happened to your mom? Where is she now?”

I never talk about my mother. I don’t even think of her, immediately pushing out any thoughts of her when they emerge. But for some reason, I don’t mind talking about her with Elle.
 

“I don’t know where she is, or if she’s still alive. In all those years, she didn’t contact me, she never even sent me a Christmas card. I don’t know if I’d even recognize her on the street.”

Elle takes my hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m over it. I have been a long time ago. I don’t even see her as my mother any more; I consider my aunt my mom.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I haven’t seen mine in more than a year now.”

Elle mentioned she left home when she was only a teenager; it must have something to do with her parents. I imagine her at sixteen, all alone and trying to fend for herself. I don’t know why, but it infuriates me. I vow to protect her from now on; I don’t want to see her suffer ever again.
 

“So what happened? Did you argue?”

Elle sighs. “We just don’t get along. We haven’t since I was little. It got even worse when my dad died. So I decided to leave.”

“Was it because she couldn’t get over your father’s death?”

“Nah, she never loved him. She only married him for his money. That’s all she’s interested in—money. As if it could buy her happiness. Well, it never did, that’s for sure. If anything, it only made her more unhappy, and selfish, and uncaring. It’s so damn right when they say money is the root of all evil.”
 

Whoa
. I better not tell her what I do for a living yet; it will freak her out. I’ll have to break it to her slowly. Whatever there is between us is already hanging by a thread as it is; a very fine thread. If she finds out, I’m sure I’ll lose her. And I’ll do anything to prevent that from happening. She’s starting to mean more to me than I ever expected. And the only way I’m going to make any progress with her is to take it slowly.

“So if it’s not money, what makes you happy?”

“Riding my bike. Looking at the stars.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more.” I squeeze her hand tightly.
 

The chill of the wind makes her shiver, so I move closer to her and put my arm around her shoulders, pulling the blanket around us. When she leans her head against my chest, her body feels so soft, so right against me. I could sit with her here forever, just the two of us huddled together in our warm cocoon while the stars are glimmering above.
 

Elle breaks the silence. “About our race, I’ve been thinking… I’m not sure if it’s such a good idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m thinking of calling it off.”

“Afraid you’ll lose?”

“No, of course not!”

“I know,” I whisper in her ear, “you find me so irresistible that you’ll give yourself to me anyhow. And you don’t want me to lose my bike.”

Elle punches me in the chest, hard, and I cry out in pain.

“Fine! If you want to get rid of your bike, have it your way. When?”

“How about Saturday?”

“I’m not free this weekend.”

“Why? Do you have a date? Should I be jealous?”

“Only if you’re thinking of becoming homeless.”
 

I frown until she explains, “I’m volunteering in a soup kitchen.”

“How about next Saturday?”

Elle is quiet for a few seconds, but they feel like hours to me.
 

“Um…okay.”
 

I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’ll let you know where.”

When we head back into the city, Elle stares out the window of the taxi. Even if she doesn’t reject my hand-holding, I know I can’t rush it with her. It’s driving me crazy; I am ready to kiss her senseless, to crush her against me, to drag her into bed and explore every inch of her body—to make her mine. With great effort, I suppress my wayward thoughts. Instead, I repeat the mantra in my head: take it slow, take it slow, take it slow.

When we stop outside her apartment building, I ask the taxi driver to wait while I walk her home.
 

Elle unclasps her hand from mine. “You don’t have to walk up with me.”

“Come on, you know I won’t rest till I know you’re home safe.”
 

She sighs and opens the door. As I follow her up the stairs, the sight of her alluring legs taunt me every step of the way. I don’t know if I can control myself when we get to her apartment. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked the taxi to wait for me.
 

I breathe in deeply.
Take it slow
.

When we reach her door, Elle turns to me, her dark smoky eyes draining all the blood from my brain and directing it southwards.

“Good night, Ryder.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering in the warmth of her neck for a moment. “Sweet dreams, beautiful.”

I start walking back towards the stairs, but somehow I can’t bring myself to go downstairs yet. I spin around and taking two steps towards her, I grab her arm and pull her against me. Ignoring the anxious expression in her eyes, I lean down and let my lips brush against hers, softly. She pushes lightly against my chest, but I put my arm around her waist and draw her closer, and the look in her eyes changes as our gazes meet. Encouraged, I do it again, the slow brushing and sliding against her lips. I feel the moist heat of her breath, get a small taste of her sweetness.
 

I clutch the edge of her jacket, trying to restrain myself. What I want, what I need, is to go deeper, to sweep my tongue into the darkness of her mouth. I expect her not to yield easily, but to my surprise, something shifts. If I hadn’t paid my full attention, I would have missed it—Elle opens her mouth infinitesimally. Without a millisecond to spare, I slide the tip of my tongue in between her slightly parted lips.
 

Damn, she tastes sweet.

I leisurely stroke the sensitive tissue just inside her lower lip. When she lets out a small moan, I take it as a cue to start my full-on assault. My tongue finds hers, stroking, caressing. She responds in kind, and soon our tongues start tangling in a frenzied dance of desire.
 

I can’t get enough of her; I want to devour her. My hands slide into her hair, slip down her back, glide around her hips. I want to hold her closer, remove the layers between us, and feel her soft flesh on mine. My hand finds its way under her shirt and is about to explore her soft, warm curves when she freezes for an instant. I immediately withdraw my hand, but continue kissing her deeply until she is completely relaxed again in my arms.
 

When our kiss comes to an end, we are both out of breath, like we’ve sprinted up the stairs. Reluctantly, I let her go, and she fumbles for her key to open the door. She stands in the door opening facing me, her eyes dark with desire, her cheeks flushed, and her lips pink and kiss-swollen.
 

I force myself to take a step backwards, but in my mind I resolve there is no way in hell I will take it slow with her ever again.
 

Next Saturday will be the day that I’ll make her mine.
 

Elle

My sisters wouldn’t recognize me if they’d meet me on the street right now.
 

It’s the day of the protest, and I’ve transformed into an executive businesswoman: a simple white blouse under a gray jacket and matching short skirt, tights and medium-heeled black pumps. It was a challenge to convince Rose to lend me her interview outfit, especially when she found out what I intended to use it for, but I promised her to have it dry cleaned and take her out to her favorite Malaysian restaurant.
 

It’s still dark outside when I’m walking to the subway. A double beep signaling a text message makes my heart jump, and I secretly hope it’s Ryder. He sent me messages all day yesterday, from early in the morning (
Wish I woke up with you this morning, beautiful
), then almost every hour while I was having classes till late at night (
Dream of me, beautiful
).
 

I texted him back telling him to stop bothering me and calling me beautiful. No one’s ever called me that, and I don’t know why he does. God knows I put in a huge effort to look the exact opposite. But I know there’s no arguing with him; tenacious as he is, he wouldn’t let up anyway. I don’t even know if I want to argue with him any more, not after the way he kissed me last night. I have never, ever been kissed like that, with a burning passion as if he was starved for me. Just thinking about it again produces a fluttery warmth deep inside my stomach.
 

Balling my fists, I close my eyes. No, I won’t let him get to me. I have to stop those crazy thoughts. I can’t afford to get involved with someone who wants more than just a fast fuck. I can’t afford to open up, expose myself, and reveal the secrets that are locked up inside me.