Burn for You

by Jillian Leeson

  Elle’s eyes widen. “Blake? You mean you’re Blake Rodrigues?”

  He nods. “That’s me.”

  “Oh my God! You’re a legend! Shouldn’t you be in France right now for your next race?”

  I clench my teeth. I don’t like seeing her touching the motorbike racer’s arm, especially one who is as good-looking as he.

  To his credit, the guy smiles politely at Elle before turning his striking green eyes to me. “I’m taking a break right now. I’m developing and testing a new machine. And now I finally have time to drive my Sesto. You want to take a look inside?”

  “Sure.”

  He opens the car door, and I slide in, a wide grin on my face. This car is amazing. I should really look into getting one for myself. If I can still afford it, that is.

  Blake and I talk about the technical specs of the car and really hit it off. I exchange business cards with him, and when I tell him what I do, he seems genuinely interested. He introduces me to some of his friends, and I manage to set up meetings in the next few days. For the first time during this trip, I feel hopeful. If these guys can afford cars like this, they are certainly client material.

  Cecil claps his hands to get everyone’s attention and makes an announcement in Chinese. Elle translates: “I’d like to extend a very special welcome to our new members. I hope you’re as impressed with the quality of the cars gathered here tonight as I am. As you know, this is an initiation for new members. But before we get to that, I have something special for you. One of our members is putting up a challenge. Anyone who can beat him in a one-to-one race, will win his car. And it’s not just some car.”

  He points to his right, and there it is: a brand-new, shiny silver Aston Martin One-77.

  I’ve once considered buying one, but even I had trouble acquiring it. And at the time, my eye fell on a new-model Ferrari so I’d forgotten about it. Now I regret not persisting. It looks damn good and I’m itching to get my hands on it. This could be my chance to finally own one.

  “Ryder. No.” Elle shakes her head.

  I raise my hands, palms up. “What are you talking about? I’m just looking.”

  “Don’t get any funny ideas,” she says, looking daggers at me.

  Damn, she can see right through me.

  But even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t have done it with my rental. The owner of the Aston, a guy in his early twenties with designer jeans and sunglasses, is perusing the cars of the club members who are keen to take up his challenge, to find the best counter stakes. Even though the other cars may not be as exclusive and valuable as the Aston, some of them are limited editions and still worth a princely sum.

  The Aston owner stops in front of a red limited-edition LaFerrari, similar to the one I own in New York, but the latest model. A deal is made—he shakes hands with the owner of the Ferrari. Within a few minutes, the loud thrum of high-performance engines fills the air, sending vibrations to the ground and a shot of adrenaline through my body. How I wish it was me behind the wheel of that LaFerrari right now.

  The red and the silver sports cars get on the road and roll to their starting position, beside one another. A Porsche and another Ferrari drive ahead; I assume to the finish line.

  Cecil makes another announcement: “The competitors will be racing to the one-kilometer mark, then make a turn and finish here where they started. The winner will take the other’s car.”

  “So he’ll get both cars?” I ask Elle.

  “No, it’s a swap.”

  “That’s fair, I guess. I wouldn’t mind winning that LaFerrari, either.”

  She scowls, and I know she is about to pounce on me for wanting the latest model of a car that I already have, but thankfully, the thunderous revving of engines directs our attention to the race.

  Cecil takes his position beside the two cars. He raises his arm, right beside his head. His eyes are closed, his face tense. The engines rev in anticipation.

  At last, he drops his arm, and a roar splits the night air.

  They’re off.

  Soon, the din fades and so do the cars until they’re nothing more than dots in a cloud of exhaust smoke. Seconds pass, hardly ten. The sound of screeching tires reverberates in the distance, and moments later, they’re back.

  Cecil appears with a black-and-white checkered racing flag, and when the fastest car flies past the start point, he waves it. Loud applause erupts.

  It’s no contest—the LaFerrari has won hands down, having at least a two-length lead on the Aston.

  I wonder how the Aston owner will take defeat. I would be pissed off, embarrassed even. But when he emerges from his car, he seems cool about it—he immediately throws his keys to the winner of the race, who catches them with a huge grin on his face.

  The winner pumps his fist in the air, and the other owners congratulate him with claps on his back. They crowd around the Aston, touching it with admiration. Despite my non-existent Chinese, I don’t need a translation to understand their enthusiasm and excitement.

  “Lucky bastard,” I say.

  Elle shakes her head. “You really don’t need another one.”

  “No, I don’t.” I slide my hands around her waist. “Because one is all I need. One I can never get enough of.”

  I take her in: her chocolate eyes that never fail to draw me in, her rosy lips that taste of sweet vanilla, her ivory skin that feels like silk under my fingers. I want to commit each line, each curve to memory. Because I am the lucky bastard. Because she’s mine.

  I brush my thumb across her lower lip. “God, I love you.”

  Her lips curl into a smile, and I lean in, a feather of her warm breath touching my skin. My hands skim the sides of the figure-hugging leopard dress that looks so sexy on her, I can’t wait to tear it off. I’m about to make my full-on assault on her sweet lips when an urgent noise that starts far in the distance, but approaches us fast, makes me look up. Red and blue flashes light up the night sky, and the noise turns out to be a siren: it’s the police.

  The Aston and the LaFerrari are still parked in the middle of the road—it’s obvious we’re gathered here for a drag race. And as far as I know, that’s an illegal activity in China as it is anywhere else in the world.

  Elle must be thinking the same as I, for we both spin around at the same time and start legging it to our car. I yank the car keys out of my pocket, ready to make a getaway. Glancing around me, I expect the other drivers to do the same. But to my surprise, everyone continues talking as if nothing’s happened. I stop in front of the car door, stunned by the lack of activity around us.

  Lights still blazing, but siren off, the police car comes to a screeching halt behind the LaFerrari. The car door opens, and out step two police officers, one of them tall and red-faced. Barking something in Chinese, he points to the two cars on the road.

  But even then, no one gives a damn.

  Chapter 4

  Elle

  I can’t believe my eyes.

  The cops are here, but the drivers of the sports cars couldn’t care less—they keep on bragging about their wheels. If it were the New York bike-racing scene, we would long have split at the first hint of the police. Even now, every one of my instincts screams out to make my escape. But I’m rooted to the spot, unable to keep my eyes off the scene that is unfolding in front of me.

  “What the hell are these two cars doing here? You can’t just park in the middle of the road!” the taller of the two police officers spits out, while the other one scans the line-up of cars.

  I expect the drivers to quit talking at his outburst, but at best, their volume drops somewhat.

  “Who are the owners of these cars? Who?” The tall policeman’s face has turned beet-red, and his hands are fists by his sides.

  “Good evening, officers. Can I be of assistance?”

  Cecil appears from somewhere behind me, and the talking finally dies down.

  “What’s going on here? Why are those two cars there? You know as well as I do that dra
g racing on public roads is illegal.” The cop points at the black tyre marks on the road.

  “This is just a gathering of car owners to exchange news and information with each other.”

  The calm, friendly smile Cecil offers the cop is met with a fiery scowl.

  “Both obstructing public roads and drag racing is punishable by law. The offenders will incur heavy fines and time in prison. Get those cars off now.”

  “But of course, officer. Let me get the owners to clear them away.”

  A flick of Cecil’s hand summons the owners of the Aston and the LaFerrari, and within moments, the road is clear again.

  The winner of the race gets out of his new Aston and walks toward Cecil, who pats him on the back.

  “Officers, let me introduce you to Mr Li here. You may be familiar with his father’s company, the Sinocom Group Corporation? I believe Sinocom has offices in Shenzhen city.”

  The mention of Sinocom wipes off the scowl from the tall police officer’s face.

  “Yes, our southern head office is based here. We have a staff of twenty thousand. And we are always happy to support our local law enforcement. Pleased to meet you, officers.”

  Li extends his hand, and the two policemen shake it, now grinning sheepishly.

  “Just make sure you park your car in a designated parking area,” says the tall cop.

  “But of course. Thank you, officer.”

  The cops retreat back to their car and drive off.

  “That was weird,” I say, while Ryder opens the car door for me.

  “You can say that again. All it took was a name, and they cleared out. It’s certainly different than what would’ve happened in New York.”

  Before I can tell him what I think, Cecil speaks up with an announcement: we are to move to a different venue for the new-member initiation.

  The drivers immediately jump into their cars, gunning their engines. We follow, and soon we are part of this noisy, out-of-this-world convoy of the most exclusive sports cars in the world. It’s a ten-minute drive, first on the highway, then on narrow country roads, before we arrive at our destination. The new venue is an abandoned industrial estate: scattered gray buildings with collapsed roofs and most of their windows smashed. We park the car side by side with the others, in an area some distance away from the industrial buildings.

  After everyone gets out, Cecil gives further instructions, and I translate them for Ryder.

  “New members, pay attention. For your initiation, you’ll have to complete a circuit around these buildings. We’ll hang up some signs, but to make sure you know the route, follow me while I do a practice round.” He points at the four buildings behind him around which the participants are to drive in a double figure eight.

  “All runs will be timed. And for the two fastest run times, the club offers gold memberships. A gold member gets priority and special discounts or added extras when purchasing limited-edition sports cars. For instance, the extremely limited-edition Aston Martin that Mr Li has won today was purchased through an exclusive arrangement with our club.”

  Ryder’s eyes widen. “That’s it. I’m going to get that gold membership.”

  I roll my eyes. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you about it. Now you’re going to drive like crazy just to win it. And if you don’t, I’ll have to put up with your sulking for the rest of the holiday.”

  “Don’t worry, gorgeous, I’ll win.”

  “You better.” I grab his shirt and pull him against me. “But be careful, okay?”

  He kisses me, smiling against my lips. “I always am.”

  “Then do me proud.”

  Winking, I swat him on his sexy ass and watch him join the other new members. They are gathering around Cecil to enter their names on a list, after which they get into their cars for the practice round. When they’re in position, Cecil gets into his Maserati and motions the others to follow. Ryder is one of the last.

  In the practice round it already becomes painfully obvious that these guys may be stinking rich, but very few know how to drive. Most of all, they have trouble turning corners, making the turns too wide or too sharp. Some of them also seem to have problems changing gears, judging from their jerky movements and stalling engines. They slow the whole line down, and I can imagine how frustrated Ryder would be by their snails’ speed.

  When it comes to the actual initiation rounds, it doesn’t get much better.

  “This is going to be a breeze.” He flashes me his irresistible, lopsided grin.

  “Hah. If I were you, I wouldn’t be so cocky. There’s still more than half to go. I’m sure there will be someone who’ll give you a run for your money.”

  Just as I say this, the next member pulls away rapidly in his Porsche, expertly handling the turns around the buildings. He comes out of his car with a smile, confident that he’s done the best time so far. Ryder narrows his eyes, and I let out a little chuckle.

  The next few drivers are decent, but they don’t seem to be able to beat his time, and Ryder visibly relaxes.

  I give him a nudge with my elbow. “Hey, it’s your turn soon. You better get ready.”

  From the back of the car, I retrieve the red Ferrari cap I bought him at the markets.

  “Good luck.”

  He leans over, and I put it on his head. Curving my fingers around his neck, I pull him toward me for a deep, lingering kiss.

  The sound of cheering and applause make us look up. Another new member, in a white Lotus, has completed the run, and judging from the admiring glances, has made excellent time. Cocking his brow, Ryder enters the car and drives to the starting position, while another driver is completing his round.

  The Lotus that elicited the cheering stops right where Ryder was parked. A scissor door opens, and the driver steps out, taking off a white baseball cap.

  I’m momentarily taken aback—it’s a woman, and a petite one at that. She shuts the door, her long, black ponytail moving from side to side. When she turns, she stares right at me.

  “Surprised?” she asks in a perfect British accent.

  I grin. “I guess. It’s just that there aren’t many women doing the driving. Most of them are here as decoration.” I toss my thumb at a scantily clad girl with too much make-up hanging on one of the new member’s arms two cars down from us.

  Ponytail cocks her head at Ryder’s car. “You’re with him, right?”

  I nod.

  “So, aren’t you one, too?”

  A hot blush rises up my cheeks. I look down at the Dolce & Gabanna leopard-print dress and Blahnik ankle-tie sandals Ryder bought me. I hate to admit it, but she has a point. This time I’m nothing but an accessory. It makes me feel uncomfortable, so I’m quick to say, “I may look it, but I don’t think ‘decoration’ would describe me, exactly.”

  “So, what is he then—your husband?”

  “No… God no. We’re not married.”

  She raises her eyebrows.

  “We’re here on holiday. Cecil invited us. Ryder is really into sports cars, but that’s not my preferred mode of transport.”

  Determined to prove her wrong—that I’m not mere decoration—I pull my cell out of my purse, and scroll through my photos until I find a picture of me on my beloved Suzuki GSX-R1000.

  “This is more my kind of thing.”

  She carefully studies the picture. “I’ve always wanted to ride a motorbike. But my parents wouldn’t let me. They say it’s too dangerous.”

  “It’s fun. It’s addictive. The freedom you feel when you ride—I can’t describe it, you’ll have to try it for yourself. But once you start, you won’t be able to stop.”

  “I can’t wait to try. By the way, I’m Ying.”

  Her firm handshake surprises me, especially considering she is a head shorter than me.

  “Elle. I’m happy to tell you more about it if you’re interested.”

  “I’d like that. Where are you staying?”

  “In Hong Kong. The Peninsula Hotel.”


  “Not far from where I live. We can meet for lunch.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We exchange numbers on our cell phones while the loud rev of an engine resonates around the buildings. Ryder is up next for the initiation run.

  At Cecil’s signal, he speeds off. Fully concentrated on the road ahead, he takes fast but smooth turns around the buildings, seemingly without effort. My heart swells with pride. None of the other drivers, apart from Ying perhaps, even closely matches up to him. It’s no surprise that he finishes his run among enthusiastic clapping and whistling.

  He zips in the spot next to Ying’s Lotus and steps out with a big grin on his face.

  “You were great.” I wrap my arms around his neck, and he lifts me up by the waist, swirling me around. Getting queasy, I giggle. In the corner of my eye, I notice Ying grinning. After he puts me down, I introduce them.

  “Ryder, this is Ying. She drives the white Lotus.”

  “You did well. You’re a lot better than most of these guys around here,” he says.

  Ying smiles. “Thanks. In China, women drivers kick the men’s asses.”

  “That goes for the US, too,” I say.

  Laughing, we high-five each other.

  A car horn sounds, and the crowd grows silent. Cecil is about to announce the winners of the two gold memberships.

  “Thank you everyone for participating. Congratulations, you are now official members of the Platinum Sports Car Club.”

  Amid loud cheering, fists are pumping in the air.

  “Now, it’s time to announce the fastest times for today. In second place, is the driver of the Lotus Exige: Wang Ying!”

  Ying looks at me incredulously, and I give her two thumbs up before she saunters up to Cecil to receive her prize.

  “And in first place, with the fastest time today, is someone special. He’s our first member from the USA: Ryder De Luca!”

  Applause breaks out, and I wrap my arms around Ryder.

  “Congratulations. You’re the best.”

  “I know. But I love hearing you say it. Come on, say it again.”