A/N: I love the excitement you guys have for this story! I'm just as excited about it too I think we're just a couple chapters away from the scene/idea I had that inspired this whole story which will be a turning point of sorts. Can't wait to get there – thanks for all the support!
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Chapter 6 - Race
We're swerving through the streets of Manhattan at dangerous speeds. The car narrowly misses a taxi cab and horns blare loudly in indignation. I grip the sides of my seat with both hands, trying to hold on tight as the streets fly by. In the back of my mind I marvel a little at how no cop seems to have noticed us breaking countless traffic laws.
"Shit." I look over at the curse and see him eyeing the rear view mirror. He's handsome, I realize. Unruly brown locks with tinges of red. A striking jaw - clenched in concentration, no, in anger I realize. But not at me, I decide. There's a dusting of hair on the lower half of his face - it's been a few days since he's shaved, I guess. I study these things, trying not to think about the absurdity of the situation.
"Hold on," he warns, and his voice is like velvet. I catch a scent of his breath and it's like mulled spice and a fireplace crackling in the winter. The heady taste of it fills my brain and I have trouble concentrating. We swerve abruptly and I brace myself with a hand against the window. We're passing through a tunnel now and he speeds up, engine revving. I glance in the side mirror and see a yellow Porsche following closely behind us, tailgating.
It's gaining on us and I realize I recognize the driver …
James.
I let out a sharp gasp and abruptly look away.
"Fucker," the man next to me growls and something clicks in me as I recognize the sound. It's the same - the voice I've been hearing in my head and this … creature beside me. I glance over at him again, but his focus is occupied on the road ahead. He's weaving back and forth between lanes, passing everyone ahead of us. The Porsche matches us move for move, still gaining.
Suddenly, I lurch forward in my seat. My head bumps roughly on the roof of the car, but the seat belt mitigates the impact. I look behind wildly, trying to make sense of what's happening. James' face is close - too close now. I can make out the lines of his features and the expression of pleasantry. His gray eyes spark with some unfathomable emotion as I realize that he's hit us from behind.
The right corner of his mouth lifts up almost imperceptibly and he floors it, his engine revving. He slams into us again from behind. More curses escape from the driver beside me and we careen to the left, trying to get away. But the Porsche is a much faster car and it keeps pace. A piece of our rear bumper breaks away and skids out behind us, sparks flying.
Light suddenly pours into the car cabin and I realize we've cleared the tunnel. I turn back around, not wanting to see James' pleasant expression any longer. This is insane. Literally insane. I'm in a high speed car chase. A small laugh escapes me and I think I may have really lost it.
"Brace yourself - banking right." My fist has barely closed around the handle above my head when I hear tires squealing and I lurch sideways from the centripetal force of our sudden turn. I stare in horror as we speed down a new road, going the wrong way. Cars honk and swerve to avoid us as we somehow impossibly increase speed. I'm going to die, I think, and close my eyes.
I imagine I'm on a particularly daring roller coaster. I haven't been to an amusement park since I was maybe 13 - the experience feels much the same. Sharp, unpredictable turns. Bumps and loud noises. Perhaps I should be screaming. I scrunch my eyes tight, refusing to open them.
We continue on like this for several minutes. Me trying desperately to maintain my sanity, and my companion beside me driving for our lives. After a while, I begin to notice that the roller coaster is slowing down. I can tell that we're still driving incredibly fast, but the jerking turns seem to have stopped. I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to face reality just yet.
After some immeasurable amount of time we slow even further. Slower and slower still until I can barely feel any movement. And then, the car comes to a complete stop. My fingers unclench ever so slightly and slowly, I relax all the other muscles I hadn't realized I'd been holding tight. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. That same heady scent fills my lungs and my heart flips a little. The fragrance has filled the entire car and I can't help myself - I take another deep breath, reveling in the feel of it. There's a hint of something sweet among the spice and the smoke I realize - honey?
The aroma swirls around me, through me and my eyes flutter. I let them open and the first thing I see are those deep green eyes. I try to pinpoint the exact shade. The fabric of an elegant satin gown. A forest of evergreens at dusk. Fresh moss covering stones by the sea. None of them seem exactly right - none of them can compare.
I stare back, a doe caught in the gaze of a lion, and suck in another intoxicating breath. Something curls deep and low and I shudder slightly.
"We've lost him." His voice is like velvet, low and sultry. It takes me a moment for the words to register. To work past the haze, remember where I am, who I am. I shift slightly in my seat to turn towards him, unconsciously trying to get closer. The movement of my thighs against each other reminds me of the low ache and my thoughts scatter again.
What was I, a naive schoolgirl? Get a grip, Bella, I tell myself.
"Bella…" His voice is like a siren's call and I lean closer still, taking in another breath of that smell. It rushes through me, culminating in that one aching spot at the center of me. I think I hear myself moan but I can't be bothered to be embarrassed. I can't be bothered to be anything at all. Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed with the need to touch him, to feel him.
Without consciously deciding to, my hand reaches out tentatively toward him to stroke his face. He stops me, catching my wrist. A shock passes between us - like static. But he doesn't let go. His grip is firm and his gaze is still on me, seeing into me, through me.
"Bella, please," he says in that same low tone. He's leaned closer now and my mind is completely blank. All I can think of is the aroma rolling off him and the ache between my thighs. He moves to let go of my wrist and his thumb brushes lightly against the pulse point there, burning a trail across my skin. Every nerve ending is on fire. I shudder and my breaths come in shallow pants, trying, not to breathe in more air, but more of him.
In the back of my mind I vaguely register that this is not normal. But I don't care.
"Bella," he says a third time and it's a prayer. The proximity, the spiced scent, the neverending green of his eyes - they're all my mind has space for. I'm hyperventilating, trying to fill my lungs with more of that intoxicating aroma. But my body can't take it anymore and suddenly … everything goes black.