Burn Into Me (18 page)

I ball my fists, digging my fingernails hard into my flesh, to prevent myself from reaching into my pocket and checking my cell. The only time I’ve heard from Ryder was the day after our weekend in the Hamptons. He sent me a text that he was going to be busy and he’d contact me again to have dinner some time this week. I should be relieved that he hasn’t called me yet. I should wish he’ll never call me again. Whatever there is between us will never work out, however much we want it to. But stupid, pathetic me is secretly wishing to see him, to touch him, to feel him. It’s like I’ve lost a piece of myself, and Ryder is the only way I can feel whole again.

The professor switches off his laptop, and while the other students shuffle out of the auditorium, I shove my notes to Adam, who stuffs them in his backpack.
 

“Thanks. Let me buy you a coffee.”

I nod, and we follow the crowd outside. We head to the CCC, the Cool Campus Café, where Adam lines up for coffees and I sit down at a table for two against the poster-clad wall. I’m not keen to talk to Adam, especially after Mark’s despicable behavior at the meeting that left me seething. Even if it hadn’t been Ryder who he’d assaulted, I’ve already lost some of my faith in the group. I will never, ever condone violence in any shape or form, especially after what I’ve been through.
 

Over the past week, I’ve been mulling this over and over in my mind, and I realize only now that I’ve decided to take some distance from The 99. My feelings for Ryder have played some part in making this decision. A big part, if I’m honest with myself. Having coffee with Adam is merely a good opportunity to find out what his plans are for the group, and if any of those involve Ryder. And I want to find out if he has seen me leave with him after the meeting.

Adam trudges to the table, balancing our coffees in one hand and a plate of muffins in the other.
 

“Thought you might like a treat.”

Setting down my double espresso, he hands me a blueberry muffin, and my mind immediately drifts to Ryder feeding me in his kitchen, his long fingers caressing my lips.
 

“So, what’s up?” Adam’s question snaps me out of the precious memory.
 

“Nothing much. Trying to catch up on my studies. I’ve been missing too many lectures lately. How about you? Any new campaigns planned?”

I take a bite of the muffin, noting how dry and stale this one tastes compared to the moist, delectable muffin that came fresh from Ryder’s picnic basket.
 

“I’ve had a few ideas for new campaigns that I’d like to run by you.”

“Hit me. A protest?”

“Not exactly. I was thinking we could target more of those rich assholes, but digging in real deep, completely exposing and destroying them. This time, we could focus on one of those billionaire fund managers.”

He could mean Ryder. No way—not when I can help it.
 

I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s too similar to what we’ve been doing before. To get support of the public, we’ll have to showcase the breath and scope of the group. We’ll have to show them how socially conscious we are. We don’t need another hate campaign. What else have you got?”

Adam clears his throat. “Well, a bunch of old buildings in West Chelsea is going to be demolished to make way for premium luxury condominiums overlooking the Hudson. I was thinking of organizing an occupation of the site to prevent the demolition of the buildings. I’m sure that will get us plenty of media coverage.”

“Do you know when it is scheduled for?”

“Exactly two weeks from Wednesday, the week after Thanksgiving.”

It sounds harmless enough; in fact, it sounds like it’s worth my support, even though I’d planned to take my distance from The 99. “That seems like a worthwhile cause.”

“It sure is. The City Council is selling out to those money-grubbing developers. If we don’t do anything about this, they’ll be taking over all the buildings in the city, and no one apart from the ultra-rich will be able to live in the whole of Manhattan. So, Elle, can I count on you?”

“Sure. Let me know what I can do.”

Adam breaks into a broad grin, and I return it with a grin of my own. I can relax now. The group won’t go after Ryder, and the new campaign will distract them enough to forget about our previous protest. And just when I think I’m in the clear, Adam asks, “So what happened to that De Luca guy after the meeting when Mark hit him? I saw him follow you outside.”

Damn. Time to put my pre-planned answer to use. “Nothing. He went out to take a cab back. But I still think it was wrong of Mark to hit him. I don’t believe in violence, and I thought that’s not what The 99 is about. To be honest with you, I was embarrassed. I apologized to him for Mark’s behavior.”

“I know he shouldn’t have hit him, but Mark did have a point. What the hell was he doing at the meeting? He must have been spying on us.”

“I haven’t got a clue, but I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt. It’s a long shot, but what if he really wanted to find out more—who knows? The least we should have done is hear him out instead of trying to disfigure his face.”

Adam furrows his brow. “What’s up with you? You almost seem defensive of him. Don’t forget who he is. An asshole billionaire, one of the one per cent. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that pretty face of his. Maybe it’s a good thing Mark went all out to try and change that.”

I glower at his evil smirk and before I say something that I’ll regret, I’m saved by my beeping cell. It’s a message from an unknown number: my alarm will be installed in half an hour. Earlier this week my landlady told me that a new owner has taken over the building and is installing an alarm system as well as performing some much-needed upgrades. I was just relieved the rent wouldn’t be increased.
 

This is my cue to get away from Adam, who is becoming more infuriating by the minute. I’m already rethinking my involvement in the upcoming campaign.

“Hey, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure.”
 

I rush home, just in time to find a tradesman with navy overalls and a tool kit in his hand standing in front of my door. He flashes me his ID as soon as he catches sight of me.
 

“Here to change the alarm and put on an extra deadlock.”

I frown. “What do you mean? I thought you’re only supposed to install the alarm.”

He looks at his clipboard. “I have my instructions: internal alarm plus lock. Don’t worry, it’s not going to cost you anything. Anyway, better safe than sorry, right? I won’t be long, half an hour max.”

Nodding, I open the door and let him in. While I squeeze in my tiny bathroom to get changed for my shift at the soup kitchen, a text message sounds on my cell. When I check it, my pulse takes a leap.

Free for dinner tonight, beautiful?

A tangle of conflicting emotions bursts out inside of me: joy, relief, and excitement, but at the same time irritation and anger. For the past few days Ryder hasn’t contacted me at all, not even by sending me a quick text. And now he suddenly wants me to meet him for dinner? I’m not some kind of floozy who is at his beck and call. I stab my reply into the phone.

No. Off to soup kitchen, working late.

I suppose I could have changed my shift tonight as Thursday usually sees more volunteers than strictly needed. But I’m proud of myself that I’ve been able to suppress my longing to see him again. Unfortunately, this feeling lasts only a few minutes until I receive another text.

I’ll meet you there.
 

I could have guessed Ryder wouldn’t take no for an answer. But meeting me in the soup kitchen—what is he thinking? I can’t imagine him mixing with the homeless and underprivileged, so I start writing him a text telling him he shouldn’t bother, but then I change my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t try to discourage him from meeting me there. It will be interesting to see how he’ll react to the lowest echelons of life. It may alter my view of him and thus, my feelings, especially if he’s not the warm, caring guy that my muddled mind has made him out to be.

An insistent knocking on the bathroom door interrupts my thoughts. When I open it, the alarm installer motions to the front door.
 

“All done. I’ll show you how it works.”

I do my best to pay attention while he demonstrates the workings of the alarm system and the new lock, but all I can think about is that I’ll be seeing Ryder again soon. After receiving the key and locking the door, I hurry the ten blocks up to the soup kitchen. When I arrive, a long queue snakes out onto the pavement. It’s a biting-cold night, and inside the building, it is mayhem. My ears try to adjust to the cackling din of a hundred or so people crowding around the scattered Formica tables while the aroma of tonight’s curry meal interspersed with the pungent odor of the chronic homeless invades my nostrils.

No sooner do I step into the kitchen when I feel a tingling in my back, causing the hairs in my neck to stand up. I swirl around and there he is, gorgeous as ever: his dark eyes twinkling, a shadow on his angular jaw, his tall, toned body clad in jeans and a white Henley under a black leather jacket. An insane, irrational thought crosses my mind:
mine
.
 

“Hey.” His deep voice slices through me and settles in my core.
 

“Ryder.” Despite my effort to sound detached, it comes out low and breathy.
 

“I missed you, beautiful.”
 

In one long stride, he closes the space between us until I feel the heat radiating off his body. I turn my face away before his familiar masculine scent starts clouding my head. “I bet you did. But clearly not enough to call me. Or text me.”

He takes my hand in his and lifts it, brushing my knuckles against his lips.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve had some issues at work and I didn’t want to burden you with it. Let me make it up to you.”

I search his dark eyes, but don’t find anything but sincerity in them.
 

“I’ve already told you, I’ll have to work late tonight. I can’t go out with you.”

“I’m here to help. So you can finish early.”

I open my mouth to object but he holds up his hand.

“I’ll help. Tell me what I have to do, I’ll be your slave for tonight.”

My lips curve into a smile. “Mmm, I like the sound of that. Well, I’m sure I can find you something useful to do.”
 

I take a step sideways and open a drawer, from which I pull out a faded flowery apron. Grinning, Ryder takes off his jacket and obediently bows his head when I put it the strap around his head and make a knot at his back. But if I’d expected him to look ridiculous in the ill-fitting apron, I am proved wrong. He looks as hot as ever, oozing his usual poised self-confidence when he strides to the sink piled high with dirty dishes.
 

“Do I put these in the dishwasher?”

“No, it’s…” I want to say “broken”, but the word remains stuck in my throat when I point at where the defective appliance is supposed to be. In its place is a shiny, clearly brand-new, branded dishwasher.
 

“Where the hell did that come from?”

“It came in yesterday. In a big box. Two men carried it in.” Little Jimmy bounds into the kitchen with a mischievous grin on his grimy face. “And the shelter next door also got new silver washing machines.”

I arch my brow. “Oh really? Do you happen to know anything about this?” I ask Ryder.

He shrugs. “Don’t look at me, okay? I just got here.”

Jimmy swats my arm. “No silly, it wasn’t him. Those guys were fat.”

Ryder laughs—a rumbling laugh that makes my stomach make a crazy flip. “You’re a funny kid, you know that? What’s your name?”

“Jimmy.”

He bends over and shakes his hand. “I’m Ryder, great to meet you. Will you give me a hand with those dishes? I don’t know if I can handle them on my own. And Elle here will have my head if I do it wrong.”

Winking at me, he puts his arm around Jimmy’s narrow shoulders, and the boy beams up at him in awe. I turn away, not wanting Ryder to notice the deluge of emotions that flood through me. Jimmy’s had so few of these little moments that too many well-cared-for children take for granted. He’s a good kid and deserves so much more than his savage life on the street.

I walk out to the dining room, but before I enter it, I surreptitiously steal a glance at the pair who are working side by side, engaged in a comfortable banter.
 

And that’s when I realize. How in hell can I resist? Whatever I’ve been trying to tell myself—deny to myself—this man has gotten under my skin. I’m already in deep, way past the point of no return. In the Hamptons, he’s talked to me about making choices, but only now it’s become crystal-clear to me.

I choose
him
.

Ryder

Being here at the soup kitchen is a lot less painful than I had imagined. Over the years, I’ve made plenty of donations to various shelters and homeless organizations, but I have never visited one in person for fear it would bring back bitter memories. To say I was wary to meet here is a massive understatement, but the alternative—not seeing or speaking to Elle after three torturous days and sleepless nights—was unbearable to me.
 

I feel guilty for not contacting Elle until today, but I’ve been in a foul mood. Photos of my Porsche Spyder have started to appear on the internet. Some car freak snapped them while it was parked at the lighthouse in the Hamptons. On his blog the jerk was speculating about the owner of the car, publishing a photo of me opening the car door for Elle, although he hadn’t figured out who I was.
 

I got my PR department on it right away, and they managed to make the photos go away but it did make me think. What if Elle had seen that photo? Or worse, her nutcase friends? Even if this picture was relatively harmless, I know she wouldn’t want to be caught dead seen with me in a car that cost me close to a million bucks.
 

What would happen if we continue to see each other, if we are taking this to the next level? It is hard enough for two people from different worlds to make it work, but it is even worse for someone like me who has never been in a serious relationship before. Serious—I guess that’s how I feel about her. I know I am out of my depth here, my only experiences with women limited to casual relationships and lately, mainly escorts. I’ve never wanted to be bound, to be controlled—I cherish my freedom too much.