Page 5 of Marked By Blaze

Ingrid closes her kit and slowly drags it off the table, but I know from carrying it earlier that it’s heavy, and before I know what I am doing, I find myself stepping away from the wall and walking over to help her. As I reach out, our fingers brush and a jolt of energy shoots through my veins. My breath hitchesslightly as I feel a rush of warmth, and my heart nearly threatens to give out.

It’s just a simple touch.

Her eyes widen a fraction, and there’s that blush again. I’m acutely aware of the softness of her skin, the way her fingers linger against mine for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“I’ll help,” I tell her, and she quickly pulls her hands away. I can still feel the lingering warmth of her touch on my fingers as I lift the case off the table. I place it carefully on the floor to not damage her tools, then curse under my breath when I realize what’s happening to me.

Ingrid has turned me into a simpering fool.

Since when do I care so much about a touch? What am I, fourteen? Jesus Christ! I’m a grown-ass man, and not once in my thirty-two years have I reacted obsessively over a simple graze of fingers.

“Thanks,” she says, combing her fingers through her hair. “I should go now.”

“Oh right. Sorry,” Jade says pulling away from Saint’s embrace and walking back to Ingrid. “Today was so fun, and I’ll be sure to leave a glowing review on the website. Thank you so much, Ingrid.”

“Um, sure,” Ingrid responds, clearly uncomfortable now that all attention is on her.

“I’ll send you a couple of the pictures when I get them. There are so many activities before the wedding, and I’ll want your help again, but we can chat about that later.” Jade then turns to me, those green eyes freezing me in place. “Blaze will give you a ride home.”

“No, please, there’s no need for that,” Ingrid protests. “Besides, I need to stop at the salon first and drop off my kit. I don’t want to inconvenience anyone. I’ll just call an Uber and—”

“I’ll drop you off,” I say, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and cutting off her protest. I start for the door before she can say anything else, leaving her no choice but to follow behind.

“Y-you really don’t have to do this,” she argues as she struggles to keep up with my long strides. “I’m fine. I’m sure you have a lot to do. I’ll just call a ride—”

I stop in my tracks, which makes her crash into my back. She gasps, bracing her hand on my back, and her touch once more sends a fiery heat licking up my body. “I’ll give you a ride to your workplace and then drop you off home safely.”

“But you don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

My words seem to stun her into silence, and I take that as a win. She doesn’t speak for the entirety of the trip to underground parking garage. I swipe my key fob to access the members’ only elevator on the ground floor, then guide Ingrid inside. The trip to the garage is quick, and we exit the elevator into the cold, dim lot. I glance at my 2018 Harley Davidson Softail Fat Boy, and I am immediately filled with images of driving along Lakeshore Drive with Ingrid’s arms wrapped around my waist, but there is no fucking way we’re taking that today. Not with her kit. So, I turn to the pickup truck we use for errands and walk to that instead—mourning the fact that I won’t get to feel her pressed against me today.

I secure her suitcase in the back before moving to open the passenger door for her. Ingrid stands awkwardly for a moment, biting her lips, and it takes everything in me to not lean in andgive her something else to nibble on. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I don’t,” I say, opening the passenger door for her, and this time, she climbs in without protest. I round the hood and climb in as well, fighting the urge to turn around and look at her. Ingrid rattles off her job’s address before settling back to let me drive.

The drive is spent in tense silence. I’m not much of a talker, and from what I’ve learned so far of Ingrid, she’s not one to lead a conversation either, and when we arrive at her work building much sooner than I was fucking expecting, I realize that I’ve wasted precious time I could have used to learn more about her.

“You don’t have to wait,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt and pushing open the door. “I might be in there a while.”

“I’ll wait,” I tell her, climbing out as well to help with her kit. She doesn’t argue this time as she nods and drags it toward the entrance. I climb back into the truck to watch her, getting a perfect view of the mold of her ass in those tight jeans.

I want her. I realize, not for the first time. Pretending I didn’t want to bend her over the desk back in Saint’s office and rut her like a beast is one of the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I want this girl.

My head falls back as I watch her through lust-hazy eyes, feeling the heavy pulse of my cock in my jeans. I palm my hard dick, eyes locked on the girl as her fingers grasp the door handle, imagining those fingers wrapped around my cock.

She enters the building without a look back at me, which I suppose is probably a good thing, though I’m dying to have her beautiful, mismatched eyes on me always.

Contrary to what she said when we arrived, Ingrid is only inside for a few minutes, and I wonder if she hurried because I was waiting. I hope not; I’d wait a hundred years for her. She climbs back into the cab before I have a chance to open the door for her and quickly buckles her seatbelt.

“Ready?” I ask, entranced by the way the fading sunlight coming through the windshield makes her hair shine and eyes glow.

“Yes, if you’re sure I’m not putting you out. I appreciate the ride,” she says shyly. In response, I pass her my phone to type her home address into the GPS app. She does so, and I ease back out into the late evening Chicago traffic.

The ride to her apartment building is quiet, and as much as I want to talk to her, I have to focus on navigating the city streets. She doesn’t live far from work, and I’m pleased to see that while her building is a bit rundown and not in the best neighborhood, she is still in Steel Order territory.

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