Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1) (26 page)

“Emely,” Elyas said gently. “You don’t seriously think I didn’t recognize you?”

I stared at him.

“Angel,” Elyas said with a smile. “I knew who you were the first
second
I saw you again. You’ve obviously changed some, but I recognized your face instantly.” He shrugged. “How could I have forgotten
you
?”

“Maybe you were trying to make a fool of me!” I said.

His amused smirk was confirmation enough.

I couldn’t believe him. And not knowing what else to do, I slammed my book onto his stomach, in pure desperation.

“Ow!” He grabbed the spot where I’d hit but couldn’t stop laughing. I had a tremendous urge to kill him. Today.

“Wh-wh-why? Why are you always trying to pull stuff over on me?” I finally managed to get out.

“No idea,” he said, shrugging. “Reflex.”

“You must have had a reason.”

Elyas looked at me and then got serious. “Not everything in life has a reason.”

He was lying. There was a reason. I could tell by looking at him. But I could also see he wasn’t going to tell me just now. Did it have something to do with our past? Could it be that, hiding behind all his fuss, there was a desire to take his revenge on me? No. I didn’t think Elyas was
that
underhanded. He had never hidden his intentions.

“Guillotine, stoning, hanging, or the rack?”

“Huh?” I asked.

“You obviously intend to kill me, given how angrily you’re looking at me. I’m just wondering how I’m going to die.”

“Currently I’d most like to toss a hand grenade your way. That would be fastest.”

He grinned. “How about you find a way to turn your aggression into something more intimate?”

“How about
you
find a way to turn your pushiness into resignation?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Now that I’ve gotten you this far?” he asked. “That would be pretty stupid.”

“Forget the hand grenade,” I snarled. “Make it a nuclear bomb!” I glared at him darkly, but he laughed softly. “Can I go back to studying?” I asked, annoyed.

He shrugged as if to say I obviously could and that my lack of progress had nothing to do with him. I shook my head and made a third attempt to make some headway.

With meager results. I counted thirty-five pages, which I would have to reread later anyway because I’d immediately forgotten everything. I suggested Elyas go home, but he didn’t think the idea was nearly as terrific as I did, and remained recumbent on the bed.

It was frustrating how Elyas managed to fluster me with his mere presence. All he had to do was cast several masterful, charming glances in my direction, and I saw a soup of letters before my eyes.

Whatever feelings he was unleashing inside me—all I knew was they were wrong. I shouldn’t let him wrap me around his finger like this, and under no circumstances should I lose control. If I did, I would pay bitterly for it, one day.

I needed distance. The more, the better. But that was easier said than done. It was a pointless venture so long as our lives crossed paths.

God, if he didn’t look like the devil!

Was his hair really as soft as it looked?

Oh God!
I was gawking at him again. Read. Book. Now! I turned from Elyas so my eyes wouldn’t keep landing on him. But no matter where I sat, the letters on the pages churned like indecipherable hieroglyphs. I stretched my neck and rubbed my hand over the spot that hurt.

“Is your neck hurting?”

“It’s all right.”

“Should I massage it?”

“Thanks, Elyas, but I can imagine how that would go.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why do you always think I’m up to no good?” He sat up. “Just let me try.” He had hardly finished speaking before he started kneading my back.

“
I . . .
No, Elyas
. . . ,
” I protested, trying to scoot away, but he held me close with his upper arms.

So much for distance!

He tried to pull my hoodie up over my shoulders.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“How am I supposed to massage you through a sweatshirt? You’ve got a T-shirt on underneath.”

“You’re not supposed to be massaging me at all,” I said, trying to scoot away again. He held me a second time, and I whined softly.

“Oh, be quiet,” he ordered. I could hear his grin in his voice. Slowly, much too slowly, he pulled the hoodie over my head, and goose bumps covered my whole body. Why did I feel naked underneath?

“Stop tensing up. Relax,” he said.

I winced when he laid his hands on my shoulders and started massaging me. It was so unusual, so scary, letting him touch me. His thumbs pressed softly in slow, circling motions to the left, then right, moving down from the top of my neck along my spine. Even though I still had my clothes on, my skin responded with enormous sensitivity.

What he was doing felt so good, and it didn’t take long for the pain to ease. I involuntarily dropped my head forward, and Elyas didn’t stop the extremely pleasant things he was doing with his hands.

When he pressed the spot that hurt the most, I moaned. I was putty in his hands; the tension dissipated beneath his fingers. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the massage.

“Is that good?” he whispered.

Good?
That was the understatement of the century. Unbelievable, breathtaking, magnificent—it was the best massage I’d ever had.

“It’s all right,” I said in a high voice, and he chuckled softly.

Conceited ass. He knew exactly what he was doing. Worse yet, he noticed how I was responding. Fortunately, he had no clue that my heart wasn’t necessarily the most relaxed muscle in my body.

As the tips of his fingers roamed my neck, my eyes practically rolled back in my head. His fingers sent shivers over all of my skin. He worked his way back up my neck and then massaged my scalp, running his fingers through my hair.
Oh, how good that feels,
I silently moaned.

Dammit, this wasn’t a massage anymore—it was foreplay!

I bit my lip, imagining what else Elyas could do with his fingers.

No! I will not let myself imagine that!

Thousands of tiny sparks shot through my muscles, as though Elyas were carrying electricity. It would be only a matter of seconds before I completely forgot everything around me, aside from Elyas’s warm breath on the nape of my neck.

In the blink of an eye, my internal alarms switched on, and the shrill sirens brutally ripped me out of my trancelike state. Whatever Elyas was doing, it was high time to put an end to it!

I cleared my throat. “So, uh, thanks. That was very nic
e . . .
but now I really need to do some more studying.” I slipped out of his hands and frantically crawled to the other side of the bed.

What in the hell
was
that? And how could I have allowed it to happen?

For alibi purposes, I started flipping pages in my book, nervously peeking over the top. Elyas was still kneeling on the same spot, looking at me with an inscrutable expression.

“What am I going to do with you?” he finally asked, his shoulders drooping. He sounded like the baffled but good-natured owner of a hopeless dog who had been pooping on his carpet for three years.

But, dammit, I hadn’t gone on his carpet even once!

“You don’t need to do anything with me!” I replied vigorously. I had been trying to make him understand that for months now.

His standard grin gradually reappeared on his lips. “I know you’re shy—but
this
shy?” He sighed. “Would it help if we started by holding hands and I took things much more slowly?”

That. Did. It.

“Out!”

“No, no,” he laughed, waving his hands. “I was just joking, sweetums. Please don’t throw me out.”

“Too late. You promised to behave, and what did you do? You’ve kept me from studying. Exactly as I predicted.”

“Please, I’ll pull it together, OK?” He looked at me with pleading eyes. “I’ve been missing you for two weeks. Now you want to kick me out after just an hour and a half?”

I thought for a moment and said, “Yes.”

“Oh, come on
. . . ,
” he said, sulking. “I love being near you, and I’ll be infinitely sad if you throw me out now.”

“Cry me a river.”

“Really,” he protested. “I swear I’ll be quiet from now on and just read nicely, OK?”

I rubbed my hand over my face. “Even if I wanted that, which is definitely not the case, I need to study, and I can’t do it with you around.”

“You’ve been doing nothing but studying for a week.”

“Because I need to! Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but I missed three weeks of class!”

“You know perfectly well I haven’t forgotten.” He looked at me angrily. “Even so, I think you’re exaggerating. What’s wrong with taking a couple hours off?”

“I have a paper due on Monday!” I snarled.

He took a deep breath and looked at me. “If I leave you alone to study now, will you promise to make more time for me after you turn in your paper?”

“No!”

“Why not?” It sounded more like a complaint than a question.

“For the love of God, Elyas,” I burst out. “I’m on the verge of sleeping with you out of desperation just so you’ll finally leave me alone!”

“Who says I’ll leave you alone after that?” He smirked, but my nerves had reached their snapping point.

“Of course you would! And don’t you pretend otherwise!”

“Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t. Why don’t you find out?”

Stay calm, Emely. Stay calm. Take a deep breath
. . .

“OK, OK, dearest,” he quickly added. “You want me to go. You’re not just saying that.”

“Ding ding ding!” I said.

He sighed. “Fine, I’m leaving. But I meant the part about taking some time off. If you don’t want to take a break with me, you should still take a break. You look stressed out, and you’ve got bags under your eyes. I’m just trying to help.”

I rolled my eyes and nodded.

“All right, then.” He stood and walked toward me on the bed. “A good-bye kiss?”

“No,” I wailed.

“OK,” he said, grinning, looking at me pityingly. “I’m sorry I disturbed you, Emely.”

I nodded grumpily, and he went to the door. There, he turned around to face me. “But I won’t forget your promise,” he said.

“What promise?”

“That you’ll have more time for me again soon. See you soon, my angel. I miss you already.” And with those words he vanished from my room.

I stared after him before picking my book back up. But after reading one line, I tossed it back onto the bed. I rolled onto my stomach and buried my face in the pillow. He was wearing me down, slowly but surely, and I didn’t want to give in. I wanted to hate him, and instead I spent all my time thinking about him. Why did I have to respond to
him
like this? Why couldn’t I just not care?

It was so stupid, so unbelievably stupid of me. And I hated myself for it.

C
HAPTER
18

W
HY
I
S
H
E
D
OING
T
HIS
?

I
stood in the shower, the warm water flowing over my body. A shower could be so soothing and relaxing, even when everything I was looking forward to left something to be desired. Alex had asked me to join her for a night out at a bar; the group included Sebastian and—I strongly suspected, although he was never mentioned—Elyas.

It had been almost two weeks since Elyas’s and my “study afternoon.” At first he’d kept to our agreement and left me alone, but after a couple of days, it was back to the usual. He popped up at regular intervals to “help” me study, as he described it, though I would say he kept me from studying, completely. He would grab my folders, go through my papers, and ask questions about class material. I never knew if his interest was genuine or not. There seemed to be an underlying purpose to his visits other than getting me committed to a psychiatric ward.

I was relieved every time I was finally able to shut the door behind him. Unfortunately, the feeling never lasted. I would notice his lingering presence everywhere, especially when I was lying in bed. Elyas may have been gone, but his smell stayed behind. It clung to the sheets and smelled so pleasant that sometimes it kept me from sleeping or—even worse—gave me weird dreams about him and his talented hands
. . .

Bad, bad dreams!

Terrible dreams!

Nightmares!

Really enjoyable nightmares,
I grumbled to myself.

But there
were
positive things to report. I was nearly caught up on my course material, despite Elyas, and my parents continued improving every day. I talked to them on the phone several times a week, and they were almost back to normal.

I stepped out of the shower and had just wrapped myself in a towel when there was a knock at the door. I groaned. Excessive punctuality was a terrible characteristic. Especially when I needed at least another five minutes.

“It’s open!” I called to Alex. I heard the door open and close. “Give me ten minutes!” I added, drying myself off at lightning speed. I was surprised Alex didn’t answer, but she’d probably just had Sebastian’s tongue in her mouth and was therefore unable to speak. A very positive side effect, actually.

I slid into my underwear and bra and put on blue jeans and a black T-shirt with a Marshall logo on it. Then I stood in front of the mirror to deal with my hair. Daunted by the thought of trying to tame it, I just pulled it back.

The last thing I needed to do was put on socks and shoes, so I opened the bathroom door to head into the bedroom. I looked around but found no sign of Alex or Sebastian. I stood in the bathroom doorway frowning. Had I imagined the knock?

“Boo!” someone said beside me.

I screamed and clutched my heart. “Ugh! That’s not funny, Elyas!”

He leaned on the wall next to the bathroom door, his lips forming a rueful smirk. “Sorry,” he said. “Just
once
I wanted your heart to beat faster when you saw me.”

A warm sensation spread from the middle of my chest. Was he starting with the cute routine already? No, he wasn’t starting—he’d never stopped.

I quickly shook the idea of Elyas being cute out of my head.

“OK, what are you planning next time?” I asked. “Greeting me with electroshock paddles in your hands?”

He smiled but didn’t answer.

I sighed. “I realize I ask you this every day, but
why
are you here again?”

“Alex and Sebastian are running late, so I’m supposed to come pick you up.”

“Always these ‘coincidences’
. . . ,
” I commented.

“Yeah, strange, isn’t it?” He grinned.

I rolled my eyes as I walked to the dresser to get a pair of socks. I was actually lucky he had startled me in the room. He could easily have walked in on me in the bathroom. Come to think of it, it was amazing he hadn’t done that.

“How much self-control did it take for you to stay out of the bathroom?” I sat on the bed.

“You can’t possibly imagine,” he replied.

“A wise decision to stay out, Mr. Schwarz,” I said, pulling up my socks.

“I wouldn’t have survived?”

“Definitely not.”

Elyas took a deep breath as I stood and walked over to my shoes. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him stand up from the wall, his attention drawn to something. He walked to the middle of the room and bent down to pick something up off the floor. He stood up, studying some black panties in his hands.

I guess guys weren’t the only messy ones.

I slid my feet into my shoes without taking my eyes off him. He ran his fingers along the hem of the fine material as though in a trance, and his face lit up. I couldn’t suppress my smirk anymore, but fortunately he didn’t notice.

“Elyas?” I asked after a while.

“Hmm?”

“What you are doing wit
h . . .
Eva’s
underwear?”

Elyas’s fingers instantly spread apart, and the panties dropped to the floor; he averted his eyes, staring at the wall in front of him. “Eva’
s . . .
underwear?” he repeated hoarsely.

I giggled. The silly look on his face spoke volumes and was the perfect punishment for someone who had been fondling another person’s underwear.

“Can we go? Or do you want to take a quick look through Eva’s dirty-laundry basket?” I bit my lip.

“Those were
worn
?” he asked in a high voice.

I nodded promptly.

He rubbed his palms on his pants. “All right then
. . . ,
” he said. “Uh, maybe I’ll just g
o . . .
wash my hands quickly.” He hustled into the bathroom.

I shook my head and couldn’t stop laughing. That little vignette had made my day. Two minutes later he was back in the room with freshly washed hands. “That wasn’t a joke, huh?” he said.

I shook my head with a smirk. “Incidentally, you should be glad those were Eva’s panties. Because if they’d been mine, you wouldn’t have left this room alive.”

“You are undoubtedly right,” he sighed. “Let’s leave the scene of this crime before any more ideas creep into my head and I end up a corpse by your hand.”

He held the door open for me as I grieved for the shortness of the moment I had just enjoyed. Something embarrassing had happened to
him
, for once. How was he able to pull himself together so quickly? I would have melted with shame onto the floor. But what did he do? Casually shut the door behind us, smile at me, and walk down the stairs to his Mustang, which was parked in front of the building.

He ostentatiously held the passenger-side door open. “Have I told you that you look wonderful?”

“No, not today.” I moaned and climbed into my dream car. Elyas shut the door, walked around the car, and got in.

“Fine, then I hereby declare you look wonderful,” he said, sticking the key into the ignition.

What was the point of all his compliments?

“You don’t like compliments that much, huh?” he asked.

Had he finally noticed that? Elyas was making progress.
Respect! Sarcastic? Who, me?

“I wouldn’t phrase it that way,” I replied over the awesome roar of the engine.

“How would you phrase it then?” He put in a CD, and our drive suddenly had a soundtrack featuring the hypnotic rhythms of “Road to Zion” by Damian Marley. “I have nothing against compliments in general,” I fibbed.

“But?”

“But I don’t like when they’re lies.” I looked out the window and took in the streetscape rushing past. I loved how Elyas drove. He seemed so confident, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Not once had I caught him in the slightest moment of inattention. The vehicle obeyed him as though it were an extension of his body.

“You think my compliments aren’t sincere?” he asked.

I grinned. “Obviously your compliments come from the depths of your heart.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not a word.”

He winced and hesitated. “Does this have anything to do with Brad Pitt?”

“Brad Pitt?”

“How did you phrase it before? ‘If Angelina Jolie isn’t looking back at me in the mirror, it’s not like I need to sit around waiting for Brad Pitt.’”

Wow. I hoped Alex was enjoying the last few minutes of her life.

“She did not tell you that,” I said.

Elyas grinned.

“Now you think you’re Brad Pitt or something?” I asked, crossing my arms.

He laughed. “No. I’m just wondering whether the reason you don’t believe me has to do with your own inaccurate self-assessment.”

“Inaccurate self-assessment?”

“Of how you look,” he said.

“First of all, my assessments of myself are just fine, thank you very much. And second, have you ever thought it might be because of you?”

“Me?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Elyas, but you’re not exactly the most credible person I know.”

“I’ve been pursuing you for four months, and you still don’t think I’m credible?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe it’s because I can tell you’re chasing my skirt and not
me
.”

He shook his head. “That makes no sense. You think I just want sex and have no interest in you as a human being? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yup,” I said, nodding.

“Then wouldn’t the logical conclusion be that I would have to find you rather attractive to hold out so long?”

Why did it feel like he was using my own words against me?

Bad argument, really bad argument. But it brought me to the main thing I’d been wondering for months: What the hell does he see in me?

“All right, Elyas,” I said, finally ready to speak bluntly with him. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

“What do you like about me so much? What surgeon do I need to see to finally get you to leave me alone?”

One corner of his mouth curled up. “Appearance-wise?” he asked.

“What else?”

“Oh, of course. I forgot I’m not interested in your personal qualities.” He grinned, earning himself an impatient glare from me.

“OK,” he said, gathering his thoughts. “I like your hazel, almond-shaped eyes. They’re uncannily deep. They make me feel like I can sink into them and be slowly but surely swallowed up. And yet, there’s a roadblock that stops me from diving all the way in. That fascinates me somehow,” he said. “It seems like you’re afraid someone might see too much in your eyes, read too much: your soul, your thoughts, or whatever.

“That’s why I often wonder what you’re thinking and what’s going on in your head. You know?” He smiled but continued talking. “Your eyes shine when you laugh, as though beams of sunlight are trapped inside, and when you’re angry, they turn dark as night.

“When you’re mad, you have this funny way of squinting and raising one eyebrow, as though you’re about to eat me up. But it’s actually too cute for me to take seriously. Incidentally, that’s how you’re looking at me right now.”

My eyes grew wide; then I relaxed my face.

“I also like your lips,” he continued. “They’re not the typical red that everyone has. Yours have their own unique color, sort of a mix of cherry red and red wine. Plus,” he said, looking at me to make sure, “they look incredibly soft. The features of your face are so soft and delicate, like porcelain. Your skin is smooth and bright. Whenever you smile, you get dimples on either side.” He pointed to the spot on his face. “And last,” he continued, “whenever you blush, it would melt any man in Berlin.” He stopped talking, and I wa
s . . .
confused.

Totally mixed up!

What had he just told me? Either he was an amazing actor, or one might get the impression he’d fallen for me. For real. Had he read all that in some book? If so, it was a badly written book.

I had no idea whose face he was talking about, but it certainly wasn’t mine.

“O
K . . .
that wa
s . . .
weird
. . . ,
” I mumbled.

“Weird?”

“Yes. I could say ‘strange,’ if that term works better for you.”

“Why?”

“Hard to explain,” I started, “but that was about the biggest load of bull I’ve ever heard.”

Wel
l . . .
that was a lie. Actually they were the nicest compliments I’d ever been paid in my life. But I just couldn’t believe he meant them for real. A
roadblock
in my eyes? What was that? I actually didn’t like giving anyone insight into my inner life, but the fact that he could somehow see that was beyond the powers of my imagination.

Elyas smiled and shook his head. “Ah, but we’ve already discussed the very good argument for why you
can
believe me,” he reminded me.

Maybe, but you could also claim he was only making all these comments so his wish would come true. Although that didn’t explain why he had the wish in the first place
. . .

“OK, let’s assume you’re telling the truth,” I said.

“We don’t need to assume—it
is
the truth! Why can’t you just believe that I think you’re pretty?”

“I am trying to get to that. Would you let me finish?”

He sighed. “OK, please continue.”

“So, if what you said is true,” I started again, ignoring his grumbling, “then it applies just to my face. You can’t sleep with a face.”

OK, fine. That argument was frail, especially given some of the positions in which I’d accidentally seen Eva and Nicolas—but Elyas didn’t know that.

I regretted what I’d said as soon as Elyas’s eyes suggestively wandered my body, and my cheeks instantly heated. “OK,” he said after forcing his eyes back up, with some effort, “I like your body just as much as your face. But if I were to list the reasons, then I’m sure my ribs would end up broken this time.”

I closed my eyes and wished with all my might for a nine millimeter with a silencer. But before my wish could come true, Elyas parked the Mustang.

I opened the door, got out, and walked around the car to his side so we could walk together.