I exhaled. It was only the desk clerk. “Yes?”
“There’s a-" Ahem. "A gentleman who says he’s here to see you.”
Oh shit, I thought. “Who is it, Roberto? I’m not expecting any company.”
“He’s uh-” Roberto cleared his throat. “He says his name, is—Blaze, ma’am. He’s a rather large biker.” He spoke the last word softly, barely above a whisper, as if he were trying to conceal it. This was not the type of place where they saw a lot of bikers, I imagined.
Blaze. Not Billy. Blaze. My heart beat wildly, but not out of fear. “It’s okay, Roberto, you can send him over.”
“Yes. As you wish.”
I hung up the phone. “Shit.”
I’d been impulsive before, with the invitation. Stupid. I wasn’t actually prepared for him to show up here. A robe, I needed a robe. I barely had time to throw it on, pulling it up around me as I glanced in the mirror. My neck. Crap. The welts were dark, angry looking. I hadn’t thought this through.
I grabbed the scarf, starting to pull it around my throat, then stopped. I’d look like an idiot, in a bathrobe and scarf. He’d think I had some weird fetish. And my wrists were just as torn up. He was going to see them.
But not if we do it in the dark, I thought. The robe covered my wrists, and I pulled it up around my neck. You couldn’t really see the bruising if I just didn’t let it fall away from my neck, and if I dimmed the lights, maybe he really wouldn't be able to see it. I raced around the room, kicking the clothes toward the wall.
The knock startled me, even though I knew he was coming. Breathe, Dani. Breathe. I steadied myself before pulling the door open.
“Hey,” Blaze said. He leaned against the side of the door, crooked grin on his face, looking at me with those blue eyes. “So is that offer to join you still open?”
“I thought you had to get back,” I said, grinning despite myself.
“It can wait,” he said.
“Then the offer is still open.” I let the door swing back, and he walked inside. I clutched the robe around me, pulling it toward my neck. It was silly. I’d just screwed him on the side of the road, but I felt suddenly nervous.
Blaze stopped, looking around. “Nice place,” he said, letting out a low whistle.
Great. Now he really did think I was some spoiled rich girl. So what? What did I care what he thought? This was a one night stand with a biker, something to get rid of the bad taste Billy had left in my mouth. Like wiping a hard drive on a computer.
Blaze turned, sliding his cut off and laying it over the chair, then peeling off his shirt. I swallowed. Yeah, he was as hot as I’d imagined. Better, even. Hard chest muscles, washboard abs. Tattoos snaked up his arms, a piece over his bicep and shoulder, and an assortment of tattoos on his chest.
He bent over, sliding off his boots, and I saw the motorcycle club’s emblem-is that what they called it? I couldn’t remember-covering his entire back, one massive tattoo. I stood there, like my feet were frozen in place, watching him. Mesmerized by him. He was beautiful, in this weird way, like he had been weathered by life or something. You could definitely see it in his face, the years of riding in the California sun.
I watched as Blaze slipped out of his jeans and crossed the room toward me. He nodded in the direction of the tub. “Your water’s going to get cold.” He was close to me, his head near my ear, and I could feel my lips swollen from his earlier kisses. I wanted him.
“I don’t care,” I said.
Before I could stop him, he reached under my hair, his hand at the base of my neck, lips covering mine. I flinched at his touch there, my heart racing, and he stopped, squinting as he peeled the edge of my robe away from my neck.
“Don’t-” I grabbed the fabric and tried to step away from him, but he wouldn’t let go, covering my hand in his.
“What the hell is-?” He gripped my waist with his other hand, staring at my neck, until I wrenched my hand from his grasp “It’s nothing.” I was angry at him for looking, angry at the violation.
“It’s not nothing. You look like you’ve been mauled. The scarf - oh…” His voice trailed off, and I clutched the fabric of the robe against me, holding it up around my neck.
Blaze brought his hand to mine, covering my fingers, pulling the side of the robe down from my neck, and I felt my eyes well with tears as he looked at me, with-what? Pity?
“Who did this to you?” Then he looked under his fingers at my wrist, the angry red welts from the rope bright on my pale skin. His eyes flashed, angry, and it scared me, not because he was upset with me, but because of the intensity that burned in them.
“Nobody. It’s nothing.” He needed to stop prying.