Grinning, Mark holds his hands up in a mock defeat.
After the hushed silence when Mark was confronting Ryder, it is now mayhem all around us. Chairs are toppling; people are talking, shouting, shoving each other. Adam is doing his best trying to pacify the crowd, but is not having much success.
I glance over my shoulder at Ryder, who is still gazing at me, head slightly tilted, one eyebrow cocked. His eye is starting to swell, and I can imagine how painful it must feel. My heart squeezes at the sight of him; whatever he may represent, he doesn’t deserve this. He has the same right as anyone else to be here in this supposedly public meeting. Besides, he didn’t do or say anything to provoke Mark. For the very first time, I feel embarrassed that I’m part of this group.
I have to make this right.
Ryder
Goddamn, my eye hurts. I’m sure I’m going to have a shiner tomorrow.
Normally I would have easily evaded the scumbag’s punch, but I didn’t expect him to hit me, and the sight of Elle at the back of the room was a major distraction. I’d been looking for her since I walked into the meeting and was disappointed she wasn’t there. So when I spotted her dark smoky eyes gazing at me, I lost all thought and reason. I didn’t even feel the punch in my face.
Exactly like now. Elle is pushing herself between me and the douchebag, and I completely forget about the pain. Her mile-long legs clad in tight gray-and-white leopard print leggings, she shoves him a few times and growls at him to stay away from me. I don’t see her face, but her voice and posture are unmistakable, radiating a fury that is almost primal. My heart lurches. No one has ever stood up for me like that. It gives me a shred of hope—will she forgive me? Will she give me another chance?
Elle pushes the asshole away one last time, spins around, and strides up to me.
“You okay?” She peers at my aching eye, with a glint of what I hope is concern.
“I’m fine.” In spite of the pain, I manage a half-grin. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me.”
“No, of course not. Why should I be?” But by the way she is turning away her head, I can tell she is, even if only a little. The thought produces a warm glow in my chest.
“It does hurt, though.” I lift my hand to touch my affected eye.
Elle snaps her head back and glances at my eye. “Come with me.”
She snakes through the throng of people to the back of the room, and I follow her out the door and down the stairs. Her bike is parked in the parking lot just outside the building. After unlocking her helmet and folding down the passenger pegs, she swings a long shapely leg over the seat.
“Hop on.” She motions to the seat behind her.
No way. I’m not getting on the back of a girl’s bike.
“I—uh…why don’t you let me ride?”
“You’re hurt, so I ride.”
Her hand pats the passenger seat. It evokes memories of the night when her bike broke down and I used the same gesture to get her to ride with me. I can’t help but grin and take a step towards her.
Her lips curl into a teasing smile. “I don’t have a spare helmet on me. But don’t worry, I’ll be real slow.”
My eyes narrow at her. Determined to get even, I get on the passenger seat and press my chest against her back. Once our bodies touch, a surge of electricity passes through me, hitting my core. She feels so good, and I can’t stop the rush of blood straight to my groin.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to ride?”
She shakes her head, but when I push myself closer to her back, my hard length included, I feel her freeze up. Chuckling, I wrap my arms around her until my body completely and perfectly surrounds hers. She twists the throttle, and we’re off.
After around three blocks I realize she is taking me back to her place. Strangely, I am in two minds about this. I’m thrilled to spend more time with her and finally enter her apartment. But I never intended to get there by playing the sympathy card. That’s just not me. I’ve had my fair share of being treated as a charity case when I was little, so I won’t let her pity me just to get her attention.
When we arrive, I get off the bike and say, “I’ll be okay. I can get a cab home.”
Elle yanks off her helmet. “Sure you can. But you’ll get a black eye if you don’t do anything about it now.”
“You’re not planning to put a piece of raw steak on it, are you?”
“No way. That’s unhygienic. It will probably give you an eye infection on top of a shiner.”
Eyebrows raised, she motions to the front door. “Come on.”
I have to admit, Elle’s something else. Acting persistent like this, she reminds me of someone I know well—me. Grumbling, I reluctantly follow her into the building and up the stairs. A tingle of excitement runs through me. I’ve only ever been outside her door, and I’ve always been curious what it looks like inside. But when I step through her doorway, I am taken aback.
In a space the size of my walk-in robe, she’s managed to squeeze in a single bed, a small table with two chairs, a wardrobe, a two-seater couch, and a tiny kitchen corner. Even though there’s hardly any room to walk, I’m struck by how tidy and cosy the confined space looks, even if the furniture is old, worn, and mismatched. The walls display a collection of posters: a word cloud in the shape of a motorcycle, Roy Lichtenstein’s “Drowning Girl”, and an Occupy Wall Street one, “People Over Profits”.
I can’t believe she lives in this closet-sized box; she deserves to live more comfortably. I have to get her out, move her into one of my apartments somewhere safe. Hell, she could even live with me—it’s not as if I use all six bedrooms in my penthouse. It’s big enough that we wouldn’t even have to run into each other, although I wouldn’t mind that in the slightest. I lightly shake my head. Moving in? What the hell am I thinking?
“Sit.” Pointing at the couch, she steps towards the kitchen corner, where she fills up a kettle and rummages around the mini fridge.
“Need any help?”
“Nah. Just relax. Here, this will make you feel better.” She puts down a steaming “Tax the Rich” mug on the coffee table and holds out a plate with cookies that have halved almonds pressed into them. I take one and bite into its crisp exterior, which sets the stage for a crumbly, melt-in-your-mouth finish.
“Damn, these are good. What are they?”
“Chinese almond cookies. I made them.”
“Really? I’m impressed. I wouldn’t have thought that of you.”
“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I can’t wait to find out. Especially after trying this.”
“Hmm.” Handing me the plate, she pivots around and heads back to the kitchen.
I follow Elle’s nimble movements, unable to take my eyes off her. She rummages around, from sink to fridge to stove, and back again.
I say, “So, this is where you live. It’s a dangerous area, especially at night.”
“I’ve never had any problems living here. I’m used to living in the slums.” Elle flashes a grin at me, but I don’t return it.
“I own a few rental apartments in Lower Manhattan that are currently vacant. You can have a look and see if there’s any one you like. And don’t worry about the rent. I’ll charge you whatever you’re paying here. I really don’t like you living here. It’s unsafe.”
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.
CHAPTER NINE
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 cel
l.
“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.
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