Blaze of Fury by Storm Savage Page B

Instead he started the
engine and kicked the bike into gear. They rumbled along a dirt
path until reaching the highway, then he opened the throttle and
the bike took off like a shot down the dark stretch of road. She
grabbed his waist and held tight. This was the first time she’d
ridden a motorcycle, so the sudden shift from a cozy rumble to a
full out growl left her stomach back on the highway somewhere.
    His skin felt good to touch, firm and sleek
like fine leather stretched over a hard machine. He was a hard-body
without a doubt, and she didn’t mind at all that his hair blew in
her face as they flew down the road. He smelled amazing—a heady
blend of fresh wood and leather with a hint of spice. Can this
man get any more appealing? She gasped at the thought of what
those tattered jeans concealed. Mercy! Her imagination began
running amok while snuggled against his bare back. Stop it! She silently chided herself. He’s just a man.
    About fifteen minutes later, he guided the
bike onto a back road at a slower pace. She relaxed her grip at his
waist just a bit and peeked around his shoulder to see they were
heading into a denser cluster of woods. By now she had no idea of
her location and realized that her fate was in the hands of this
daunting male.
    He pulled into a campsite and parked. A
tent? He lives in a tent? Where was he raised? In the
boondocks? Fear threatened to engulf her but she choked it
back. Here I am in the middle of nowhere with a man reputed to
show no mercy, who not only looks like a savage but obviously lives
like one too. She slid off the passenger seat, rubbed her
mildly sore inner thighs and swore they were still vibrating. For
the first time she took a good look at his bike and found it quite
impressive. Gleaming black metal and plenty of chrome, accessorized
with leather saddlebags and black leather fringe dangling from the
handles.
    Night had fallen. Beams of light from a full
moon danced off his shiny black hair. He appeared as magnificent
and powerful as the motorcycle he rode.
    “I like your bike,” she said in attempt to
ease the tension.
    “First time, huh?” His eyes stared into her
in a most disconcerting manner.
    She nodded. “How could you tell?”
    He swept one large hand over his six-pack
abs. “I think you left a fingernail or two in my gut.”
    “Sorry,” she said in soft response, though
she was not sorry at all.
    A mischievous glimmer shone in his eyes but
he refrained from speaking on it. “We’ll spend the night here while
I explain to you how I work. Are you hungry?”
    “A little,” she replied with a light
shrug.
    She followed him to the fire pit and watched
as he grabbed two chairs with one hand and wrapped long slender
incredibly masculine fingers around both at the same time. He
plopped them down, unfolded each one then motioned for her to sit.
After handing her a can of soda, he proceeded to build a fire. His
huge biceps flexed in the moonlight—all his muscles moved like
poetry as he worked on preparing a meal.
    They ate in silence. His skills at camping
impressed her. The fish he’d cooked over the flames was tender and
delicious. She devoured it with ease then ate the roasted potato.
Once finished, he tossed their paper plates into the fire then
chugged bottled water.
    “I’d think a man like you would be drinking
beer,” she said, then immediately wished she hadn’t. She watched
his face for any indication that she’d insulted him.
    “Alcohol is for the weak.” He shot her a
fiery glance.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Do you drink?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    His question took her off guard. She fumbled
for an answer. “I-I don’t know. Never saw the need I guess.”
    “Good.” He wiped his mouth with the back of
one hand. “A lot of women in your position might be inclined that
way.”
    “I was tempted but didn’t want to give them
reason to think they were right.”
    He gave an approving nod. “You have inner
strength. You’ll need