Chapter 8
8
WANNA GET OUT OF HERE?
M y heart flutters in my chest, a booming of butterfly wings causing internal turmoil low in my belly. I’m not sure if Riley’s really here or if it’s just my imagination conjuring his image at this moment.
I don’t care either way. All I can do is stare at him. I’m literally at a low, reduced to being a blubbering baby and somehow Riley’s here asking if I’m alright. Who am I to question divine intervention during my emotional breakdown?
He doesn’t make a move towards me. It’s like he’s waiting patiently for me to come to him or for me to say something to break this silence. I’m so caught off guard by his presence I still can’t form a response. I drop my head and feel the tear drops slowly trickle down my cheeks and I hate myself for it.
I feel weak.
The frustration screaming so loudly in my head drowns out his footsteps because I don’t hear him approach or notice when he bends down on one knee to reach me .
The touch of his fingers against my chin takes me by surprise, but even more surprising is when he tilts my head up to look at him. I feel a sense of calm wash over me. The way his eyes soften and the soft curve of his smile offers unspoken words of comfort; it’s such a subtle smile that there is no sight of the dimple that had my stomach doing cartwheels the first night we met.
Riley takes the pad of his thumb on his other hand to wipe away a stray tear from my cheek before speaking. “Wanna get out of here?”
“More than you know.” I whisper back.
Without another word, Riley removes his hold on me and stands up. He extends his reach to help me up. I cover his exposed outstretched palm with my own and he curls his fingers around mine causing shock waves to travel up my arm and straight to my heart.
He’s taller than I remember, especially now without the help of heels. His almost six-foot two frame towers over mine.
I continue to gawk at him as he finishes wiping away the rest of the salty tears left on my face. Once he seems satisfied that my skin is free of any unnecessary moisture, he turns to the side and bends his elbow for me to thread my arm through.
Ihesitate.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Riley smirks down at me, “do you trust me?”
“No?” I answer quickly, doubt evident in my voice. I don’t know this man; a sane woman would say no and walk away. I know I probably shouldn’t but I feel like I do know him and somehow, I feel like I can trust him. So with a skeptical scrunch of my brow and a slight upward curve of the corner of my mouth, I change my answer dubiously. “Yes?”
He lets out a soft laugh and flaps his bent elbow like a chicken wing to remind me he’s waiting and encourages me to take his arm. I roll my eyes playfully at the gesture and weave my arm through his. I let him lead me out of the garden and towards a shiny midnight blue four door BMW M5 .
I eye the car.
“What?” he questions, not bothering to stop to ask.
“Nothing,” I shrug and tease him lightly, “I guess I just expected you to have some kind of fancy two door sports car that drives girls crazy.”
Riley lets out a bellow at my apparent play boy assumption of him, “don’t be fooled, this car can be a chick magnet too. It’s also practical. Have you ever tried to put anything bigger than a bag of peas in a two door? Impossible!” He breaks our hold to reach for the handle of the car; with his touch, the car lights up and unlocks.
I laugh at the sight in front of me. He’s holding on to the corner of the open door with one arm and has the other at a ninety-degree angle tucked against his stomach and he bends at the waist in an exaggerated bow. “Your chariot awaits, Princess.”
I scoff at the pet name he is so fond of using with me and the ridiculousness of his gestures. Still, I can’t suppress the smile forming on my face. Sliding into the car, I double check to make sure there are no metals on my clothing out of fear of somehow damaging the soft black leather of his seats. After he closes my door, he skips around to the driver side and climbs in.
“Seat belts please, I got precious cargo in here,” he says with a pinecone shaped hand, shaking at the wrist, accompanied with a fake Italian accent. I don’t hide my amusement at the fact that this man can go from a kind-hearted altruistic gentlem an to a literal goof troop in a matter of moments. Smiling at his poor attempt at sounding like The Godfather , I reach over my right shoulder, grab the belt, and pull it across my body.
I’ve barely latched the belt when I see Riley holding the power button to his phone. Weird. Who keeps their phone off in the middle of the day except criminals who don’t want to be tracked? I shake my head. It’s an absurd thought. Except. Was it? I eye him with my lips pinched together.
“Spit it out, Princess. I can hear the thoughts churning.” Riley says without looking at me.
I continue after a moment of hesitation, not wanting to sound too paranoid. “Do you always keep your phone off while the sun is out? Or really any time of day? It’s twenty-twenty four. I don’t think any phones are ever off unless you’re either low on battery or you’re hiding from someone.”
Riley’s deep laugh echoes around me. “Sure, hiding from someone is one way of putting it. But I think the correct term is avoidance.” And just like that, as soon as the screen goes from black to white, the buzzing of texts comes through in quick succession. “I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again, you’re safe with me, Amelia.” He reassures me.
I bite my lip when my name leaves his lips. Why the hell does his velvety voice just render my brain completely senseless? I am a woman with common sense. I’m a woman living in the city by myself and know how to keep myself safe and alive and yet here I am, climbing into cars with strangers and believing him when he assures my safety with words. Wouldn’t a kidnapper do the same? It’s not like anyone that is trying to kill you would tell you beforehand right?
“Ok but if I die, I’m coming back to haunt you for the rest of your life.” I curse.
Riley chuckles softly. “Deal.”
He waits for the rest of the incoming texts to stop before he shoots off a quick text to someone and then attaches his phone onto the MagSafe phone mount to his left. When he presses the Start button and the car roars to life, the vibrations of the engine are felt throughout my body.
Riley glances over at me, one eyebrow raised, his mouth lifts in a satisfied smirk.
Chick Magnet.
“Just drive,” I instruct at his smug reaction.
When he looks away, I selfishly study him. I can’t not take the opportunity to appreciate his beautiful features while he’s too distracted driving to notice me ogling him.
The sharp angle of his model-like jaw, the sensual curve of his lips, the long wispy lashes that would make any female envious. And his long dark hair reminds me of Henry Cavil in his rendition of Sherlock Holmes. I love the way it’s perfectly messy and coiffed as if he just left the house after running through the strands a few times with his hands.
Those same hands that now control this car like it’s an extension of him, he has one hand on the leather steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. The way he moves into first, then second, then third gears with such fluidity that I never even feel my body jerk at the transition. I can’t help but daydream about those hands, of what else they are capable of with such grace and skill.
Mental Slap.
I need to get a grip on reality. He’s comforting me, a practical stranger, the least I can do is keep my hormones in check for the duration of this outing. Not even sure why my brain’s going there anyway. I never even cared for sex before. Now I’m acting like some hormonally crazed teenager and can ’t stop thinking about it when Riley is near.
“Where are we going?” I ask in an attempt to retreat from my own thoughts.
“I thought you said you trusted me?”
Riley gives a sultry grin that makes my stomach do backflips. Right when I’m trying to stop sexualizing him, he goes and looks even sexier. I pinch my lips tighter, fearing that I might blurt out whatever thoughts are forming in my mind.
Staying silent as he makes his way through traffic going south on I-77, I try to focus on anything outside of the car. I get a change of scenery when he takes the third exit from the city. Then another four turns on various streets. Riley finally slows down to parallel park his car with such swift precision I feel like I’m in a scene from The Italian Job .
God, I love a man who can drive.
He turns his car off and steps out onto the street. I begin unbuckling my seat belt and reach for the door. Riley takes a few long strides to reach the passenger side door to open it before I’m able to pull the handle. “You know, I can open my own door.”
“I know you can but you don’t have to,” he responds as he reaches for my hand to help me out of my seat.
After closing the door behind me and hearing the beep of the car locking, I follow him as we pass a few businesses without saying a word. I have to admit, I like the comfortable silence between us. I had felt it the night we met. Something about Riley was so self-assured that being in his presence meant I didn’t need to take energy to stroke or soothe his ego. I could be near him and just exist without the added pressure to be more than I am. It’s like he emanates a calming spell that engulfs me like a trance. Which explains why I’m still following a total stranger to an unknown, undisclos ed location where I may or may not die and somehow I’m seemingly ok with the risk.
After about two blocks of following him to said potential danger zone, he finally stops, apparently arriving at the destination. I turn to my right and look up at the sign of the business. One eyebrow raised in amusement, I look at Riley baffled that this is where we ended up after a fifteen-minute drive and an added ten-minute walk. He’s grinning from ear to ear. Clearly pleased with the execution of his plan. This side of him makes him look so young and joyful, a stark comparison to the sultry and alluring man he normally is.
“ This is the ultra-secretive place you wanted to take me?”