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“The last unit,” he says, pointing toward the end of the lane.
Unlike the other houses, this one’s garden is hidden behind a high wall. Only the top of the ultra-modern house is visible. Leon obviously likes his privacy.
I pull up to the pedestrian gate, but I don’t cut the engine.
“Come inside,” he says, his voice husky as he leans over and brushes my hair behind my ear.
It’s a request, not a command, and there’s no mistaking his intention.
“No,” I say firmly. Not even under different circumstances. Men like Leon are trouble, and I prefer to stay far away from trouble. I have enough of it in my life as it is.
He doesn’t sulk or try to convince me. His smile is patient. “Another time.” He gets out and leans in the open door. “Give me a minute.”
“For what?”
“To get my bike. I’ll follow you home.”
“Why?” I ask with irritation.
“To make sure you get there safely.”
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. “I’ve been driving around alone for years.”
“You’re not alone any longer.”
Not giving me time to argue, he closes the door and walks to the house. I’m tempted to drive off, but he’ll come after me. I’m not ready to face the consequences that will follow such an act of defiance so soon again.
He enters through the pedestrian gate and slams it close behind him. A moment later, the garage door on the side of the house lifts. The Aston Martin is parked inside. He exits on his bike, wearing a leather jacket and a helmet with a dark visor that obscures his expression, but I don’t need to see his face to read him. He’s vigilant, observant. He scans the street as he parks next to me, giving a nod to indicate that I can go.
Already, he’s taken over my life, telling me what to do and when to do it. I’ve never experienced true freedom. Before Leon, Gus made my decisions. The transition between the men has been smooth. The responsibility for my life transmitted from one to the other seamlessly. The only times I felt free were the moments I sat at Aunt Ginger’s kitchen table, when she fed me crumbs of history and glorious glimpses of what it’s like to create your own destiny, even if that destiny was doused in gin. At least no one told her what to do with her life.
I go ahead and Leon follows. He keeps a safe distance, the headlight of his bike a steady beam in the rearview mirror. It reminds me of a different bike on a different night, and the sword that hangs over my head. The thought makes me shiver in the warm summer night. If I was capable of murder, I would’ve killed Elliot. Although, murder won’t solve the problem. The photos will still end up in Gus’s hands if anything happens to my stepbrother. What I need to do is like a noose around my neck. The stress is killing me. The sooner I get it over with, the better.
When I arrive home, Leon enters through the gates with me. He parks behind the new car, takes off his helmet, hooks it over the handle, and shakes out his dark hair. I watch him in the rearview mirror as he swings a leg over the bike and walks to me with powerful strides.
Pulling open my door, he leans down. “The papers are in the glove compartment together with the spare key.” His smile is disarming. “What’s the verdict? Are you keeping her, or would you like to try a different model?”
A sudden urge to bury my hands beneath the leather of his jacket overwhelms me. I want to hide my face in his neck and pretend the world I live in doesn’t exist. I want him to draw the picture one more time just so that I can feel free, but real life isn’t as simple as that.
“I don’t want to try a different model,” I say.
“Good.”
He offers me a hand, helping me from the car. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me close. He smells of leather and cologne, of man and the illusion of freedom. When I don’t pull away, he lowers his head and closes his lips over mine in the gentlest of kisses. Instead of unleashing a fire, the caress causes butterflies in my stomach. It’s different to anything I’ve felt, much more potent than the quick burnout of flames, and he’s not even kissing me with his tongue.
After planting a last peck on my lips, he sets me free. “Sleep well, Violet.”
With that, he turns, leaving me with a lingering fluttering in my belly. I stand rooted to the spot as he gets onto his bike.
“Go inside,” he orders.
With all the security, it’s unlikely that anyone will be able to break into the property, but I’m not obeying Leon as much as fleeing. I go inside, lock the door, and watch through the window as he fits the helmet. The engine of his bike roars to life. He doesn’t look back as he drives away.
