Burn Into Me (14 page)

“Uh…I—I didn’t bring one.”

His brow arches, causing a flush to sneak up my cheeks.

“That’s okay. I’m sure I can find you something that fits. Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

I follow him up the staircase to a wide hardwood-floored hallway, where he turns right and opens a door.
 

“This is your room. You can choose any other room if you like, but I thought you might like this one as it has a view of the pool and the race track.”

I step into the doorway and am stunned—it is at least double the size of my whole apartment. An enormous window overlooking the grounds frames the king-size bed, and the beige, white, and dark wood color scheme sets the tone for the simple but elegant furnishings.

“I’ll show you my room.”

Ryder continues farther down the hallway and stops in front of the door next to mine at the end of the hallway. If the guest bedroom was impressive, the master bedroom blows me away. Rounding a corner, the floor-to-ceiling windows reveal an even more breathtaking view: every turn of the race track can be seen within its verdant surroundings, which seem to stretch for miles all around.
 

Unlike the guest room, shades of muted grays interspersed with maroon dominate his room. It is spectacular by any measure, but all I can see is the super-sized, curtained four-poster bed styled with plush cushions and sumptuous layered covers. I swallow hard. Clearly remembering his challenge “My bed, one night”, I realize this must be the bed he was referring to. I feel a chill sidling up my spine at the same time as a swirl starts billowing in my stomach. Unable to tear away my gaze from the bed, I merely nod when he says, “Why don’t you have a shower? Trust me, you’ll feel better. I’ll get you something clean to change into and leave it on your bed. Just throw your clothes on the floor and I’ll get them washed.”

I immediately turn back to my room and close the door behind me before I collapse on the bed with outstretched arms.
 

Oh. My. God.
 

What have I gotten myself into? I replay the race in my mind again and again—could I have done better? No, I’d given it all I got; he was simply faster than me today. And now I have to pay for it by staying in this decadent mansion set in hundreds of acres, occupied by only the two of us. That’s what I assume, anyway; I haven’t seen anyone else. It seems so wrong, so unethical. And yet, a little part of me takes a perverse pleasure in staying here. Growing up on the wrong side of Queens, I’ve never seen a house half as splendid as this. It’s never even crossed my mind that people live like this—have their own race tracks.
 

 
The bed feels so soft and comfortable underneath me that I feel dirty and scruffy in these luxurious surroundings. Perhaps Ryder is right; a shower will make me feel better. Chiding myself again for not bringing clothes from home, I enter the spacious ensuite bathroom and get undressed, tossing my clothes into a heap at the foot of the bed.
 

After I finish my long, hot shower, I feel calm and refreshed. I dry my hair with the hairdryer I find next to the sink, and wrapping a towel around me, I pop my head around the bathroom door to spot a folded pile of clothes on the bed. It turns out to be a pink cherry blossom
yukata
, a Japanese kimono-like robe, which I snatch off the bed before returning to the bathroom.
 

Should I wear my bra and panties underneath the robe? I think I’d feel more comfortable with them on. But when I peek into the bedroom again, the heap of clothes on the floor are gone. Ryder must have picked them up for washing when he left the robe on the bed. I remind myself I’m here for one reason, and one reason alone, so I really shouldn’t be so self-conscious—they’re going to come off, anyway. Thankfully the
yukata
falls to my ankles, and its belt and ties make sure I’m completely covered from my neck down.
 

When I look in the mirror, I hardly recognize myself; I haven’t worn pink since I was a young girl. Rosy cheeked and without make-up, I look like a sweet, innocent version of me—a side I’d never reveal in public. I don’t want to show myself like this to Ryder, but what choice do I have? I hope he won’t find me unattractive like this. God, I don’t even know why I’m having this crazy thought. What does it matter what he thinks of me?

When I walk into the kitchen, I still feel uneasy about how I look, so I sit down on a stool at the marble island without glancing at Ryder, who is busy cooking in the ultra-modern, open-plan kitchen.
 

“Feel better?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I chance a peek at him under my eyelids and immediately wish I hadn’t. He’s changed into sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a long-sleeved charcoal Henley, top two buttons undone, emphasizing his lean but muscular physique. My pulse takes a leap, my stomach does flip-flops, and a shot of instant warmth zips between my legs. I should have known better: however much I try to fight it, my body always reacts to him like this.

His eyes travel up and down my robe. “I like seeing you in that. You look…adorable.”

I wince. “Are you trying to be sarcastic? Because no one would ever call me that.”
 

“I don’t care what other people say. You’re adorable to
me
. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” He leans over the island and brushes my cheek with the side of his thumb, leaving a tingling trail that causes a hot shiver up my spine.
 

A bubbling sound emerges from the stove, so he swivels around and starts stirring in the steaming pots. With his other hand, he pours a glass of red wine, which he puts down on the island in front of me.
 

Sipping the spicy, velvety wine, I watch Ryder’s fluid movements moving from stove to cutting board and back. His rapid cutting up of salad ingredients shows off his incredible knife skills; it’s like watching a professional chef cooking on TV—but even Jamie Oliver and Curtis Stone can’t hold a candle to the hotness of the chef in front of me.

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“From my aunt. She’s a fantastic cook, especially of Italian food. Everything I know I learnt from her. At one stage, I even thought about becoming a chef. How about you? Do you like cooking?” He tosses the salad ingredients in a bowl and mixes them with a simple olive oil and balsamic dressing.

“Nah, not really. But I like baking.”

“Yeah, I remember those delicious cookies. Next time you can make me dessert.” He winks at me before returning to the stove.
 

What does he mean, next time? The thought of seeing him again after tonight never crossed my mind. But then again, I’d never expected to enjoy this so much—being here, watching him cook. It is an unfamiliar, but a good feeling: Ryder cooking for me. No one has ever done that for me before. I guess no one has ever cared enough for me before.
 

“I hope you like risotto alla Milanese.” He puts a plate in front of me, and I breathe in the mouthwatering aroma of the saffron rice, which he’s served with a side of asparagus.
 

“I can’t wait to try.”
 

Sitting next to me at the kitchen island, he shaves parmesan over both our plates and pulls the bowl of salad towards us.

“
Buon appetito
,” he says with a perfect Italian accent.
 

When I take a bite, the intense flavor of saffron assaults my tastebuds—fragrant, bitter, and sweet. The rice is creamy and cooked to perfection.
 

Ryder’s eyebrows are raised, and a question is swimming in his dark eyes: what do you think?

I shake my head. “Sorry Ryder, but I don’t like it.”
 

He lowers his head, his shoulders drop, and he swallows hard—I can tell by how his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. Strangely, seeing him like this makes my heart crack a little, so I squeeze his hand.

“And you know why?”

Frowning, he looks down at his plate with a slight shake of his head.

“Because I
love
it. It’s by far the best risotto I’ve ever, ever had. I think I’ve just gone to risotto heaven.”

He looks up, wide-eyed, and blows out a long breath. His wide grin and deep chuckle make my heart complete again.

“Thank you.” Locking his gaze with mine, he takes my hand and presses my knuckles to his lips. He drops his hand but doesn’t let go of mine.
 

While enjoying the risotto, we chat about food, which I’m also very interested in—an inevitable by-product of my heritage. I discover he specializes in cooking north Italian food, as that’s where his aunt is from. He also likes Chinese food, but doesn’t cook much of it, so I promise him to teach him pork dumplings, the only Chinese food I know how to make.
 

After I polish off my plate, I slide off the stool to take it to the sink when he stops me.
 

“Let me. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable by the fireplace? I’ll bring out coffee and dessert.”

“Okay.”

I make my way to the dim living area, lit merely by the licking flames in the stone-and-steel fireplace, and sink into the thick sheepskin rug in front of the fire. I should be disgusted by my surroundings, from the expensive furnishings and artwork on the wall to the shimmering of the azure water of the outdoor pool. But somehow, it feels right being here. It isn’t at all how I expected it to be—
he
isn’t how I expected him to be. I feel so comfortable with him, it’s like we’ve known each other forever.

Ryder sets down a tray with two small cups of espresso, a pot of sugar, and a plate holding a big slice of a decadent-looking chocolate cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side.
 

“Sorry, I didn’t make the cake myself. You’ll have to thank Veniero’s for this one.”

He sits next to me, and under his spicy cologne, I smell him—a breeze on a warm summer’s night. I inhale deeply, savoring the lightheadedness it makes me feel. Looking at me with an odd expression on his face, Ryder takes the plate off the tray and spears a piece of chocolate cake on his fork.

“Try some.”
 

When he puts it in my mouth, the flavor of the bittersweet chocolate is so delicious, I let out a small moan.
 

“Wow, that’s good.”

After picking up another piece of chocolate cake, he puts the fork in my hand, envelops it with his and leads it into his mouth. I am so engrossed in his chewing and swallowing that I don’t notice the solemn look in his eyes until he starts talking.
 

“Elle, I really want you to stay with me tonight, but I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same way. Even though I’ve won our race, I don’t want to force you into anything. So if you don’t want to do this, please tell me.”

I can’t believe it—he’s given me an out. Isn’t this what I’ve been hoping and praying for? “Take it!” screams my brain, but my traitorous mouth refuses to utter a word.
 

My eyes flick to the corner of Ryder’s mouth, where a crumb of chocolate cake lingers. Leaning forward, I wipe it off with my thumb. Before I know it, he grabs my wrist and slowly slides my thumb into his mouth, licking away the crumb with his hot tongue. It sends electrical currents through me, pooling in the intimate place between my legs.
 

He pulls me onto his lap, and I splay my fingers on his hard, ripped chest. Leaning down, he nuzzles his nose down my neck.

“God, you smell so good. Please, push me away if you don’t want me to do this.”

I slide my hands up his chest, around his shoulders, and down his arms, relishing the feel of his hard, defined muscles. In response, he starts a trail of featherlight kisses along my jaw.
 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispers, and my hands find their way around his neck. I can’t tear away my gaze from his luscious mouth, which is close; so close I can feel his warm breath on my lips.

“Tell me if you don’t want me.”
 

The huskiness of his voice turns my insides into a molten mass—enough for me to close the minute gap between us. When my lips connect with his, it ignites a flame inside me. He showers me with sweet, slow kisses, and the flame spreads through my body like wildfire. His tongue brushes the seam of my lips, asking for them to part, and when I do, it sweeps inside, devouring me, robbing me of my breath. My hands fist in his hair as my tongue connects with his, and the fiery passion with which he presses his body against me makes my heart skip a beat.
 

With our mouths melded together, he carries me up the stairs, down the hallway to his room. Kicking the door open, he carefully puts me down in the middle of the gigantic bed. Lying next to each other, we continue our frantic tangling of tongues. His hand travels up and down my side, and slides to my front, to the knot of my belt. While his hand undoes the knot, his mouth leaves mine and travels along my jaw into my neck. Even though it feels incredible, the loss of his warm lips sets off unwanted thoughts in my mind. What am I doing? Should I do this? Can I do this? I haven’t done this, in a bed. A
bed
—oh my God.
 

Clearly I haven’t thought this through, but then again, I’d never expected to lose. Old feelings that have been buried for years start bubbling up the surface. But before they come crashing back in, Ryder covers my mouth with his again, hungrily.
 

And even though I think I should push him away, all I can do is melt into him.

Ryder

I could never have imagined how amazing this would feel.

I’m only kissing her, but the sensation of Elle’s soft skin against my hands fans a burning desire in me. I break our kiss to take off my shirt, desperate to feel her skin against mine. When I do, I think I feel her freeze up, only slightly. But when I cover my mouth with hers again, she relaxes against me, her tongue brushing, sliding, and tangling with mine.
 

My mouth moves from hers to explore the length of her neck and the curve of her shoulder in a trail of kisses. But when I reach the swell of her breasts, Elle starts shaking her head.