Page 99 of Tracking Luxe

As a rule, Luxe wasn’t the jealous type. She’d never really cared strong enough for a boyfriend to wonder if he was cheating, it was usually her who called it quits because she’d mentally checked out weeks previous, so then, to feel the bolt of it flooding her entire body until all she felt was the urge to grab the blonde from the seat to stop her infecting the air around Nathan came as a surprise.

Oh, so that’s what it feels like. A bit like murdery fireworks.

The sensation was odd, the strength of it nearly made her vomit.

Hurt rose, and dampened the strange fog around her.

She saw the moment he clapped eyes on her. Those gray babies didn’t widen, didn’t flick with surprise or guilt, he was free to have any old blonde slut touching his leg, brushing against his arm.

God, this skank was touching him!

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Remember they do strip searches in jail. Not forgetting being some woman’s cell bitch.

Nathan didn’t say a word, almost like he was baiting her into saying something first, well, screw you,chico, she ought to turn around and leave him to his obvious date.

Don’t hit her.

Don’t hit him.

Why wasn’t he pining into his beer? That jerk.

“You,” her finger pointed to gain the woman’s attention. She was awfully slow in turning her head and as she did, she sorta laid it on Nathan’s shoulder. He didn’t tell her to move.

A sickening panic battled alongside the pleasure of his warm stare, warm and amused. Was he on a date? She closed her expression, her breathing changed. “Get the hell out of there right now and trot along to some other warm body.”

Well tough shit if she was ruining his date.

“Who are you?” his not-date asked.

“Me? Sweetie, I’m just his long-sufferingwifeat home with his six kids while he’s here getting pawed by a chippy who should respect the sisterhood and not fuck around with married men, now get the fuck out so I can kill my cheating hubby-baby, I won’t tell you again. And by-the-way, he has genital herpes, you’re fucking welcome.” She wouldn’t allow his amused grin to charm her. Not yet.

The woman was gone in a second, lost in the crowd, probably lapping up some other biker.

Luxe took a seat, sipping on her bitter lemon martini.

“Good to see you, too, wife of mine. You can call me hubby-baby if you want. Mind telling me where you parked the kids? Don’t say with gramps, he feeds them cookies for dinner.”

“Sorry to interrupt your date----”

“You’re not sorry.”

“---- I’m not sorry.” She laughed hollowly.

“And it wasn’t a date.”

They spoke over each other.

“It wasn’t?” she hated the uncertainty in her voice. Steeling her gaze, she scowled and sipped again, letting the acid of the lemon dictate how she felt. It was unreasonable and unwarranted, Nathan wasn’t hers, he could date every woman in this bar.

Maybe not the bartender.

“Nope. Don’t even know who she was, she said she knew someone who hangs around my club. Why you sitting all the way over there? Come tell me hello.”

Staying where she was, it was Nathan who moved, who slid across the seat until he was flush against her body. Shivers ran down her arm and between her legs, some of her anger dissipating into thin air.

“How’ve you been, love?”

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