Burn Into Me

by Leeson, Jillian

“No, I’m still half full.”

  “Did you accidentally flick the kill switch?”

  I lean over and check the switch above the red start button. “No, it’s still in the running position.”

  Ryder gets off his bike and strides towards me. He walks around my bike, furrowing his brow, and when he stops, his dark eyes find mine. “Did you try the ignition?”

  I’m annoyed with myself. That should have been the first thing I tried. I get back on the bike, lift the kickstand up, turn the key, and press the start button, but nothing happens. Ryder leans over to study the controls. I recline as far as possible to avoid touching him, but he is still close enough for me to feel his body heat and breathe in his alluring scent.

  “None of the warning lights are on, everything seems to be okay. It could be anything— a dirty fuel injector, a blocked fuel supply…but I won’t be able to check now.”

  When he steps away, I breathe a silent sigh of relief. He walks around to my left side and leans down. Without warning, he settles his hand on the back of my boot, balancing himself to bend down further, apparently to inspect the underside of my bike. It’s as if I can feel the warmth of his hand through his glove and my boot, searing my thigh and sending sparks straight to my lower belly. I swallow, keeping my body as rigid as possible.

  After what feels like an eternity, he releases his hand and straightens up.

  “I’ve been thinking, it could be your kickstand sensor. I’ve checked, your kickstand is fully up, so that’s not the problem. But if the sensor is faulty, the engine goes into a failsafe mode and the engine won’t start.”

  “Oh, shit. That means I’m stuck.”

  “Pretty much. You’ll have to get it to a mechanic.”

  I immediately pull my cell phone out of my pocket, planning to make two calls: one to get a tow and one to Damon to pick me up. But when I try to make a call, the screen is completely blank, even after pressing the power button repeatedly. I curse inwardly. Looks like I have no choice; I’ll have to ask Ryder for help.

  “Um…could I borrow your cell? Mine’s out of charge.”

  “What for?”

  “I’ll get a tow and someone to pick me up from here. Just give me your cell to make a couple of calls, and you can be on your way.”

  Ryder narrows his eyes. “You don’t need my cell. You need a ride home.”

  I try to use my calmest voice. “Can you just give it to me?”

  He turns away from me, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and dials a number. After a few moments, he starts talking.

  “I need you to come out. Bike malfunction.”

  He walks away from me, so I only hear snatches of his conversation, giving details of our location. A hot anger is rising within me, but at the same time, I realize I’m helpless. I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere. I could wait for a car to pass by, but it’s risky. Who knows what kind of people drive out at this time of night?

  Ryder spins around, finished with his call.

  “I’ve got someone to pick up your bike in about fifteen minutes.”

  Nervous, I start babbling, almost stumbling over my words. “You shouldn’t have done that. You should’ve let me make a call, and you would’ve been on your way home right now. Anyway, you don’t have to stay. Why don’t you go, and I’ll get a ride from the guy who picks up my bike.”

  Ryder crosses his arms, his legs apart. “I’m not leaving.”

  I sigh loudly and stare at him with narrowed eyes. He gazes right back, turning this into a staring contest. I really don’t want to be the first to break my gaze, giving him the satisfaction of winning, but I still do. His shiny BMW catches my eye, lit by the moon that has emerged from behind the clouds. God, that bike is beautiful. And it could be mine soon.

  I get off my bike and stride towards it, my eyes admiring its flowing curves and the shark-like gills on the side. Cocking my head to the bike, I turn to Ryder. “May I?”

  He nods. “Be my guest.”

  I swing my leg over the seat and straddle the bike. It fits perfectly, as if I’m made to ride it. I am about to reach over to the handlebars when I remember what happened after I won our race—how Ryder taunted me by feeling up my bike. Well, two can play at that game.

  Snaring his gaze, I lift my fingers up to my mouth and pull my glove off slowly with my teeth. I do the same with the other glove, and lick my lips while putting the gloves in my pocket. I let my fingertips graze the curves of the engine lengthwise, then I start massaging the smooth, shiny surface in slow circles.

  “Hmm…”

  With the hand that’s closest to Ryder, I follow the curve of the engine around to the front until I reach the edge. My index finger jumps to the handlebar and trails leisurely along its length. I curl my finger over the bar and with my thumb underneath it, make a ring. Keeping my gaze locked on Ryder, I move slowly along the handlebar, to and fro. I notice that his gaze is darkening, his hands are balled in fists at his side, and he shifts position slightly. Yes! It seems to have an effect on him.

  Turning my head to face forward, I lean my body over the engine and curl both hands around the bars. Oh, it feels good.

  “Comfortable?” Ryder’s warm breath brushes my ear, sending a shiver along my spine.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Don’t worry, beautiful. When you lose our next race, I may let you have a spin on it.”

  The jerk! I’m about to give him a piece of my mind when a light shines into the bare branches of the trees accompanied by the sound of a car approaching.

  It turns out to be Ryder’s guy, for he flags down the white flatbed truck and greets the stocky mustached man who jumps out while the loading ramp is lowering. The man wheels down a black contraption attached to the truck with a thin chain, fastens the front wheel of my bike to it, and attaches tension straps. On the side of the truck he presses a button, which pulls my bike up, and secures it with chains and hooks.

  The entire process takes only a few minutes. Ryder exchanges a few words with him, and before he goes back into the truck, I walk up to him, tapping him on the shoulder.

  “Could you give me a lift into the city?”

  “Uh…” He looks at Ryder, who cuts him off before he has time to reply.

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll give her a ride home.”

  No! The idea makes me cringe. It’s bad enough for me to be so unnerved by him, but to ride on the back of his bike—having to touch him all the way back to the city—would be torture.

  The stocky man opens the truck’s cabin door, and I shock myself by begging. “No! Please, please give me a ride.”

  But he ignores me, jumping into the truck and gunning the engine. Before I know it, its taillights are red dots in the distance, and I’m left on this deserted road, all alone with Ryder.

  Ryder

  God, she is beautiful.

  Elle is standing in the middle of the road, her long, shapely legs slightly apart. The tow truck has all but disappeared, but she continues staring at it, undoubtedly hoping for a miracle. A tinge of anxiety lines her gorgeous face, a welcome change from her usual cool expression. I like seeing this vulnerable side to her; it makes me think I have a chance of breaking through that tough exterior.

  Witnessing her desperate attempt to get a ride—bordering on begging—pleased me to no end. Surely it means I’m affecting her in some way. I seriously need to believe that, especially after the stunt she pulled sitting on my bike. I had to use all my self-restraint not to grab her, tear off her clothes, and take her right there and then.

  Lowering the passenger foot pegs, I put on my helmet and get on my bike. I cock my head to Elle.

  “Get on.” I pat my hand on the seat behind me.

  She turns her head to look at me, but doesn’t move, clearly unsure if she should admit defeat. The air is silent but for the branches of the trees swaying in the wind, causing her to shiver slightly. It is so quiet that in the time since leaving the club, I haven’t seen a single car go past
. I take an evil pleasure in knowing that I’m her only option.

  To speed things up, I decide to challenge her.

  “What? You’re not afraid of me, are you? Are you afraid I’ll kidnap you?”

  In an instant, the expression on her face hardens. Narrowing her eyes, she strides towards me until she’s only inches from my face. My gaze fixed on her silver nose stud that stirs with the flare of her nostrils, I breathe in her perfume: woody with an alluring hint of exotic fruit.

  “Afraid of you?” She pushes her finger into my chest. “Hah, I don’t think so.”

  I grin. She’s so refreshing, so different from the women I usually encounter. Stepping away from me, Elle pulls her helmet over her head and swings her leg over the rear seat. I start the engine and feel her holding on to the sides of my jacket, grasping only the outer layer to avoid touching me.

  Like hell I’m letting her get away with that.

  I release my hands from the handlebars, grab her hands, and pull them around my waist. She immediately tries to pull away, but I keep hold of her arms around me.

  “You have to hold on tight. I drive fast and I don’t want you falling off.”

  “Pffft…I have ridden a bike before, you know.”

  “Yeah, but not as my passenger. I need you to lean in with me, otherwise you’re going to get us killed.”

  She remains quiet, and I tentatively release one hand. When she keeps it there, I let the other one go. I can’t help but break into a self-satisfied smile.

  “So, where to?”

  “Harlem. A hundred fortieth.”

  My smile immediately changes into a frown. Although I’ve lived in New York City my whole adult life, I’ve never been to that part of Harlem—it’s rough. At this time of night, violent robberies and shootings are rife. I wonder how Elle ended up there, but it does explain her tough front.

  I rev the engine and we’re off. The rapid acceleration forces her backwards initially, but soon I feel her tense, stiffened body against mine. The trip is long, and contrary to what I told Elle, I ride much slower than usual, taking the lengthiest route back I can think of. I try to stop at every single traffic light, even when it’s yellow, which I would normally speed through.

  After a while, she relaxes and her soft chest molds into my back, her thighs around my hips—a perfect fit. That exhilarating feeling sends my blood pumping, pooling in my loins. She feels so good pressed against me, I don’t want this ride to end.

  When I finally hit 140th Street, I stop at the side of the road and turn around.

  “Where to now?”

  “Just here is fine.”

  “Where exactly do you live?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Elle jumps off the bike and starts walking ahead of me. I crawl along, following her. Without halting her stride, she spins her head towards me, scowling. “What?”

  “Don’t you want my number? How are you going to get your bike back?”

  She stops dead in her tracks. “Yeah! Give me your number.”

  “Get back on and I’ll take you home first.”

  She sighs, realizing there’s no arguing with me, and climbs back onto the rear seat. Her apartment building is only a few blocks away, a pre-war walk-up with fire escape stairs that is typical of the area.

  “So this is where you live, huh?” I say.

  “Yeah. Time to give me your number.” Elle gets off the bike and I follow, but I don’t do what she asks. Instead, I gaze at her, taking in her beautiful eyes—those deep dark pools I’d drown in if I’m not careful. My gaze drops down to her full lips—how soft would they’d feel against mine? When she brushes away a strand of her long streaked hair from her forehead, an eyebrow piercing reveals itself that I hadn’t noticed before. I long to touch it, fueled by the arousing thought that she may have piercings elsewhere on her body.

  Elle is the first to break the tense silence between us.

  “I suppose you want to walk me to my front door.”

  “Yep.”

  “If you leave your bike here, it’ll get stolen.”

  “I’ll take the risk.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You’re so…”

  “Irresistible?” I flash her my most seductive smile.

  Shaking her head, Elle opens the door and steps into the building. I can just keep up with her rapidly climbing the five flights of stairs to the top floor. I’m glad for my regular fitness sessions with my personal trainer. Yet I pant lightly when we stop in front of door 33. Elle opens it and stands in the threshold while I pull my cell phone out of my pocket.

  “I’ll give you a missed call. When your cell is charged, you’ll have my number,” I say, programming in her number and calling her cell, which goes straight to voicemail. “I’ll let you know when your bike is ready.”

  “I can pick up my bike up tomorrow. Just give me the address.”

  “First I’m going to get it fixed, then you can have it back.”

  Elle’s nostrils flare. “What do you mean by getting it fixed? Do you mean fixing it up so good that perhaps I—I’ll lose my next race? Which one’s that again? Oh yeah…the one with you.”

  A hot anger fills me, and I hiss, “What the hell do you think of me? Do you really think I’d have to rely on some cheap tricks to win that race with you? I can assure you, that’s not me. If I win, it will be on my own account.”

  The veins in my neck pulsing, I ball my hands into fists. With as much self-control as I can muster, I take a deep breath. “I’m having your bike fixed. Period.”

  Elle directs an unwavering glare at me with her dark, heavily lined eyes. It is infuriatingly arousing, that look of hers, especially since I’m still angry—hurt—by her assumption that I’d sabotage her bike for my own gain.

  After a long while, she says, “I’ll pay you back.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  When she answers me with a defiant scowl, I take a step towards her until I’m so close that I can feel her body heat and inhale her enticing scent. In an impetuous move I stroke her cheek lightly with the back of my hand. Her skin feels soft like satin.

  “Good night, beautiful.”

  I spin around and head back down the stairs.

  To my relief, my bike is waiting for me downstairs. I love my S1000RR and would have been upset if it had been swiped. It’s not just about the money or the inconvenience. Only a few hundred exist of this particular limited edition, and the idea that thieves would sell it for parts is horrifying to me. I’d rather lose it to Elle, even though I wonder what possessed me to offer it in the first place.

  I start the engine and just as I am about to take off, a menacing group of around ten street thugs saunter towards me from the middle of the street.

  “Yo!” one of them yells, the street lights revealing a flash of steel in his hand. Hoping it isn’t a gun, I rev the engine with a roar and speed away from them on full blast, producing an unintended wheelie. Thankfully I manage to bring it back down and charge to the main thoroughfare, leaving behind a distant clamor of cusses.

  Damn, that was close. I can’t believe Elle lives in such a dangerous neighborhood. She could be hurt, even killed, any time. Sure, she looks tough, but since I’ve seen glimpses of her vulnerable side, she is all the more captivating to me. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if something happened to her.

  I’m confused by my muddled, irrational thoughts. I don’t even know her. Why would I even care what happens to her? But there’s something about her; I can’t put my finger on it. I think back to our heated exchanges, her soft body pressed into my back, the silkiness of her skin against my hand. She stirs something in me, and a strange urge overcomes me: somehow, I have to take care of her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Elle

  “It’s absolutely outrageous. The one per cent gets everything. The one per cent gets all the money, all the power. And we the people—the ninety-nine per cent—get nothing. We struggle to put food on the table, pay
our rent, get medical care. We struggle to survive, to stay alive, while that one per cent of millionaires and billionaires wallow in luxury. We have to take action against those bloodsucking bastards. They think they can control us, but the day will come when we will take control. Power to the people!”

  Applause breaks out from the small circle that is set out in an empty college classroom—the core of The 99, the anti-capitalist group that my sister so detests. After dragging his hand through his unruly brown hair, Adam, the speaker and one of our leaders, gesticulates wildly as he continues talking. “Look at how obsessed the one per cent are with material things. Their multi-million-dollar mansions that could house ten or more families. Their flashy cars that cost more than our homes. They couldn’t care less if people are starving on the streets, as long as they have their new fancy BMWs.”

  I swallow, successfully suppressing a cough that I feel coming up. If they’d only know how much I love my motorbike. And worse, how I salivate at the thought of winning my own fancy BMW. I sometimes feel guilty about my passion for motorbikes—it goes against the key principles of our group. But I can’t help it; I’m crazy about bikes.

  When Damon introduced me to the joys of riding a couple of years ago, I was hooked right away. I borrowed, scrimped, and saved to get my own bike, and when I finally did, I joined him in street races. At the time, they weren’t as dangerous as they have been recently, and I managed to make some good cash. Money I desperately needed to pay back loans and cover my living expenses. For once, I wasn’t dependent on pity handouts any longer.

  I would never admit to this to my fellow activists, though. We’re all supposed to be fierce advocates of environmentally friendly forms of transport like walking and cycling rather than creating further pollution with unnecessary exhaust fumes—exactly what I do every time I take my bike for a spin. I feel guilty, but only for a few seconds. Riding my motorbike gives me an exhilarating sense of freedom; it makes me forget all my worries. However much I love The 99 and support their lofty ideals, I won’t part with my beloved bike.