Burn It Down (Bring The Heat #1)

1. Jake

Chapter 1

Jake

“ S ir, can I help you find something?”

I turn my attention from the chaos of the shelves to the sales girl, whose name is Janene, according to the crooked name tag on her vest. She can’t be more than sixteen. Her bouncy ponytail and doe-like eyes almost make me comfortable enough to ask where the tampons are, but I decide against it.

That’s not a conversation this barely-adolescent girl wants to have with an awkward grown man in a suit.

“Just browsing. Thank you.” I mentally berate myself as soon as the words leave my mouth.

Just browsing? What pretentious douchebag just browses in a discount grocery store, for God’s sake? The only reason I’m here at all is because I’m on my way to meet Cora and she asked if I could make an emergency stop for tampons. Dave’s Discount Mart is the only convenience store on my route.

Janene continues stocking the shelves after giving me a slow, condescending head nod as I move around her. Thankfully, I find what I came for one aisle over. Unfortunately, I also manage to find a wad of gum on the floor, which is now stuck to the bottom of my wingtip.

“Fabulous,” I mutter to myself. A quick check of my pockets reveals I have nothing that could be used to clean the mess up. Frustrated and growing more pissed by the second, I look up and down the aisle before trying to scrape off as much of the gum as I can on the metal lip of the bottom shelf.

Not my finest moment, but I haven’t been sleeping well and my fuse is much shorter these days.

Overwhelmed by all the choices of tampons in front of me, I grab a box that says multipack and quickly take them, and the chocolate bars in my other hand, to the self-checkout lanes, ready to get the hell out of here.

While waiting in the obnoxiously long line, my resentment grows. Not toward Cora, of course. She’s a pawn in a game she doesn’t even know is being played. No, my resentment is growing over the lack of control I have over my own life.

For today’s example, why am I buying feminine products on my way to meet my girlfriend for lunch when I don’t even want a girlfriend because I’m not attracted to women?

No matter how many times I ask the question, the answer remains the same: my father and my future.

Three days ago, I came across a wedding in the park on my run. When I saw there were two grooms, my chest seized and I couldn’t catch my breath. I stayed and watched until the couple kissed, simultaneously happy for them and empty because I’ll never experience that with a man I love.

The pressure behind my sternum begins to rise again just at the memory and I pop the top button on my shirt and run a hand across my tight chest. Fuck, at this rate it won’t matter because I’ll be dead by forty.

Lost in my thoughts, I almost miss that the next register has become available. I step up quickly and try to discreetly scan the items and shove them in a bag. Only, one of them doesn’t scan correctly and sets off an alarm on my machine, making it bark for employee assistance. The noise causes thirty pairs of eyes to swing my direction.

Embarrassment flames my cheeks as I desperately scan the crowd of shoppers for my rescuer, my disdain for the situation growing with each passing blink of the red light above me.

That’s when I see him.

Farther back in the line for the staffed check-out counter, the sexiest guy I have ever seen stands with an overflowing basket of groceries in the crook of his elbow. The weight of the basket causes his biceps to flex and the sight alone makes my anger abate in favor of other emotions. Like lust. He’s the kind of man I see in my dreams, but would never in a million years be allowed to pursue.

His skin is just past tan — that beautiful color that only those born of two races are blessed with. His eyebrows are dark, like the stubble on his face. His backwards hat prevents me from seeing anything more than a tendril of dark hair on his forehead, but the curl has my blood beginning to pool in my cock.

I’m visually tracing the outline of the tattoos on his arm when he looks over at me with narrowed eyes. Piercing blue narrowed eyes. No way those are real. Quickly scanning the rest of his facial features, I realize the look he’s giving me clearly reads why are you staring at me, psycho?

I quickly shake my head, giving a tight, apologetic smile — thankful my hand is no longer caressing my chest — before pulling my attention back to my own problems, when none other than Janene, comes over and corrects my mistake, allowing me to continue checking out.

I swipe my black AMEX, grab my bag, and head for the exit, desperately wanting another glance at the man in line. Ultimately, I decide I’ve humiliated myself enough for one trip to the grocery store and keep my eyes firmly on the sliding glass door ahead, thankful to escape the stuffy building and the overwhelming scent of cheap disinfectant.

My dress shoes click like a woman’s heels on the pavement as I race across the parking lot. The door to my sports car unlocks automatically as I approach due to the sensor in my pocket and I hastily throw Cora’s stuff in the passenger seat. Following the bag inside, I let out a harsh sigh and grip the steering wheel, placing my forehead on my hands, allowing my despair to pull me under its spell for a brief moment.

My parents know I’m gay, yet the ultimatum they gave me — including the relationship they’ve forced me into — causes me to live a lie every single day. Most days I stay so busy with work that I can play the role just fine, but between the wedding in the park and the man in line, I’m shaken to my core.

And now, need pulses through me as if the dark-haired god just awakened a dormant beast.

I felt his presence, and his stare, in the marrow of my bones. I was drawn to him in a way I haven’t ever experienced before. Attraction, desire, and passion all course through my veins like the blue flames of his irises, burning everything in their wake.

I’m drawn to him in a way I can’t ignore. And thanks to my hand-cut suit and tie, he probably thinks I was judging him instead of lusting after him.

The thought makes me sick.

Ready for this whole day to be over, I throw my car in reverse and begin backing out of my space when I see the Adonis with the backwards hat exiting the store. His jeans are stained and his t-shirt is thin…thin enough for me to map the outline of the thick muscles across his chest.

In a moment of desperation, needing to gain some kind of control over both my life and this desire raging through my body, I continue pulling out of the parking space as the terrible plan forms in my mind. I move slowly, trying not to draw attention to myself. Good thing this Maserati blends right in with all the Toyotas, Hondas, and Kias in the lot.

Knowing what I’m about to do, I say a silent prayer of thanks that I didn’t drive my Corvette today.

My eyes follow the stranger until he gets in his own car — be still my fucking heart — a black, old-school Dodge Challenger…’75 maybe? It suits him perfectly.

I pull into his row and wait for him to start backing out. I almost feel bad about this, but I know the metal bumper on his car is going to destroy my front-end. I’ll suffer all the damage — as I should for pulling this stunt. Easing into his blind spot, I come to a halt.

Less than five seconds later, the gut-wrenching sound of crunching metal and plastic reaches my ears, and I smile like the lust-struck idiot I clearly am.

Instead of jumping out of his car, irate, like I expect, the driver tilts his head back on the headrest and scrubs his hands down his face. Immediately wanting to ease his distress, I climb out of my car and knock on his window to ask if he’s okay.

Now that my plan has succeeded, it hits me how terrible of an idea this was. How selfish and manipulative. I’m disgusted with myself for reaching this new low. It’s a testament to how out of control I’ve allowed things to become.

Too late to back out now, I yell through the glass.

“Hey, man. Are you okay? I’m really sorry about that.”

He looks up at me with those intense eyes, and recognizing me from the check-out line, his features darken. Fuck, he’s even hotter close-up.

He has small black gauges in his ears, and his smooth lips are distracting as hell, but not as distracting as the small hoop in his nostril. I hadn’t noticed it from across the store, but the small, silver ring adds to his appeal in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible.

My dick seems to notice as well.

He opens the door and I move back, allowing him room to get out, despite wanting to sandwich him between my hips and his car.

“They not teach you how to recognize reverse lights in prep school?” he growls before looking at my car and wincing. “I really didn’t need this today.”

“It’s uh…it’s fine. Totally my fault.” I stammer, lost for words in his presence. He’s staring at the crumpled front bumper of my Maserati and I’m staring at him.

My view is much better.

“It’s obviously not fine,” he says, his irritation clear as he waves his hand toward the spot where our cars are still connected. “I fucked up your entire right quarter panel and there’s no way I can afford dealership repairs on this.”

I rub the back of my neck, trying to get myself under control after hearing the word fucked come out of his mouth.

What am I supposed to say? I wasn’t going to take it to the dealership anyway? It’s okay because I hate this car? I’ll just drive a different two-hundred-thousand-dollar car tomorrow? Something tells me he wouldn’t be impressed by any of that. And something in me already loves him because of it.

“I’m really not worried about it. I don’t have to have it fixed right away,” I try, stalling until it feels appropriate to ask for his name and number for the insurance claim I’m never going to file.

“Look,” he blows out a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose this interaction is causing a migraine. “I know you probably won’t believe this, but my dad and I own an auto repair shop on the south side of town.” He scans my outfit, making me feel small and inadequate despite being eye-level with him. “I’m sure it’s not your first choice, but we’re the best around for import restoration. You can see our reviews on Yelp and shit. Ryder Automotive. Ryder’s spelled with a y, ” he clarifies.

Of course it is, because he’s far too attractive for there to be anything ordinary about him…including, what I’m assuming, is his last name.

“Are you telling me you’ll fix my car?” I ask in disbelief over how my luck just changed. If he fixes the car then I’ll get to see him again, but I wince when I hear how my words probably sound to him and try to correct myself. “I just meant, I’d be grateful for that and I’m happy to pay of course.”

“Yeah, I can fix it no problem, it just might take me a couple weeks to get what I need, but if you want to file a police report, I understand.”

“I’d rather not deal with that if it’s all the same to you.”

If my name shows up in a police report for anything these days, the local news will be all over it trying to create a scandal. It’s an election year and Cora happens to be the governor’s daughter. My ties to her — as well as my status as one of the city’s most wealthy residents — ensure that I’m just popular enough to have to watch every move I make.

Mr. Tatted Wet Dream holds out his phone. “Here, give me your contact info and I’ll check the books when I get back to let you know when to bring her in.”

I hope like hell he doesn’t see my hand shaking. Jacob Ellington, get it together you fucking pussy. The mental slap does nothing and even holding his phone feels precious simply because it’s his. It’s also warm from riding around in his pocket and I can honestly say I’ve never noticed that about any inanimate object before.

I hastily type my information into the phone and hand it back. Maybe I should get his too, but I don’t want to be obvious, and he did just tell me the name of his company so I know where to find him. He slips his phone into the front pocket of his jeans and turns to face me.

“Do you have a second? I just want to make sure your tire isn’t going to rub the wheel well as you drive.”

“Sure. I’m not in a hurry.” Sorry, Cora.

Before I know it, he’s lying on the ground with his head under my car. He reaches his arms up to poke around on something and I nearly swallow my fucking tongue when his t-shirt rides up, revealing the top of his boxers and a small strip of smooth, tanned skin. I swear to God if that’s ink on his side, I’m going to blackout.

He pats the fender and slides out from under the car. “It looks fine, but maybe don’t take it on any road trips.” Standing, he wipes his hands on his jeans and looks at me. “I assume you have something else you can drive while I fix her up?”

Before I can answer, my phone rings, and my father’s name flashes across the screen.

“Can you hang on one second? I need to take this.” I swipe to answer the call after he gives me a curt nod. “Father,” I say in greeting. “Mm-hmm.” Pause. “No, I’ll talk to him.” Pause. “I said I’d handle it.” Pause. “That’s three o’clock in the morning.” Pause . “I don’t care if he’s in Japan. I’m not.” Pause . “Fine.”

I angrily end the call and turn my attention back to the man in front of me, my previous butterflies replaced with swarming hornets thanks to my interaction with Steve Ellington.

“Everything alright?” he asks, politely making conversation since my mood has so obviously soured.

“Just business politics,” I grumble.

He chuckles and scratches his neck. “Yeah, I know how those go.”

Finally able to think with my brain since talking to my father was like a splash of cold water below my belt, I ask his name.

“Oh, right. Dylan Ryder.” He holds out his hand for me to shake and as I grasp it firmly, I avoid making eye contact for fear of tenting my thin slacks again . But it doesn’t work. As soon as his palm hits mine, it feels like I’ve been zapped with a live wire. The callouses on his palms have me riding deliciously inappropriate trains of thought and it takes every ounce of mental strength I have to pull myself back into the conversation.

Hopefully my pause goes unnoticed.

“Jacob Ellington.”

Dylan laughs and the low, sultry sound goes straight to my balls. “Wow, they really prepared you for a suit with that name, didn’t they?”

I can’t help my own chuckle. “You have no idea.”

“Well, hey, I’m really sorry about all this. I’ll shoot you a text later and let you know when to bring her by the shop.”

“Sounds good. And uh, I’m sorry too. I’ll keep a closer eye on those back-up lights next time and maybe I’ll send a letter to my prep school advising them to add it to the curriculum.”

Dylan flashes a genuine smile as he huffs a laugh and my cock continues to swell as I slide behind the wheel of my car.

Okay, so it was a shitty thing to do, but do I regret it?

Not even a little.