Burn for You

by Jillian Leeson

  “Hmmm, I’m not sure about that.”

  I arch my brow, but before I can kick up a fuss, he gets up and sits next to me, his warm breath caressing my ear. “Because there are some things that I can’t tell.”

  His hand slides around my waist.

  “Some things are private.”

  His mouth hovers over mine.

  “Some things don’t need words.”

  And his lips crush against mine in a kiss so hungry, so fiery, that everything falls away around me. All I feel are his warm, firm lips on mine, his hot tongue assaulting my mouth, his hands roaming the curves of my body. I fall into him, reciprocating the sheer frenzy and desperation of his kiss. Our tongues tangle feverishly, making up for weeks of frustration, punctuated by short stolen moments of bliss.

  Being with him feels so good, so right. He is all I ever need to be happy. And I don’t ever want this to end.

  This holiday I’ll make sure it won’t.

  Ryder

  For an instant, I forget about my problems.

  Elle’s soft warm lips, her hand in my hair, her warm body pressed against mine, take me to another world, where everything is perfect, free from the worries that have been plaguing me for weeks. I breathe in her alluring scent of exotic fruit that never fails to make me feel light-headed. Even though I would like nothing more than rip her dress off and take her right here and now, I reluctantly break away from her, leaving us both breathless.

  I brush my fingers across her silky cheek, noting how much she has changed for me. Gone are the pink streaks in her hair, her eyebrow piercing, her dark eyeliner. Even though I like her new, softer appearance, I never asked her to change—her tough looks were what attracted me to her in the first place. But I’ll go along with whatever she wants; I won’t ever love her any less. As if that were even possible—my love for her is so immense that I feel my heart overflow just looking at her.

  Elle’s eyes are simmering with a mixture of desire and disappointment, and a tinge of guilt touches my chest. I wish I could always give her what she deserves—only the best. And that’s why it pains me to do this.

  “I’m sorry, beautiful, but I’ll have to catch up on some work. Why don’t you have a rest?”

  I stand and open up her personal closet, handing her a bag of toiletries and a set of pajamas.

  “Get changed. I’ll get your bed ready.”

  “But I—”

  “No buts.” I reach out my hand to help her up from her seat, and when she’s fully upright, I deliver a tight slap on that perfect ass of hers.

  “Go on—change.”

  Elle glowers at me, raising her finger, but I grab her hand and bring its knuckles to my lips, grinning. She’s so damn adorable when she looks at me like that. And she is insane to think she can pretend to be angry with me when I spot the twinkle in her eye that she’s desperate to suppress. I can’t help but let out a chuckle when she snatches the pajamas from me and stomps off.

  As if she’s overheard our conversation, a flight attendant magically appears the moment Elle leaves. With one push of a button on a touchscreen display, she folds out her seat into a bed and covers it with fresh white sheets, a soft cashmere blanket and a pillow.

  It stings to look at the inviting bed I know I won’t be able to share with Elle. But when she returns, looking cute in her gray airline PJs, her eyes grow wide at the sight of it, and that soothes my heart. I love seeing her joy and appreciation for the little luxuries I’ve come to take for granted over the years.

  “Wow. That’s like a real bed,” she says.

  “Try it out. It’s comfortable, probably more so than that lumpy bed of yours.”

  “I like my bed,” she growls, but her hand gingerly pressing down on the blanket gives away her curiosity. I take the pile of clothes from her to store them in her closet while she slips under the covers, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

  “You’re right,” she says, “it is comfortable.”

  “I told you.”

  “Mmm. This feels really good. And you know how it would feel even better?”

  Her hand emerges from under the covers, reaching for me. “If you’d join me.”

  I point to the open side of the suite. “We won’t have much privacy. And I think it’s a bit narrow for both of us.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Elle sits up, grabs my shirt, and yanks me down, but I just manage to prop myself up on my elbows on either side of her, willing myself to stay strong and not give in, although my body screams the very opposite.

  “I’ll make it up to you when we get to the hotel, I promise. And you know I don’t like it when you’re wearing anything in bed but me.”

  Tugging on the collar of her soft PJs, I lean in for a kiss, savoring the sweetness of her lips, but before I get lost in it—in her—I press a remote control into her hand.

  “In the meantime, enjoy the inflight entertainment.”

  I flip the flatscreen TV screen up and press a button on the remote control. All too soon Elle is engrossed in the myriad of entertainment options, and my heart sinks a little when I realize she has forgotten about me.

  Sighing, I sink down into my seat and open up my laptop. The churn in my stomach that has tormented me for the past few weeks returns.

  I may have told Elle we are taking a fun holiday to China, but that is not entirely true. As I told her, a technical glitch struck my company’s computer system, despite all the state-of-the-art, top-level security measures I had installed. But what I failed to mention is that in that brief time window when the system was down, the stocks I had heavily invested in, plummeted. And I lost a lot of money.

  A lot.

  It was particularly painful as I had just gone big into the market, using my personal as well as borrowed funds. I was going to make a killing. And a killing it was—to the tune of a hundred million dollars.

  For an experienced trader and hedge fund manager like me, it isn’t an amount I’d be overly worried about. I am confident I can earn it back, given some time. But this temporary setback was enough for half of our clients to withdraw their investments immediately, having lost faith in the company—in me.

  I tried to convince them not to leave; after all, this has never happened before, ever since I’ve founded my fund management firm five years ago. But nothing I said could sway them; they’d already made up their minds, sweet-talked into joining my competitors. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if one of them has something to do with the computer malfunction.

  And now the computer system is down, the company’s income is easily halved, while outgoings remain constant—rent, wages, and other overheads, not to mention charity donations and investments. So I have to find a way to bridge the multi-million dollar shortfall. If I can’t, everything I worked so hard for throughout the years will vanish in a flash.

  I double-click on the presentation I’ve prepared for this trip and flip through the slides. All I need is a few big investors, preferably far from the tight-knit world of Wall Street, where rumors spread like wildfire. So where else to turn but China, the fastest growing market in the world? If I am lucky I will be able to attract the clients I need in the next few days, when we attend an exclusive luxury-goods trade show in China, followed by some business meetings in Hong Kong.

  If I can secure the necessary investments, Elle and I can have the holiday I promised her. More importantly, I can convince her to move in with me. I don’t know why she has been so hesitant, insisting on keeping her apartment where she stays for a couple of nights a week. Doesn’t she know how much I want her—need her—to stay with me?

  We’ve been too busy lately to talk, to really talk. But it’s been virtually impossible with the problems that have been keeping me up at night. Right now, my first priority is business.

  I must save my company. And this has nothing to do with pride or fear of failure—I don’t care a damn about any of that. What I care about is the people who will be affected by my
firm’s collapse: my staff, our suppliers, the loyal clients who have stuck by me. And more importantly, the homeless families who are waiting to be accommodated in a new housing development I’m funding in Chelsea. This would give them the break in life they so desperately need. But without my funding, the project will be scrapped, and hundreds of children will continue to live rough on the streets.

  And that is why I won’t be able to tell Elle the real reason why we’re taking this trip. I wouldn’t be able to bear it: to see her crushed when the project she is so passionate about is in jeopardy. I will have to keep it from her; there’s no point letting her worry about this. In spite of her good intentions, she won’t be able to help me. She would just start worrying, and that is the last thing I want her to do. Lately she has been so happy, and she has every right to be. Her hard work has borne fruit—she has had plenty of partnership and sponsorship offers for her app project. No, I don’t have the right to burden her with my problems.

  A ping snaps my eyes back to the screen. An unread email message is waiting for me in my inbox. It is from Alliance Partners, one of my oldest clients, with the subject “Thank you.” A feeling of dread comes over me, and my hand trembles when I open it. The first line proves me right: “It is with regret that we will have to withdraw our funds from Crest Management.”

  Shit. Another client leaving.

  I drop my head and wedge it between my clammy hands, my fingers massaging my temples to soothe the splitting ache that is threatening to burst my skull. This trip has to work out, even if it’s going to be the death of me. Because for the first time in my career I realize: I could lose it all. Not only my money and the material goods that go with it, but even my relationship with Elle.

  Although I know she probably couldn’t care less, I believe that my material wealth defines me. Without it, I won’t be me. Without it, I’ll become a lesser man. A man who lives from charity handed out by people with pity in their eyes—something I want to avoid at all costs. I’ve had enough of that when I was a little boy growing up on the streets.

  I never, ever want to see that pity in Elle’s eyes. I only want to see sheer joy and excitement in them when I take her on more first-class flights like this, drive her around in my beloved Ferraris, travel with her to my houses all over the world. Because that is what she deserves. She has suffered more than enough in her life, and I need to make sure she is always well taken care of.

  I start typing my reply to the client, trying to set up a meeting for when I get back. And I am about to send the email when my laptop lid suddenly thuds shut.

  What the hell?

  The fury I intend to unleash instantly dissipates when Elle appears in front of me, her eyes half closed, her dark long hair in a tangled mess. It reminds me of watching her wake up in the morning—soft and warm from sleep.

  “Ryder! You’re working too hard.”

  With furrowed brow, she bends over and moves my laptop to the side table. I try to reach for it, but she pushes my hand away.

  “Nah-ah. That’s enough for today.”

  “Beautiful, come on, I’ve got to finish this.”

  She sidles into my seat, pressing her body against mine, and slings her long legs across my lap.

  “You said this is going to be a holiday, not a business trip. So I won’t allow you to do any more work than you have to. If you go on like this, you’ll kill yourself working. Have you had any sleep?”

  I nod. “Yeah, sure.”

  I haven’t slept a wink; in fact, I haven’t slept much at all in the past few weeks, but I’m not about to tell her that. So I do the first thing I think of to put her mind at rest—I fake a yawn. Pretty convincing, I think, because she smiles and strokes my cheek.

  “You slept, huh? I don’t see any sleep marks. You can’t fool me.”

  She pulls my head against her chest, and after kissing me on the head, she starts rubbing my neck and my shoulders.

  “My poor baby,” she says, “you really need this holiday. It looks like you haven’t had a good sleep in weeks. I’ll really have to keep you in bed most of the time. I’ll make you relax.”

  “Mmm, that sounds good.”

  I close my eyes, relishing the feel of Elle’s soft, warm body against mine, while she continues massaging me. The splitting ache in my head subsides when I finally allow myself to relax a little. In spite of the difficulties I’m going through, I feel like I’m the luckiest guy on earth. I love Elle so much; she is my everything. And I wouldn’t want to let her down—ever.

  I just hope and pray I won’t have to.

  Chapter 2

  Elle

  A large overhead sign, “Hainan Luxury Show”, graces the entrance to the low building that we step into. It turns out to be one of many that sprawl around a marina filled with a multitude of yachts in all shapes and sizes. I yank Ryder away from the waterfront, fed up of watching bikini-clad girls on the yachts’ decks who shamelessly try to get his attention, as if I’m invisible on his arm.

  On this humid and windless night, my dress is sticking to my skin. The heat is so oppressive, I am unable to appreciate the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine in the air, nor the profusion of stars that twinkle down on us from the sky. I hasten my step, my focus on a building—any building—where the air-conditioning will provide much-needed relief. We’re only feet away from the nearest one, and I let out a sigh when the cool air blankets me. Heaven.

  “Perfect,” says Ryder, and I wholeheartedly agree. But by the way he gazes over my shoulder, I realize he is not talking about the air-con. I spin around, and a quick glance explains his excitement. An impressive line-up of luxury cars fill the pavilion—Rolls-Royce, BMW, Lexus, Mercedes-Benz.

  This luxury show caters to every whim—it’s a supermarket for millionaires and billionaires. Apart from yachts and cars, whole pavilions are dedicated to other premium goods like works of art, upmarket residential property, and private jets. In other words, everything a staunch anti-capitalist like me should despise.

  But my long-held beliefs are slowly changing. Not only am I romantically involved with a billionaire, I have come into money myself, having inherited one million dollars from my uncle, my mother’s brother from China. I didn’t want to accept it at first—I’ve always believed it’s not right for a single person to own so much wealth.

  And the reason for inheriting all that money made me feel even worse: it was to pay me off for what he had done to me when I was only fourteen. While he was staying with my family during a short trip to the US, my uncle came into my room and took away my virginity, by force. How could I possibly take his rape payment?

  But Ryder has shown me that a wealthy individual can make a real difference in the world. The most caring and generous man I’ve ever met, he freely gives to charity and to the people around him who need it. It was he who inspired me to accept the money and put it to good use—to develop an app that helps homeless kids access homeless shelters in New York City.

  Even now Ryder continues to pour millions and millions into a huge development project to provide homeless families with permanent homes. If more millionaires and billionaires would follow his example, how much better wouldn’t the world be?

  Judging from the number of people who are crowding around the costly cars in this pavilion, there are plenty of them in China. But unfortunately, they do not look like the types who would help people in need. Young and brash, they are decked out in designer brands, including the sunglasses many of them wear, undoubtedly to look cool as the dim surroundings don’t quite lend themselves to shades.

  I think back to the charity event near New York I attended with Ryder a few months ago. A lot older, more refined and cultured, the ultra-wealthy New York crowd are such a contrast to these young rich jerks, some of whom look like they are still in their teens.

  Ryder takes my hand, and I follow him to what I know he is dying to see: the Ferrari display. While he’s admiring the latest model, I feel like I’m being watched. A tu
rn of my head reveals two heavily made-up Chinese girls wearing ultra-tight dresses that barely cover their upper thighs. Chanel bags dangling from their shoulders, they look me up and down, whispering.

  An angry flame flares inside me. Who do they think they are? Granted, the dress I am wearing has never had a ten-thousand-dollar tag attached to it, but I love it for its elegant, low cut showing off the phoenix tattoo that covers most of my back.

  I stand straight, smug in the thought that I tower above them in my silver stiletto heels. Placing my hands on my hips, I toss them a toxic glare before I slide a possessive arm around Ryder’s waist and gaze up at him.

  His eyebrow raised, he smiles at me. His fingers trace along their favorite path: the outline of the phoenix tattoo on my back. And, as always, the intimate gesture sends shivers up my spine.

  “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

  I shrug. “You may have mentioned it, once or twice.”

  A group of three girls pass us by—nauseatingly attractive with long shiny hair and perfect porcelain skin—casting blatant glances at Ryder. I tense up, tightening my hold on him. An unsettling thought shoots through my mind. I’m so different from them—so different from him. I try to push it away, as always, but that niggling doubt lingers. I am self-conscious about how I look, especially in this world where perfection is the norm.

  It’s as if Ryder can read my mind. “No one here is even close to being as beautiful as you.”

  He pulls me close against his chest, kissing the top of my head. “And you’re all mine.”

  My heart swells, and I smile from ear to ear as we continue exploring the pavilion. We linger at all the fast car displays, for that is Ryder’s obsession: Ferrari, Porsche, Lamborghini, Aston Martin, Maserati. Strangely, I don’t mind this so much. If anything, I understand his need for speed. I get my rush from motorbikes, and if I ever get my car license, I will probably take a spin in one of his Ferraris on his private race track.