Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(68)
Author: Beth Kery

“If you leave right now, I won’t be waiting for you. It’ll be finished.”

He spun around, his nostrils flared in anger. “Are you daring me, Francesca? Are you throwing down the gauntlet? Are you truly so vindictive?”

“How can you ask me that when you’re the one who is running away because of what’s happening between us?” she exclaimed, sitting up in bed, holding the sheet over her breasts.

“The only thing that’s happening between us is that you’re acting like a selfish brat. I have an emergency to attend to.”

“Then tell me what it is. At least give me that courtesy, Ian. Or do you think that given the rules of this godforsaken relationship, because of my supposed submissive nature, that I don’t even have the right to ask that?” she seethed.

He reached for the jacket he’d placed on the back of an armchair. Belatedly, she noticed his packed leather suitcase next to his briefcase. He really was leaving. She felt blindsided all over again. He shrugged on his suit jacket and regarded her with a glacial stare.

“As I said, I have no desire to explain myself to you when you’re behaving this way.” He picked up his luggage. “I’ll call you this evening. Maybe you’ll feel better about things by then.”

“Don’t bother. I won’t feel better. I can guarantee that,” she said with as much dignity . . . as much coldness as she could muster.

The color seemed to rush out of his face. She had a wild urge to take back what she’d said, but her stubbornness—her pride—wouldn’t let her. He nodded once, his mouth set in a hard line, and stalked out of his bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a brisk click that sounded horribly final in her ringing ears.

Francesca clamped her eyelids shut as misery settled upon her like a weight.

* * *

Three days later, she sat in the Department of Motor Vehicles office in Deerfield, Illinois, studying the motorcycle “Rules of the Road” on Ian’s tablet. Yes, she still planned never to see Ian again on any sexual basis, and no, he’d definitely believed what she’d told him on that sunny Friday morning, because he hadn’t tried to contact her since he’d left. She kept trying to tell herself she was glad he wasn’t calling her, but somehow, her self-convincing didn’t feel all that persuasive.

What was that expression that had shadowed his face when she’d told him not to call her? Why is it that both in that situation three days ago and also on that occasion when he’d freaked out upon finding she was a virgin that he’d been the one who looked abandoned, not the other way around? The thoughts made it feel as if her heart were being squeezed by a giant invisible hand.

No, she wouldn’t dwell on such things. It was impossible to pierce the dark, complex inner workings of Ian’s soul. It was folly to even try.

It surprised her a little that she’d continued with her driving lessons with Jacob, given her and Ian’s break. But she’d become strangely fixated on the idea of getting her license. Maybe part of her believed what Ian had told her. It was an important milestone of development that she’d passed up because of her emotional issues as a child and teenager. Her compulsion to drive somehow related to her wanting to take full control of her life for the first time. School was going well. Her painting for Ian would soon be finished.

For the first time in her life, she really did feel like she was starting to gain control . . . not just fumbling along, surviving from day to day. She wanted to be in the driver’s seat of Francesca Arno’s life, just like Ian had suggested. If it was destined to be a train wreck, well . . . at least she could say who was responsible.

Her eyes burned from all her studying on the tablet. She’d already passed the regular driver’s test, but the motorcycle test remained.

“Feeling confident?” Jacob asked from where he sat next to her, reading a newspaper. The DMV was packed. They’d been waiting for almost two hours now to be called so that Francesca could take her test.

“For the written part, anyway,” she said. “Maybe we should have practiced for more than one day on Ian’s motorcycle?”

“You’ll do fine,” Jacob assured. “You’re actually more of a natural on a motorcycle than you are behind the wheel of a car, and you passed that test with flying colors.”

She gave him a wry glance. “I barely passed the driver’s portion. The first thing I did when I pulled onto the road was cut off another driver.”

“But that was the only mistake,” Jacob reminded her. Sweet man.

Someone called her name.

“Wish me luck,” she said anxiously to Jacob as she stood.

“Luck isn’t necessary. You can do this,” he said with far more confidence than was warranted, in her opinion.

She took the driving portion of the motorcycle test on Ian’s motorcycle: a sleek, badass European bike. Jacob had told her over the past few days that Ian had a long-term love of motorcycles.

“I think he told me he used to fix motorcycles when he was a kid. He’s got a scary natural talent for it. Guess it all goes with that math, computer brain he’s got. All I know is, he can fix a car in twice the time I can, and I’m nearly twice his age,” Jacob had told her a few days ago, a hint of pride in his tone.

She also learned from Jacob that Ian was part owner in an increasingly popular, innovative French company that made superexpensive high-tech bikes and scooters.

The only reason she’d agreed to Jacob’s motorcycle training is that she suspected Ian recalled what she’d said about those motor scooters in Paris. And in truth, one of those scooters fit with her limited budget, her transportation and parking needs in a busy city, not to mention her burgeoning sense of independence and desire to better run her life. Her plan was to buy an inexpensive scooter after she got her license, and screw it if she’d taken advantage of what Ian offered after he’d abandoned her.

She’d accept the hundred thousand dollars she’d earned on the commission. She’d take everything he’d offered and walk away from him, just as he’d walked away from her.

That’s what she told herself, anyway. It comforted her to imagine she was as callous about Ian as he’d been about her.

Bloody bastard. Up and leaving town after she’d bared herself to him . . . after he’d seemingly done so to her.

“Well?” Jacob asked, standing when she approached him in the waiting room after taking her motorcycle test, her expression somber. He studied her face anxiously, his eyes springing wide. “Don’t worry. We’ll take it again as soon as you’ve practiced more.”