Page 78 of Hate Mates

“Tuck those in the saddlebags,” I order as I strip a similar outfit from the rack.

Blaze is already unrecognizable in sweats and a ballcap, so I shove him toward the door. “Go. Hurry!”

He leaves, and I change before pilfering for makeup.

Fully dressed, I stride out of the dressing room, head high, hips swaying. I blend right in with the few other early morning stragglers as I make my way to the bar.

The bartender glances at me as I slide onto a stool. The remnant fumes of stale beer and cigarettes cloys in the air, andthe floor is sticky beneath my heels. I drum my nails on the scarred wood, feigning impatience. My heart is still racing from our near miss. Every nerve is exposed.

The bartender slides a shot of whiskey down the bar, and it stops right in front of me. I raise an eyebrow at him.

“From the gentleman,” he says, jerking his chin toward the end of the bar.

I follow his gaze and my stomach drops. Not Blaze.

The man is big, burly, with a thick beard and cold eyes. He raises his own shot glass in a salute before downing it.

I push the shot away. “No thanks.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, sweetheart,” a gruff voice says from beside me.

The man is now crowding my space, his breath reeking of booze and cigarettes. He leers at my body, lingering on my breasts beneath the sequined top.

“Didn’t think they let sweet things like you off the stage.” He reaches out to trail a finger down my arm.

I jerk away, revulsion crawling up my spine.

He laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “Feisty. I like that.”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I grit out.

The lust in his eyes morphs into something darker. His hand clamps around my wrist in a punishing grip. “I’ll touch what I want, you little?—”

A blur of motion, and suddenly Blaze is there, his fist connecting with the man’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man goes sprawling, crashing into a table.

Blaze stands over the man, his chest heaving, his eyes flaring. His knuckles are split, blood dripping onto the already sticky floor.

“Keep your fucking hands off her,” he snarls, his voice deadly calm.

The man staggers to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth. Then he charges with a roar.

Blaze is ready. He sidesteps, bringing his knee into the man’s gut. The man doubles over, wheezing, and Blaze brings his elbow down on the back of his neck. The man crumples and doesn’t get up.

The bartender is shouting, reaching for a phone. Bouncers are pushing through the gathering crowd, trying to get to us.

“Time to go, princess.” Blaze grabs my hand and pulls me toward the back door.

Chapter Five

We burst out of the strip club, the cool mountain air a shock to my overheated skin. Blaze’s hand is warm and firm around mine as he drags me toward his bike.

The roar of the engine shatters the quiet, and I swing my leg over, molding myself to his back without hesitation. In seconds, we exit the parking lot, Blaze’s back tire squealing on the pavement.

The wind whips my wig, the long blond strands tangling behind me. Blaze leans into the turns, taking the winding mountain roads at stupid speeds. Energy surges through my veins. From the fight, from our almost-tryst in the dressing room, from Blaze’s hard body between my thighs.

I press my cheek to his back. His scent surrounds me, leather and musk. It’s intoxicating. I tighten my arms around his waist, my fingers splaying over his taut abs.

When we arrive back at the Westend Motel, Blaze kills the engine. I climb off, my legs wobbly again. He stands, running a hand through his windblown hair. A twitch of his jaw muscle says he’s still wired from the fight.

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