Page 11 of Taboo Flames

It seems the little kitty is finally learning how to play this game.

The driveback to her house is silent, and I’m stuck wondering if I’ll find her pleasantly wet if I trailed my hand up the inside of her thighs. She spends the whole drive glaring out of the window, intent on not looking at me.

I didn’t pay her any attention, though. My mind is elsewhere—or trying to be—as I’m fully aware of her scent now covering the small space we’re in.

As soon as I round the driveway of her house, she wrenches the door open, eager to get as far away from me as possible.

“One more thing, princess,” I call out as she moves to climb the front steps. “You should make better friends.”

I don't wait for her to argue, knowing she surely would. Instead, I throw the car in reverse and burn rubber out of there.

CHAPTER 3

Aurora

Giovanni Lombardi is a psychotic, out-of-control, unbearable Neanderthal, and I must have been crazy to have ever thought he was sweet and reserved.

I cannot believe I had been infatuated with the guy. I had spent so many precious seconds of my life fantasizing about him noticing me and suddenly taking an interest in me. Now that he has his attention on me, I must admit it’s not a good feeling, and there is nothing I can do about it.

From yesterday’s fiasco, I have a feeling no matter how far I run, Giovanni will just find a way to track me down and carry me back home like an errant medieval wife. And as much as it bothers me, I try not to think too much about him because the last thing I want is to show up frowning in front of the students from my dance studio and looking like someone pissed in my Cheerios.

Also, my dance studio is my happy place, and I refuse to let dark thoughts of that man ruin it for me. It may be somewhat small in size with a staff strength of one, but it is my mosthonorable accomplishment, and I love it because it helps serve as a distraction from how messy my family matters can be.

“Good afternoon, kids,” I say with a smile at the sixteen children doing different forms of stretches in the room. One of my favorite parts of this job is watching the children open up. Most of them start out shy and unsure, but over the course of several dance classes, they find their confidence and are able to express themselves better.

It’s like watching a flower bloom in real time.

“Hey, Rory,” they chorus back at me, their gazes wide and eager. I peel off my sweatshirt, leaving me in my tank top.

“Today we’re going to be doing one of my favorite activities,” I tell them, swiping through my playlists to locate the set of songs for today. “Today’s group activity is called syncytium.”

Murmurs go up around the room, and I smile.

“It’s not complicated, I promise,” I say. “But you still have to pay attention if you want to get it. Now, I’ll give the first person a little ball, and all you have to do is pass it to someone else after your forty-five-second dance window closes. The rule is that the receiver has to start with the last move from the previous person.”

“Oh, like a relay race?” Sienna, a platinum blonde kid, asks shyly. She’s one of the latest additions to the class, and I hope to see improvements in her relations with the others soon.

“Exactly,” I respond. “By the third cycle, each of us is going to be able to anticipate each other’s final move.”

“That sounds almost impossible, Rory,” someone scoffs.

I grin. “Well, let’s see about that. Shall we begin?”

Hours later, my whole body hurts down to my bones, but I’m nothing but satisfied by today’s activity. Everybody thought I was crazy when I first set up the studio. And quite frankly, I understood their shock. It isn’t like I need the money generatedby the studio or anything. I have an inheritance that’s large enough to ensure I will never have to work again in my life.

But the studio is my passion, and so is dancing and being around children. I’d much rather teach these kids than jet-set around the world with my friends and drink fruity margaritas on beaches of world-famous resorts. Although, I have done my fair share of that over the years before opting to start this instead.

I make my way to my office to grab my purse before leaving. I have a bathroom here for emergency cases, but today, I’m not in a hurry to be anywhere. I intend to go home and dip my sore body into my sunken jet tub full of hot water and soothing bath oil.

I’m making a round to my desk when I notice something. There is a black box on my desk that I don’t remember putting there. With a frown, I walk toward the box, which I assume is a parcel meant for me.

Someone must have left it here and forgotten to tell me. It was probably Elodie, my janitor, who serves as my part-time office assistant and studio bestie for when I have classes and am too occupied with the kids.

There’s a matching black ribbon tied around the box with a black rose and note tucked under it.

Confused but also a bit curious, I undo the ribbon and grab the rose hesitantly, noticing some flecks of red paint on the edge of one petal. I pick up the note and read the message scrawled on it in masculine handwriting.

LITTLE BIRDY, IT’S BEEN FUN WATCHING YOU, BUT IT’S TIME FOR YOU TO PAY THE DEBT YOU OWE.

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