Burn With Me (2 page)

“We’ll go,” she assured Penn, wiping her cheek discreetly under the guise of checking her eyeliner in the window’s reflective surface. “Soon, I promise. But I can’t miss the London experience. There are clubs I’ve heard people raving about and at least a dozen places I’ve always wanted to see. I’m determined to play the part of wild, inappropriate American tourist.”

“Like that would be a stretch,” Greg muttered quietly, having moved closer to listen to their conversation as the ride began its descent. “If we’re going clubbing again you’d better bring your ID. The last time you forgot it, you couldn’t get in and
I
was almost arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”

Still patting Aziza’s arm consolingly, Penn snorted. “That’s the Stewart women’s curse, I’m afraid. Your grandmother assured us we’d be glad of our youthful appearance when old age set in, but until then we should get used to rarely being taken seriously.” She looked up at Aziza and smiled coaxingly. “You, at least, have height on your side. I used to dream of being five foot eight. Along with those high cheekbones and that golden skin of yours, it counteracts the eternal Stewart cuteness. I suppose we should thank your father’s people for that.”

Greg stiffened behind her, and Aziza knew from the reflection in the glass that he was shaking his head at Penn, attempting to get her aunt’s attention. Because she’d used the word
curse
unknowingly? Or
father
? Did he think Aziza was that fragile? That she was like her mother, who couldn’t even acknowledge her father’s existence without breaking down in tears for days?

She caressed the vial in her pocket again, feeling it beckon her. Allowing it to distract her. She didn’t want to think anymore. About any of it. She was here because Penn had called and asked her to come for a visit. Because Greg had assured her that she could get into just as much trouble here as she could in North America. Because she couldn’t resist leaving the country—something she’d been forbidden to do most of her life. She just wanted to experience  everything. To live until she couldn’t anymore.

Maybe it had been a mistake to come to England though. To see Penn. It made it harder to lose herself in
la vida loca
and forget the past. They couldn’t be more different in personality, but some of Penn’s expressions reminded her so much of her mother’s it caused a physical ache in her chest.

She was feeling claustrophobic. Her impulsive desire to ride on the Ferris wheel and see the town she was about to paint red had backfired. It was too slow. Too quiet. It gave her too much time to think. And the constant, unnerving feeling that she was being watched and had been since they’d started the walk to Jubilee Gardens hadn’t gone away. Instead, it had intensified.

Thankfully, the ride stopped a few minutes later. When the door to the capsule opened and people immediately began filing out, the sound of the chatter was as musical and nonsensical as birdsong.

Still there—that sensation of being watched. Not leered at or ogled, but studied intently.

She painted a large, carefree smile on her face and shooed Greg and Penn out ahead of her. “Who needs a drink? It’s my first night out in London, and jet lag should be factored into our decision. We should start slow, I suppose. Is there a particular hot spot around here known for bad behavior and brawling?”

Aziza didn’t hear their responses. She was trying to look without looking, cataloguing the passengers as they disembarked. She had a photographic memory, which hadn’t done as much for her studies as it had for her people-watching skills. As a child, she used to watch the neighbors walk by her house from her favorite spot on the roof, studying their mannerisms and creating stories about their day in her head. Wishing she could join them.

She forced herself to focus on the here and now.

There were a few stragglers in their group who hadn’t exited yet. One couple in particular drew her gaze. A man and woman dressed in matching trench coats that were obviously brand new. Americans then, since tourists from her neck of the woods wouldn’t have expected a cold snap on a late August evening. The woman’s hair was dyed a color that reminded her of a blueberry milkshake and she had enough ear piercings to make Aziza’s look prudish by comparison. The man was more wholesome. Buttoned up.
Opposites in love.
They were lifting up a camera phone to take a smiling picture of themselves for posterity before sharing a kiss.

An older gentleman of indeterminate age with bushy eyebrows and a leathery face locked in a perpetual scowl walked out just ahead of her, blocking the couple from her view and mumbling underneath his breath. He held a walking stick more for show or out of habit than necessity, since he wasn’t showing any signs of a limp, and was followed by a child who must have been his grandson. The boy, no more than nine, had platinum hair and a serious expression in his large, dark eyes that made her think of a few horror movies she wished she’d avoided.

He was watching her. Was that it? Her feeling? He
was
giving her the creeps, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. She smiled at him but he didn’t respond in any way. He didn’t even blink or look away once she’d caught him in the act. Weird. She’d thought children liked her, but then, she didn’t have that much experience. Kids reminded her of cats. You always had the sneaking suspicion that they knew something you didn’t and they believed it made them superior.

She stuck out her tongue, hoping none of the adults nearby would notice. That got his attention. His eyes widened—not much—just enough to let her see his reaction.
Gotcha
, she snickered to herself.

“Thank you!” Penn cried. “You see, Gregory? This is how a proper English gentleman behaves. Jot it down.”

Her delighted pronouncement caused Aziza to tear her gaze away from the odd child and abandon the search for her secret admirer. One quick glance up at the specimen Penn had been referring to—the one holding the door for them—and she was actually concerned she might drool in public for the first time.

Speaking of people-watching…could she
ever
make up a story about him. A story that would be too X-rated to publish. One she wouldn’t want to let anyone else read anyway because it was her fantasy, damn it, and she’d never liked to share.

If this was an average English gentleman, she should have come here sooner.

Mr. Darcy, eat your heart out.
Yes, he had that brooding brow and a strong square jaw, though the latter was covered with a dark, closely trimmed beard that would scrape across her skin in a way that made her shiver. He wasn’t meant for repressed but meaningful eye contact in a sitting room. Not this mountain.

Broader of shoulder and taller than Greg by a head, he seemed too big to fit through the door he held open. Too rough to be this polite. And far too wild to be dressed in such a restrictive, though obviously expensive way, with his button-down white shirt, tailored gray slacks and a silk tie loose around his thick neck. She had a sudden desire to add seeing him naked to her bucket list.

She glanced down quickly, instinctively trying to hide her reaction, and was immediately struck by how massive and muscular his thighs were. Muscle that seemed to strain against the tasteful fabric. Muscle she wanted to test and measure with her now twitching fingertips. Or press against her heating body. It was his fault. He was so
warm
. It radiated off his skin and reached out, along with his scent, to surround her like a cloak. Had he been here the whole time? On the Ferris wheel with them? Why hadn’t she noticed before now? Why hadn’t some sexual radar gone off during the trip?

That radar was pinging like crazy now. Better late than never, she supposed. “
Hello
, polite, dark and handsome. Tell me, did you enjoy the ride? Or was it too tame for you?”

Damn, had she just said that out loud? She wouldn’t have cared if he’d smiled or turned his head to study her in return, even if he’d scoffed derisively at her obvious come-on, but he didn’t appear to be reacting to her words at all, other than the tiniest twitch at his temple. Maybe he hadn’t heard her.

“Aziza? Oh Aziza Ja-ane? Did you want a drink or are you going to spend the whole night spinning around in this contraption?” Greg grabbed her hand, seemingly unaware of the fact that the world had just tilted on its axis. That she had the insane impulse to move closer to the man who smelled exactly like sunshine and sex, with a trace of cedar. The man whose eyes she couldn’t see because—she knew instinctively—he was going out of his way
not
to look at her.

“Thanks, man,” Greg spoke offhandedly, and the silent giant nodded, his lips pressed firmly together in a physical cue it was difficult to ignore. Impatient. Forbidding.
Not interested.

“Thank you,” Aziza murmured, her throat tight, allowing her friend to drag her away because she knew she wouldn’t be able to do it on her own.

She was disappointed. For nearly two years she’d prided herself on being a force of nature. She’d said what she thought, however inappropriate, without worrying about rules or other people’s reactions. If she found a man attractive, she told him so. If she wanted to kiss a woman in the middle of the dance floor just to watch jaws drop, she didn’t hesitate.

So why hadn’t she pushed past his intimidating demeanor and invited him to have a drink? What could it have hurt? Just one innocent drink or three, hopefully followed by rough and raw and decidedly unrestrained sex that would last until neither one of them could walk or form a coherent thought. She sighed. God, that sounded good.

She hadn’t seen his eyes, hadn’t even asked his name, and now she probably wouldn’t get another opportunity. She’d found the one man she would now measure every other member of the species against—and she’d never see him again.

“I’m slipping,” she grumbled, turning to look over her shoulder before he completely disappeared from view.

He was standing beside the Ferris wheel, still as a statue. And he was staring at her.

That was it. Her feeling. He was the one she’d felt watching her. Why hadn’t he spoken to her? Why had he seemed the opposite of interested? A man with a body like that, with that sinful scent, couldn’t possibly be shy.

A cold shiver shot up her spine. If he wasn’t shy and he wasn’t interested, why was he watching her every move? More importantly, why did he look so unhappy about it?

“And she‘d been so pissed she hadn’t a clue where she got the thing?” A laughing, beautifully scruffy man in his seventies sat on a stool beside them, looking at her in awe and admiration as she hopped up onto the bar and leaned back to refill her glass of ale.

“Yep,” Greg confirmed, sipping his own dark brew and savoring the tale. “So drunk she didn’t remember getting it
at all
until she noticed the bandage on her thigh. It was especially troubling since—as a rule—our Aziza Jane here has always been afraid of snakes. I can’t blame her for that, since I’d bet every sidewinder in the state of Texas went out of its way to slither through her backyard when we were growing up. Her brothers and I loved it, wanting to keep one or two of them as pets, but she was a bit of a girl for a while. Luckily, it wasn’t a terminal condition.”

Aziza made a face at Greg, and then winked at the bartender, who’d given up all pretense of working and joined them in a drink. She was officially in love with this pub. Penn had taken them on a walk away from the tourists and younger crowd to find this out-of-the-way slice of heaven. No flashing lights or loud music. No throngs of people pressed against each other and screaming to be heard. Just laughter and stories and the kind of relaxed vibe that only happened in a local hangout filled with friends.

Not that she didn’t love the throngs, because she did. In fact, she usually preferred them. She was a throng addict. This was a change of pace, but she had to admit she was truly enjoying herself. Especially once Greg began sharing stories of their adventures, and the men at the bar started teasing her as if they’d known her all her life. It reminded her of better days.

“Snakes are highly misunderstood creatures,” a new voice spoke above the chortling, and she watched as the man slid onto a stool at the end of the bar. She bit her lip. Maybe it was the beer talking, but though he was fuzzy at the edges he was kind of…pretty around the eyes.

He smiled as if he knew it, and she shrugged. “Yes, so Greg loves to tell me. Symbols of rebirth and protection, et cetera. He was trying to make me feel better about branding myself for life, but I doubt I was sober enough to be philosophical that night.” The men around her laughed at that. “I have a feeling I just wanted to look like a badass.”

Greg raised his glass. “And you did. You do. A big-eyed, freckle-faced badass. Let’s just toast the fact that your proposal predicament was over at that point, and you didn’t wind up married to a gaggle of Elvis impersonators.”

They all raised their glasses, some snorting into their beer and others just shaking their heads.

The older, undeniably charming character beside them leaned forward again in mischievous interest, his elbows on the bar as he cradled his half-empty pint. “Proposal predicament? I hear another story in the offing.”

“No.” Aziza violently shook her head, feeling the room spin slightly and taking another swig of ale to slow it down. “Don’t you dare, Gregory Prophet. There are some things we don’t talk about. Like your Jedi collectibles.”

Penn, who was leaning on her hand and stirring her mixed drink as she enjoyed the show, started to smile. “I don’t know about the dolls but I’m well aware of this. Your mother had me worried you’d give in and get married before you finished school.”

Greg pushed his empty glass toward Aziza, pointed at the tap while nodding to the others. He didn’t see her glare at his behavior. “We were all worried,” he assured Penn. “If there were a world record for the number of times one woman was proposed to by random strangers, our girl would have beaten it long ago. It was all I could do to get her safely home from high school without some lovesick fool bending his knee. I thought it was a prank at first, but it just kept happening.”