Blazed(12)

"Better now," I breathed, falling victim to my raging libido, "I don't remember falling, I'm very sorry."

"You were mugged?" He glanced up at Blaze for his answer but turned his eyes back to me expectantly. "You and your boyfriend?"

I blurted out, "he's not my boyfriend," and bit down hard on my lip. The insatiable harpy in me wouldn't be happy unless that man was crawling out of my bed in the early hours of the morning.

"Uh, yeah." The snarl in Blaze's tone surprised me enough to look up at him and raise an eyebrow. What the hell was his problem? "I was trying to talk this beautiful lady into accepting my business card so she can look me up next time she's in the city, but a guy jumped out of nowhere and snatched her handbag and my wallet. I tried to chase him down but the f*cker was fast."

"Quite." The stranger spoke with enough apathy for it to be obvious that he was ignoring Blaze. I could feel his gaze raking me, mentally undressing me. "You're not from London?"

I opened my mouth but Blaze answered for me. "Cardiff." Hiding my irritation, I nodded and fiddled impatiently with my own fingers. Being spoken for like a child was more annoying than being cock-blocked.

"How will you get back?" The man's eyes glinted when I shrugged and his hand delved into the pocket of his crisp blazer. "Here," he passed me a money clip engraved with a lavish 'R' holding an indiscernible amount of money wrapped up in a business card.

"You just happen to carry this around?"

"No, I just woke up feeling lucky, actually. With good reason apparently. You call me. I'll come running to that Cardiff of yours for my money clip."

I was as aware of the man smiling as he walked away as I was of Blaze seething next to me, practically vibrating with cataclysmic ire next to me. Waving the money clip in his face, I elbowed him in the ribs, still watching my new 'friend' slink down the street with almost feline grace.

"What's your problem? You get your free lunch— I did what you asked."

"What?" I glanced up at him and rolled my eyes at his denial. "What the hell was that, Emmeline?"

"I believe that was a pick up line. And it's going to work on me. See?" My fingertip tapped the business card. "You get free food and he gets laid tonight. My good deeds for today and tomorrow are covered."

"I meant you." Blaze pulled my hair free of the elastic tie and tried to restore some order to the straggled locks with his fingers. "One minute you're running like the Grim Reaper is on your heels, collapsing into a heap into some New York stiff, then you turn into Miss Sex Appeal."

"What?"

He glanced down at me in disbelief and shook his head wistfully. "You don't even realise, do you? Your posture completely changes— you straighten out and swagger, and your voice goes all husky. That guy didn't stand a chance against you."

Me, swagger? That was hard to believe. I'd never really questioned how I'd managed to coerce so many men into bed before, presuming it was more to do with a bad reputation of being a sure thing than genuine attraction. Miss Sex Appeal? No, that wasn't me. If that was me, I'd have Hunter.

"So where do you want to eat?" I grunted downwards and shoved the money clip into Blaze's pocket. The rush of snagging the hunk in the suit had quickly faded and left me back where I was before— in the middle of a crowded street and centre of unwanted attention. "A snap decision, please. People are staring."

"Well, you are bleeding. Again." My fingers reached up to the warm throb I'd forgotten about until he mentioned it and came away coated in crimson. "I'm beginning to think I might be something of a danger to you."

He had no idea how true that was.





AS I'D CHOSEN not to get into a deep discussion about my food preferences or lack thereof, the location of our lunch ended up being identified as a quaint pizzeria that boasted a broad selection of Italian delicacies prepared specifically for groups and parties. While I gazed lustfully over the oil and dressing free salad options, Blaze took command of our order, insisting that he was well versed in the virtues and fortes of that particular menu. Whatever, I thought, he's going to be eating alone anyway. Despite his threat that I might, I was no more hungry than I had been when he'd interrupted me at work. Even if I had been, my messy friend was lingering in the background ready to rebuke me or stand at my shoulder barking insults and criticisms if I indulged Blaze's feeder tendency.

The staff had swarmed around me when we walked in, Blaze being the notorious jack-of-all-trades demigod he was and me being scruffy and blood streaked. It was hard to tell if they thought he'd dragged me in off the street after saving me from a mugging, which he supposedly had, if they were trying to win his favour, or if they were just being conscientious human beings. Either way, their fussing rendered me immobile and sparked some uncomfortable memories of being in a similar situation before. So much noise. So many people forcing me to be someone and something I didn't want to be, namely alive.

Almost as though he sensed my unease, Blaze dismissed the huddled crowd around them and took over the duty of tending to the small but deep cut on my forehead. His touch was gentle and tender, like he'd cared for someone else the same way like this before. I leaned into him, feeling weak and helpless, fending off the small part of me that wanted to cry. In a move I think shocked us both, he dropped the cloth spotted with crimson and cradled my head against his chest, nuzzling my hair.

"Your blood smells like whiskey," he muttered quietly, trying to inject some humour into a dire situation. I felt guilty that he was starting to get a look at the Emmeline roller-coaster in all it's depressive finery, but it wasn't like I'd forced it. He had, for want of a better word, harassed me, and I'd caved every time.

"I should definitely call a doctor then," I joked, pulling back from him. His tendency to make me reciprocate his smiles worked in full force, but there was something hollow about his this time. He looked almost lost. I could relate. "My poisons of choice are all clear spirits."

"Ah." Blaze shuffled back into a seat, leaning over to drape a napkin over my lap as our meal arrived.

It was like looking at a murder scene in food form. An enormous pizza sat in the centre of the table in a metal pan, surrounded by several plates of brightly coloured and gloriously spiced side dishes. Not a lettuce leaf in sight. My fingers locked around the glass placed down next to me and my brain struggled to contemplate the foodageddon in front of me. Ten years ago, I might have cleared that table alone. Now, I didn't know that my stomach didn't just cooperate with the old adage 'eyes bigger than your belly'. I hope you're hungry, Blaze. My fat friend smacked her lips while my insides roiled at the collaborative aroma.

"So, you're a speedy little thing. How did you get so fast?"

I blinked up at Blaze as he served a slice of the pizza onto my plate, glad of the distraction. "I used to spend a lot of time at the gym, mostly on the treadmills."

"Used to?"

"I was effectively banned five years ago after collapsing."

He paused mid-movement before proceeding to spoon some sort of pesto concoction onto my plate. "Do that a lot, do you? I'm not sure that I would have caught up with you if you hadn't hit the deck in front of that guy all of a sudden. You're lucky that you don't have more grazes."

"I fainted?" Oh dear. "I had no idea." I could just hear my mother's words echoing around in my mind. 'Please Emmeline, no more of this. I can't bear to see you this way.'

"You wouldn't. You were unconscious." Blaze stuck his tongue out and tucked into his own well stacked plate. "Why did you get banned from the gym? Did you screw a personal trainer or something?"

"Not when I was seventeen, Blaze. What do you take me for?"

"You're only twenty-two?" He stared at me, surprised. "Well that explains the baby face but you seem much older. More mature." He frowned. "Too mature."

I considered probing into yet another asinine assessment of my personality, but decided against it when he shoved the first fork full of food into his mouth. That seemed to be a good indication that the conversation was over for now, but would probably crop up again somewhere down the road. Regardless, the reprieve was welcome, unlike the food, which I picked at unenthusiastically. It almost certainly tasted divine, but that was something I preferred not to find out.

Blaze, however, had no qualms about eating to excess. He ate like a man starved though he clearly wasn't, evident from the tightly packed muscles I'd felt on the few occasions I'd been close enough. There would be none of that if he didn't eat well and work for it, though I imagined him being the type who was lucky enough to be blessed with a hot body regardless of his holistic decisions. I still wanted to see that body, almost as much as I wanted to see Mr Money Clip out of his suit.