Chapter 7

MELODY

"I'll call you on Monday?"Thomas says, resting his hand on my shoulder.

A smile tugs at his lips.

"Yes. Monday. Sure… We can do that," I say, realizing he's cleared his weekend of me.

No problem.

I'll have more time for myself… to reflect.

Going to Connecticut might be a go as well.

"Are you sure you don't want me to call a cab for you?"

"Positively sure."

I give him a forced smile.

We've debated that for a few good minutes.

He wanted to give me a ride home.

I said no.

Then he suggested the black limo and his driver.

I said no to that as well.

At last, he wanted a cab, which wasn't an option either.

I didn't want to be tailgated.

Although it's not that hard to find my home address, especially when they have my phone number.

That man has my full name by now, I suppose.

"I'll be fine. Thank you so much for everything," I say before leaving a kiss onhischeek and walking out of his place.

A long sigh of relief peels off my lips when the door closes behind me.

What a night.

Still mulling over what happened, Itake the stairs downand stop in front of Thomas' place.

It no longer rains, and the temperature has dropped significantly, a cold wind swirling around my ankles.

Looking up, I notice a handful of stars across a clear patch of sky.

It must be late, yet I'm in no hurry to get home or even check the time on my phone, which is not even on.

Pivoting a little, I look up at the building and catch the moment when Thomas dims the lights in the bedroom before a light glows in his home office.

I feel the same, although working would do nothing for me now.

Turning the page, Imove myfocus away from him and check the street.

Cars line both sides of the road, and most windows are dark, except for the lights of the TVs and computer screens flickering from time to time.

This corner of Manhattan is perfect in its silence, as it's supposed to be. There are no signs of racing cars or rowdy people, and no vehicles are down the road.

The first intersection, which isnot farfrom where I stand, barely registers any traffic.

Tucking my clutch under my arm, I pop my collar and walk.

My heels play a quiet rhythmic song against the pavement.

Click, click, click.

I make it to the first block.

Still… No car has moved past me.

And then two cop cars race down the street, lights flashing and sirens blaring, briefly tearing into the silent night before vanishing around the corner.

I continue my night walk, relishing the crisp air while looking forward to a weekend spent in the beautiful bed and breakfast inn in a historical house north of Hartford, Connecticut.

It's an authentic country retreat with a magnificent lake view about atwo–hourdrive from Manhattan.

I'm in no rush, so I'll leave around noon.

Planning all that in my head, I don't even realize a dark car has slowly veered off a long line of parked vehicles before following me with its headlights off.

I only notice it when I reach the next block and check the intersection.

It snags the corner of my eye, and I turn to stone.

The car stops, and its headlightscome on, engulfingme in a bright glow.

Flashing their headlights, the person behind the steering wheel signals to me.

Gesturing, I invite the driver to enter the intersection and leave me alone.

The car pulls up next to me, and the window goesdown,just as its racing stripes shine brightly, burning into my brain.

"Need a ride home, babe?"

A dark-haired man with piercing eyes, green like money and just as dangerous, gives me a triumphant grin.

MELODY

I stare at him,lost for words.

I'm shocked and mesmerized by his audacity.

A smell of smoke, cologne, and vintage leather wafts to me.

He looks relaxed, his left hand resting on the steering wheel, the other draped over the back of the front passenger seat.

"How dare you?" I shoot in a cold voice, struggling to tear my eyes away from his devilishly good looks.

"Ohhh…"

His laughter floats in the air, and I gesture to him to keep it quiet.

Ignoring me, he revs up his engine, and the thick rumbling noise is back.

"Don't do this," I say while he elicits even more power with the brakes held.

"Get into the car," he says in a voice that leaves no room for debate while flicking his head toward the passenger seat.

I take a look at his sports car.

Common sense says never to get into a stranger's car, especially when that stranger is someone like him.

He pushes his foot against the floor, and stoic, I erase the space between us.

"Just stop doing that," I snap, sliding into the seat next to him.

The cargoes quietwhile he leans over and closes the passenger side door.

Half-leaning over me, he invades my space with his scent and presence.

His skin is imbued with a smell of danger and testosterone, and I become one with my seat, waiting for him to straighten up and let me breathe for a change.

"Relax.You're not in danger with me," he says, moving to his side and checking the rearview mirror.

The memory of him after last night has become a fuzzy blur, perhaps because my brain has recreated it so many times it's lost track of the reality of him.

He is breathtaking for all the wrong reasons.

He has that untamed vibe about him.And he doesn't care about rules.

Despite all that, his world doesn't come to an end, while mine is sucked into a downward spiral. And not only if he has a say, but even when it's up to me.

He also has that crazy glint in his eyes, which means fun between the sheets and plenty of orgasms are guaranteed.It also means heartache.

And sometimesitmeans getting in trouble with the law.Let's not forget where I met him.

"You all right?" he drawls, checking me out with a smile while I struggle with my seat belt.

He doesn't wear one.

What did I expect?

"Just drive," I say, cranky.

He gives me a double take while setting his car in motion. The engine purrs quietly, although the noise still vibrates under our feet.

"Uh… Someone's mad?"

"No one's mad," I say, mad, steering my eyes to the street.

His hand lands on my knee, and I jerk my eyes to him.

"Boundaries, please," I say, trying to remove his hand from my leg.

He does it himself, his eyes swinging from the road to me.

"He didn't fuck you," he says, gripping the tip of a strand of hair and tugging at it.

I yank it out of his touch.

"You don't know that. Besides… It doesn't concern you," I say.

"It sure does," he disagrees.

"How?"

He veers the car left instead of right at the next intersection, and I stiffen in my seat.

"Where are we going?" I murmur.

"I'm taking you home," he says calmly.

"That's not where I live," I say, a cold shiver creeping down my back.

I stare at him, waiting for his eyes to come back to me.

He just said it… I wasn't in danger with him.

He tosses a look at me, a playful smile sprouting on his lips.

"I'm not in the mood," I say. "Please take me home."

"I will, baby. Just chill. I need to make a stop first."

"What stop?"

"I'm buying coffee and a bagel…" he mocks, entertained, slipping a cigarette between his lips and flicking his lighter open, igniting a flame. "A stop. It won't take long," he talks around his cigarette, a bluish ribbon of smoke sashaying its way into the air.

"Do you mind?"

"Making a stop? Yeah, I do. You smoking? I can live with that," I mutter, swiveling my eyes to the view.

A few seconds pass.

He rolls his window down while mine is half up.

"Leave it open," I demand.

"Claustrophobic? Or are you planning to make a run for your life?"

I snap my eyes to him.

He lifts the hand holding his cigarette.

"Oh… Easy, "hesays. "You are so damn bossy, baby."

"I am not bossy."

He taps his cigarette outside the window, and specks of ash get sucked into the air inside the car.

A few land on my lips.

I rub them off.

"Yes, you are," he says softly, focusing on the road. "And you hate it," he adds, sliding his cigarette between his lips again.

I can't move my eyes away from him.

Watching him run his inked fingers through his hair, I open my mouth again.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Which one, boss?"

A crooked smile splits around his cigarette.

I try to ignore it, although a tiny voice in my head promptly reminds me those lips were pressed against mine, making me feel things I wasn't supposed to.

"How is my life your fucking business?"

He looks at me for too damn long, and luckily, we slow down and pull to a stop, waiting for the lights to turn green.

"You don't even know how to say bad words," he says, shaking his head.

I don't comment.

"I need to teach you things," he says in a tease.

I find his comment hilarious and inadvertently flash a smile.

"You need to teach me things? Haha… Who do you think you are?"

He sets the car in motion, and we head to the Bronx soon after.

My grin falls off, panic blooming in my chest.

"You're not taking me home, are you?"

"I am. Just show me some trust."

Our eyes meet.

"You said I wasn't in danger with you."

"And I meant it," he saysseriously, suddenly looking brutally mature. "You'll never be in danger with me. I'm a man of honor and always keep my word… with people that matter."

That can mean pretty much anything.

I don't even know where to begin dismantling his statement.

"What you did tonight wasn't exactly honorable," I argue.

"I said I was a man of honor as in ‘I'm keeping my word.' The things I do are not always honorable. By your standards, anyway," he takes a jab at me. "Besides, all is fair in love and war," he adds, winking at me before taking a last drag off his cigarette and putting it out.

My eyes go to the cigarette stub.

He immediately catches the nuance in my gaze.

"Are you a smoker?" he asks.

I move my eyes away from him.

"I used to be, but I was never a heavy smoker. Even so, I needed to quit, and I did that a few months back. The Doctor suggested I carry a pack of cigarettes with me, so I never obsess over them."

"The Doctor?" he asks, bringing his car to a stopin front ofanoisy diner.

I turn my gaze to him.

"The shrink… As you like to callher."

He glances at the group of men in front of the place, a couple of them looking in our direction.

"The shrink. Yeah, yeah…" he says, his focus on those men.

He finally looks at me.

"Don't get out of the car. All right?" he says in the tone my father used whenever he wanted me to stay put and behave.

I was five or six back then.

I've always associated that tone withhimprotecting and guiding me, and now it's no different with this stranger.

Although this is silly.

And despite everything he says, this is dangerous.

"I'll be right back…" he says, preoccupied. "There's a gun in the glove compartment. Use it if you need to," he adds, stress-free like we're talking about breakfast.

And speaking of food.

His left boot meets the concrete when he turns to me.

"Do you want something to eat?"

His question catches me unprepared.

I just had dinner.

Well, it's been a couple of hours.

I'm not hungry, but I don't remember the last time I walked into a diner, let alone ate in one, so I open my mouth and quickly say, "Yes. Eggs, hash browns, and waffles."

He flashes a grin.

"You're quite hungry for someone who didn't have sex."

I gesture to him to leave me alone.

He does just that, laughing, the door closing over his last words before I crash into my seat, tilt my head back, and pin my gaze on those people.

I swiftly remember he has a gun, and I jolt forward to check the glovebox.

It's right there. Brand new and shiny.

I close the glove compartment and slump back again, my eyes on the tall, muscular man who's trusted his ride with me.

He stops in front of those men and starts chatting with them while I think about my food and contemplate my new life.

And then I realize that I don't even know his name.