Page 8 of Marked By Blaze

His dark hair falls perfectly, tousled to frame his face in a way that makes my breath catch in my throat. But it’s his eyes, those striking olive green eyes watching me intensely that draw me in. I feel a rush of warmth spread through me; a deep pulsing need I’ve been doing my best to ignore grows between my legs.

“Ingrid,” he says, stepping forward, and I can feel my cheeks heat as he closes the distance between us. He stops a few steps way, running his eyes over me and taking in the short yellow sundress I painstakingly chose after trying on six other dresses before settling on this one. The dress barely touches the spot above my knees, exposing a little more than I normally would be comfortable with. His gaze lingers on the low-cut neckline and the necklace that dips between my breasts. “You look gorgeous.”

I fight back a smile. “Thank you,” I say shyly, keeping my eyes downcast and my head at an angle. Suddenly I feel foolish. Why did I take such care and time choosing a flattering outfit when Blaze’s eyes on me are the last thing I should want. Hedoesn’t want to look at me; someone like Blaze would never want someone like me. Not long term anyway.

I’m too…flawed.

God, I need to snap out of whatever insanity I’ve allowed myself to slip into.

Blaze must read something on my expression because his eyes narrow on mine before closing the distance between us until there’s only a hair’s breadth between us. “What’s happening in that pretty head of yours?” he asks, tracing a rough finger over my cheek before murmuring, “How do I erase whatever you’re thinking right now, angel?”

“Huh?” I blink at the man. I must not have heard him correctly. Did he just call me angel, or is it wishful thinking on my part? It must be.

Blaze looks like he’s about to say something before shaking his head and stepping back. I mourn the loss of his touch when his hand drops. “You forgot to grab a jacket.”

I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts and keep up with this man. “It’s not cold.”

“You’ll need one on the bike.”

My eyes shift from his to the monster of a motorcycle behind him. “Uh, right. I thought we’d be taking the truck,” I say, before shifting my eyes back to his. “I’ll go back up and grab a jacket. I won’t be long.”

Before I can leave, Blaze grabs my wrist and stops me. “No need for that,” he says shrugging off his own jacket. There are club patches on the sleeves and a larger one on the back. I shake my head when he offers it.

“If I take it, then you’ll be cold.”

His mouth stretches into a smirk as he drapes it over my shoulders. I slide my hands into the heavy jacket and sigh at its the warm comfort. “It looks better on you,” he comments, but doesn’t wait for my reaction as he fits a helmet over my head. “Have you been on a bike before?” he asks as he fastens the chin strap.

I nod, and his eyes fire up when he pushes back to look at me. “Who?” he practically growls, his voice laced with something dark. Something, dare I say, possessive. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.

“My father,” I say slowly. “He owned this old motorcycle he’d inherited from my grandfather. My mom called it Death on Wheels, but my dad didn’t care. Said it was the only thing he had left from his dad.”

Blaze’s eyes soften, and the darkness in them fades. It should scare me. That brief flash of danger should terrify me, not send my heart racing with excitement. “Does he still have it?” he asks climbing onto the bike.

I grab his shoulder as I attempt to climb on after him. “I think so,” I say, racking my head for what my father called it. A part of me wants to impress him with my limited knowledge of bikes. “A Honda CB7.”

“Honda CB750?” He whistles. “Maybe your father will let me check it out sometime.”

I pause, sucking in a sharp breath.

Is he hitting on me? Surely that’s not the case. The man is just a bike enthusiast, and yet, I can’t quite silence that little voice at the back of my mind telling me that this man is hitting on me. I smile, wrapping my arms around his firm waist before he sets off. His muscles are taut under my fingers when I tighten my grip around him, closing my eyes as he shoots down the road.

The ride lasts forever and at the same time ends too soon. I can’t deny the feelings dominating me as he pulls up outside a charming little café. I climb off the bike, and Blaze follows suit, helping me out of my helmet before guiding me into the café. I immediately spot Jade seated in a corner, reading through a menu, and when she looks up and spots me, her face brightens.

For a long moment, I stand there, surprised that someone would be this excited to see me. I was always the butt of the joke whenever I attempted to make friends in school, so I stopped trying. I’ve spent my entire life trying to be invisible, and when people did notice me, I was greeted with surprise or disgust, or even worse, pity. There is none of that here as Jade stands and walks up to me, wrapping her arms around me in an embrace.

“I’m so glad you could make it. I was bored out of my mind, and now my Sunday is about to get so much better,” she says, hooking her arm around mine and guiding me to her table.

“Your fiancé?”

“Out of town, but he’ll be back tonight. The club hosts a cookout on the roof terrace the last Sunday of every month, and there is no way the club’s president would miss that,” she says as she settles back down. Her eyes light up when a thought occurs to her. “Oh my God, you should totally come!”

I shake my head. Meeting up with Jade is one thing, but going to a party with a whole club of bikers is a whole different story. “I’m sure they wouldn’t like outsiders at their private event.”

“But you are not an outsider,” she comments. “You are my friend, and well…Blaze will be there.”

I flush, forcing my eyes not to seek out the man in question. “What about Blaze?” I ask, fingering the tablecloth. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“Really? You are going to pretend you weren’t checking him out that day at the clubhouse?”

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