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But it’s not the look of pure rage or the stream of profanity spewing from his mouth that stops me in my tracks. Nope. That would be the hit of straight up lust that comes out of nowhere as I take in this insanely hot male specimen.
Too-long jet black hair that falls over his forehead into eyes that are nearly as dark. A sharp, angled jaw, so defined that it isn’t obscured by the scruff covering it. And lips that were made to sin. The filthy words coming out of them as he kicks the tire of a motorcycle only make it that much sexier.
I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat as I drag my eyes down his body. I’m not the least bit surprised that his black shirt and dark jeans cling to him, highlighting the fact that his bulk is made up of pure muscle.
Sexy as fuck biker man spins around again, then stops, his eyes locking on mine. And oh my god. Is it crazy to say that my knees feel weak? Because the heat in his stare is enough to make me swoon. Especially when that mouth curves up in a knowing smirk.
I jolt out of my lust-filled stupor, trying to jump start my brain. There is no way this guy doesn’t know I’m totally checking him out. And why wouldn’t I? He’s everything my inner wannabe biker chick fantasizes about.
So I do exactly what I always do. I take off.
Ripping my gaze from his, I fly down the stairs as fast as my four-inch boot heels will carry me, knowing that he’ll be the one I think about tonight when I’m alone in my bed.
You know, when I’m wishing I had the nerve to be like Adrienne and do something wild and crazy for a change.
Blaze
I don’t stop to think about it. I don’t even care if it’s a bad idea. All I know is that chick was hot as fuck and she just took off down the stairs into the metro station.
I grind my teeth as I look at my bike, broken down yet again on the side of the road. Then I throw it into neutral and push it over to the stairs, straddle it, and let gravity do its thing as I tip the front wheel over the first step.
Shocked gasps and curses hit my ears as I maneuver through the handicap access gate and toward the train platform, my eyes scanning for that bright red hair. A smirk crosses my mouth as I see her, and I coast straight into the car of the train she’s in and park my bike. I stay sitting on it, leaning forward on the handlebars as she turns toward me, green eyes wide.
“What the hell?”
I laugh. She almost looks indignant. Like my bike on the train is offensive. Shrugging, I let my eyes roam her body. Black boots, black skirt, faded t-shirt that hugs her like a second skin. Hot.
The flush that travels up her pale neck makes me want to rake my teeth across that perfect skin and leave marks. And when I see the edge of some intricate ink peeking out of the low neckline of that shirt, all I want to do is rip it off her and see what else is hiding under there.
“You can’t have that thing on here,” she bites out, her eyes a mix of irritation and intrigue. And possibly a bit of lust—or maybe that’s me.
“That thing,” I throw back, “is my true love.” I caress the body of my bike. I don’t expect her to get it. Most chicks don’t. “Ain’t no way I’m leaving her out on the street all night.”
She bites her lip, and fuck! All I want to do is drag her onto my lap and take those lips between my own teeth, biting down until she’s writhing in my arms.
“I guess I don’t blame you. She’s gorgeous.” Little Miss Sex on a Stick takes a step toward me and shocks the hell out of me when she runs her hands over the tank of my baby.
“You know bikes?”
Her eyes flick up to mine briefly, then down to my leather jacket, where the emblem of my club is inscribed, along with my name. “Maybe…Blaze?”
I nod, now intrigued myself. From the way she’s now checking out my bike more than me, it’s obvious she’s a biker chick. Or maybe was once.
“Wanna take a ride?”
Now those green eyes are back on mine, confused.
“Isn’t it broken down?”
I watch her intently until she starts to shift, uncomfortable by my scrutiny. And that flush is back.
I can’t resist. I reach out and trail a finger down that smooth throat, my fingertips brushing the edge of her tattoo. Her breath comes a little faster, and I smile.
“What makes you think I’m talking about the bike?”
Her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip as her eyes glance around the nearly empty car. Just then, the train whips around a corner and she loses her balance, her arms flying out to grasp my bike to keep from falling.
Without a second thought, my hands wrap around her hips and haul her toward me, spinning her around until she’s seated sideways in front of me on my bike.
