Vicious Rebel (82 Street Vandals #2) - Heather Long Page 0,41
I didn’t feel. The polite smiles with the hint of manufactured warmth were something I’d mastered a long time ago. “The only thing I care about is if he can do the moves.”
“Uh-huh.”
Not that Marta would understand. She was trying to protect a purity and a chasteness that had died a violent death years earlier. As it was, I turned away and took my mark. Then, with only the music in my head, I began the routine from the top.
Chapter 12
Emersyn
The thrill of riding the bike couldn’t compete with the icy wind biting at me as we tore through the city. Rome rode the bike like it was an extension of himself, gliding smoothly around corners, weaving in and out of traffic. I hoped he knew where he was going, because I’d lost track somewhere along the way.
I didn’t think I could find my way back if I tried. Holding Rome though, I trusted my understanding of muscle movement and shifted my weight when he shifted his. When his body flowed right, I leaned into it with him, and then left or center again.
If he danced, I would love to see it. There was a fluid elegance to how he handled the bike. The last place I expected to go was into a gated, underground garage in a really nice part of town.
The stores lining the sidewalks here were designer. More than one were the types that my mother shopped in. Everything about the area declared its affluent separation from where we’d been. Once below, he cruised deeper. The lack of wind helped, but my arms were so numb, even with the jacket, and I’d long since lost feeling in my toes.
After Rome parked, he rubbed my hands, which I’d tucked up under his jacket against his abs in an effort to keep them warm. They ached like hell to unlink from each other, and I hopped a little as I swung off the bike. Rome caught my arm when I stumbled. Oh, wow. I was cold.
He unbuckled the helmet and tugged it off my head. After he secured it on the bike, he pulled my hands into his. I was pretty sure his were just as cold. Neither of us had gloves on, but he kept rubbing them as he headed for the elevator.
“Where are we?” My jaw quivered, and my teeth began to chatter. Rome hit the button to summon the elevator, then typed in five numbers without making any effort to hide them. When he pressed the last one, the doors opened with a ding.
Warm air washed out to greet us, and I didn’t hesitate to step into the vestibule with him. Once inside, he chose an upper floor and then kept rubbing my hands with his. Cold could burn if you got too cold. Thankfully, the helmet had protected my face and Rome had protected my chest, or my nipples and my nose would be ready to break off.
The elevator let us out on the twelfth floor. Rome guided me out and down the hall. From what I could tell, there were only three or four doors on this floor. So only three or four apartments?
The thick, plush carpet muffled our steps, and it was as expensive as the fancy marble tile inside the elevator. We were a long way from the clubhouse. The art on the wall was gallery purchased. At least two of them were Crowls.
At the end of the hall, Rome unlocked the door marked with only a two. He had a key card in his wallet. The electronic locks let go, and I stared a beat before he swung the door inward and ushered me inside.
If the elevator and hallway were quiet elegance, the interior of this apartment was an exercise in pure restraint. It was done in a series of grays and metallic tones to add some warmth without sheen. Lights came on at the flick of a switch. Two lamps, one at each end of the sofa, warmed the room with low-wattage light.
After the brightness outside, it seemed almost too dark. The walls were gunmetal gray. But there were paintings on each wall, each one done in vibrant colors and abstracts that made the whole wall seem like it had been designed to feature that single painting.
A gym was set up in one corner near floor to ceiling windows. A faux fireplace came to life in the center of the room. The electric fire offering a multitude of colors. Another