Unfaithful (30 page)

“No!” I said quickly. “You can’t. He would realize I’d said something to you. I already feel like such an idiot. Please, Evan. What I said was crazy—I misread everything. That’s at least as clear as the fact that you’re my boyfriend!”

“Hmm . . .” He drew closer. “That sounds so good. Say it again.”

“Don’t tell me I’ve never said it before,” I teased, relieved I’d managed to change the subject.

“Not recently, you haven’t.” He held me close.

“Then I’d better fix that,” I whispered, my face a handspan from his. “You, Evan William James, are my boyfriend.”

“Say it again.” His eyes were locked onto mine, his tone firm, almost commanding.

“You’re. My.
Boyfriend
.”

He squeezed me tighter and rested his lips on mine. “I like hearing you say it.” His voice softened to a sigh.

“I like saying it,” I said, abandoning myself to him.

“Sounds like we’re agreed, then.”

“Sounds like we are.” Another gentle kiss. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re jealous,” I teased him. The provocation worked.

“Jealous? Who of, this time?” He frowned, surprised, and I bit my lower lip.

“Of my pizza, of course! You keep putting yourself between us!” I exclaimed, pulling away from him and grabbing the pizza box.

Evan smiled and shook his head. “You got me. Want me to leave you two alone?” he said, grinning.

“It’s the least you could do.”

“If that’s really what you want,” he shot back, tucking his foot under the workbench and pulling out the dark-gray creeper, his gaze never leaving mine. Lying down on it, he rolled himself under Ginevra’s car.

Still smiling, I stood on tiptoe and hoisted myself onto the metal workbench where Evan had laid out his tools. I gave myself a few minutes of silence to chew on the now-cold pizza and study the garage, which looked like a cross between a well designed, well organized auto repair shop and a racecar showroom.

Suspended from the ceiling was a fluorescent tube that ran around the entire perimeter of the garage and also branched off toward the center. The result was a bright white light that illuminated everything, dazzling my eyes whenever I looked at it.

The light-colored walls were accented by a row of black pillars that also ran down the center of the garage. Lining the walls were dark-gray panels hung with all kinds of tools. Evan was the one who took care of all the cars and motorcycles in the house. Although he’d never told me so, I’d realized right from the start that engines were his passion. It was easy to see from the twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes.

The BMW was parked outside, but its absence was barely noticeable in the huge garage filled with vehicles. Parked right in the center, the gray Ferrari shone like a starlet in the spotlight. The other cars followed it, lined up in an orderly, well-spaced row.

At first I’d been able to tell them apart only by their color but over time I’d learned their names. By the end of summer I’d spent so much time in the garage with Evan that I’d become a bit of an expert myself. The Bugatti Veyron Super Sport with its elegant carbon-blue trim was Simon’s, and I’d learned that its 1200 horsepower allowed it to reach a top speed of 267 miles per hour, going from zero to sixty in 2.4 seconds. Drake, on the other hand, preferred Italian cars to French and had opted for a black Maserati GranTurismo S.

Despite Simon’s ability to erase people’s memories and Evan’s power to control the mind of anyone who might be too interested in them, they rarely went out with all three cars at once in order to avoid drawing too much attention. They were safe to a certain extent—that is, except for Ginevra’s obsessive tendency to put herself in the spotlight. She didn’t at all mind being the center of attention.

Lined up on the far left of the garage were four motorcycles that confronted me menacingly, perfectly representing the sporty, aggressive riding styles of the four family members, as if even they knew no other way to express themselves.

Evan’s MV Agusta CC seemed to be trained on me like a black panther ready to pounce. At first I’d been surprised to learn that the ferocious-looking gray Aprilia RSV4 belonged to Ginevra; no one had warned me the first time I’d seen her on it at dawn in a clandestine race where I’d been on the back of Evan’s bike, clinging to him. Drake, instead, had a Yamaha R1 Laguna Seca, parked next to Simon’s Ducati Desmosedici with its unusual black and white design.

To the right, just in front of the workbench I was sitting on now, on top of the retractable platform car lift was Ginevra’s gray Lamborghini. Its elegant lines were reflected in the glass wall opposite it that held tires in all sizes. The futuristic design of its carbon fiber and steel body had been inspired by a fighter plane’s fuselage and perfectly expressed Ginevra’s sensual, provocative nature. Flowing lines and angular surfaces created a fascinating play of color further enhanced by sunlight. There were only twenty of these custom-built sports cars in the whole world, and it was worth over a million dollars.

Lying on the flat, four-wheeled creeper, Evan was working under the rear of the car where the engine was. From where I was sitting, I could see only his legs, as if the car had swallowed up the rest of him.

“Everything okay down there?” I asked, gulping down the last bite of pizza. Until now, the clink of his tools had been the only sound in the garage.

“Sounds like you’re done.” Evan’s muffled voice stifled by laughter echoed between the car’s wheels.

I loved the smell in the air—a mix of gasoline, new tires, and motor oil. I hopped down and went over to him. His knees were raised. I pulled off my burgundy sweatshirt, my necklace jingling against my army-green tank top, and sank down cross-legged beside the back wheel of the Lamborghini. It was elevated a foot or so off the black quartz floor that glittered as if studded with rhinestones.

“Okay if I sit here?” I asked.

“Sit wherever you like.”

“Find the problem?” I added, peeking under the wheels.

“It was the alternator drive belt,” he said as if I had any idea of what he was talking about. “The spring was almost broken and that was making the car vibrate. I replaced it. There, almost done.”

A few minutes later Evan planted his foot on the floor and rolled himself out from under the car until he was lying next to me. Just above his right cheekbone was an oily black streak that gave him an even tougher look. The position I was in relative to him made the temptation to kiss him irresistible. Surrendering to my instinct, I rested my palms on the black floor and lowered myself to his mouth, but Evan pulled me roughly against him and held me tight. He smiled, lying beneath me, and pressed his lips to mine.

I opened my eyes only at the sound of his suave voice. “Careful,” he whispered, “there’s gasoline nearby.” He raised an eyebrow and fixed his gaze on mine, leaving me defenseless.

“We’d better not play with fire,” I said breathlessly.

“I could always try to control”—his eyes went to my mouth as if it had summoned them—“the fire.” He swallowed. Then a sparkle appeared in his eye and a proposition in his sly smile. He slowly drew closer.

“Think you could manage it?” I asked as he tenderly kissed my chin.

“I’m not sure. Things might get out of hand . . .” Another kiss, just below my jaw.

“You know, someone once told me that sometimes you need to run risks,” I murmured with pleasure, my skin pulsating beneath his hot lips.

“Whoever told you something like that must be crazy.”

“I think so too, but maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Evan’s eyes lingered on mine as he searched my words for implied permission. He began to kiss me again even more passionately, lifting his torso off the creeper without taking his mouth off mine. Before I knew it we were on our feet, our lips glued together, his hands on my hips as he thrust me against the car door, kissing me again and again.

My head was spinning. Our bodies sought each other, the awareness that I wouldn’t be able to control myself much longer growing more intense by the second. I stopped to catch my breath without moving my face away from his. The air in the garage seemed scorching hot. Evan closed his eyes and rested his forehead against mine, drawing a deep breath.

After a minute, his hands found mine again and he swallowed. I watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall, his eyes half closed as he struggled to control his overwhelming desire. He reached behind me, the silence between us alive with unspoken passion, and I heard the car door click and swing up. My heart beat wildly as his eyes probed mine, seeking my consent.

I followed him with my gaze as he slid down into the Lamborghini’s upright leather and suede seat, still holding my hand. I leaned in under the scissor door and raised my knee to rest it on the seat next to Evan’s leg, but he grasped it in a firm yet delicate movement, his eyes fixed on mine. Sliding his hand up my thigh, he guided it until I was straddling him.

Our fingers entwined and I felt feverish at the touch. Every movement, even the tiniest breath, seemed slowed down by a delicious tension. His body heat was intense against my thighs and I tried to keep myself raised slightly above him to avoid direct contact, but Evan had other ideas. My heartbeat accelerated as his hands slid down my back, making my skin tingle. He gripped my waist and fervently pulled me down onto him, his body trembling with yearning. The contact made me dizzy, melting me like warm honey as my legs spread open on top of him. His mouth touched my shoulder, opening and closing again, his tongue lightly brushing my skin.

I was aflame. The small space we were in emphasized the intimacy our bodies were claiming. The car was filled with Evan’s hypnotic scent that made me even dizzier. He and I were a ticking time bomb that threatened to explode whenever we were alone. The detonator had been set and there was no way back. I felt it inside me whenever Evan touched me or his lips caressed my skin.

His hands held the backs of my thighs firmly so I couldn’t move away from him, and every so often they pulled me closer in an attempt to erase even the distance created by our clothes. Responding to a primitive instinct, he ground his pelvis against mine. My body was on fire, the flames licking up from my belly, igniting every part of me.

“Evan . . .” I panted as our breathing merged. His desire shut out my voice as his firm, full lips moved down my throat, his hot breath warming my skin.

“I think . . .” Pleasure, hesitation, and yearning combined in my murmur. “I think you should stop.” I took a deep breath.

His breath tickled my skin. “Do you?” he whispered, his tone sly. He didn’t sound very willing to believe me.

“I thi—I think you should.”

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “I don’t agree in the least,” he murmured.

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to insist,” I whispered back, my tone far from convincing.

“Since you put it that way,” he replied, his voice barely audible, “where would you like me to stop?” His full lips parted against my shoulder, sending an electric charge surging through me. “Here?” He lightly sucked my skin. “Or”—his mouth moved to the curve of my neck, making me tremble—“here?” It slowly slid down to my collarbone. “Personally,” he whispered, caressing my shoulder with his hand, “I think it would be better”—his fingers pushed aside my bra strap, which fell over my arm, baring the skin right above my breast as he followed it with his eyes—“if I stopped right . . .”—his hot lips moved down my chest, following the curves of my top—“here,” he finished, hovering his mouth over my breast without touching it.

A jolt shot up from my back, rose to my neck, and filled my head. “Evan,” I stammered, closing my eyes, my body longing to surrender to the sensations.

“Gemma . . .” His voice was an exasperated murmur that enveloped my name like black velvet as his hands returned to my hair and his mouth, tired of waiting, sought mine. Putting out this fire was going to be both impossible and painful—I might as well burn with him. I abandoned myself to the heat of his lips, losing myself in another dimension, when a cheerful melody suddenly vibrated in my pocket, reverberating inside the car and breaking the spell, a bucket of ice water on our fiery bodies.

I buried my head in Evan’s shoulder, groaned, and pulled out the phone. “It’s my dad,” I told him, panicking when I read the time on the display. “Shit! How did it get so late?” Evan hid a satisfied smile. I pressed the call button. “Dad?”

My father’s furious voice shot through my head from one eardrum to the other, booming inside the car.
“Gemma! Where the hell are you? It’s midnight!”

Feeling my face turn bright red, I lowered the volume on the phone as if that would help. “Dad,” I said, but he didn’t give me the chance to speak. I shot Evan a look.
Where’s Drake?
I mouthed. For some reason I always took it for granted that he was filling in for me, but it wasn’t like he was my babysitter. Besides, it was my own fault I lost all track of time when I was with Evan.

“I—I didn’t realize it had gotten so late,” I blathered. “I’m with
Evan
, Dad,” I added, hoping he would hear the discomfort in my voice and lower his own. Dying with embarrassment, I looked at Evan. “He wants to talk to you,” I whispered, cringing as I handed him the phone.

Judging from his expression Evan didn’t seem the least bit concerned. I stared anxiously at his face, but saw no trace of nervousness as he spoke in monosyllables, nodding. “Yes. Right. Fine.”

Silence. Evan handed the phone back to me.

“Well? What did he say?” I asked, worried. There were times when my wish for super hearing was as pressing as my need for air.

“I’m taking you home,” he said calmly.

“What did he say to you?” I insisted nervously as Evan moved into the driver’s seat and the car lift silently lowered the wheels to the floor.

“I don’t think you want to know.” He fell silent, his expression still relaxed as he turned the steering wheel. I sank into my seat, turning bright red with shame. Evan smiled at me as the Lamborghini’s headlights flashed on, casting their light on the wall. The door began to rise and the car came to life with a roar that filled the garage. Aggressive, elegant, fierce. Like Ginevra.