Page 44 of Dirty Salvation

Until she wasn’t.

She smelled his approach long before his boots appeared in her peripheral. There was something so clean and masculine about Rider, as though he bathed inEau-de-bad-ass biker.

A scent so uniquely his she had often dreamed she could smell him.

So attractive it sent her senses into a riot, it was impossible not to soak the man in, he was a magnet for her eyes and any woman’s in his radius.

There he stood, a wicked smile on his mouth, long muscular arms hanging casually at his sides, boots braced, the outlaw was gorgeous.

The fluorescent bulbs up above gave a glossy effect to his arm tattoo, wishing she could look closer at it, she did the complete opposite and basically, Zara ignored his very presence pretending he wasn’t stood there watching.

Never stopping her incline on the treadmill, though her body was begging her to stop,for the love of god, please stop.

If he had something to say --- and he obviously did, why else would he track her down in his gym when she was doing a good job of staying out of everyone's way --- then he could just get on with it while she got her km in.

It didn't take him long. In his rich whiskey, deep timber, he asked.

"What you runnin' from, baby?"

Thebabystartled her.

Without looking at him she replied. Zara hated looking at him for longer than a second because the sight of him did something syrupy to her core and she refused to go there ever again.

"If you haven't noticed, this is a treadmill, it's stationary. I’d be surprised if it took me anywhere.”

Since his stare was disturbing, she hit the speed button to crank down a few sets, her feet slowing to a steadier pace, less chance falling flat on her face from a biker distraction.

Thank you. Thank you, her aching legs screamed.

Because, dammit, Rider was accurate in his observation, she was attempting to outrun herself.Mister know-it-all.

She huffed and carried on, snubbing the tall beautiful man quite unashamed watching her. She could effectively feel the rake of his eyes touching all over her body.

Only now was she conscious of her lacking appearance taking stock of the sweat making strands of hair cling to her neck, not to mention the see-through shirt show she was putting on.

Oh, great. That was the flustered nail in the running coffin.

She slowed the machine until it rolled to a complete stop, heaving breath, she stood with her legs braced on either side.

"You wanna talk about it yet?" His voice steady, she heard rather than saw him move closer.

"What's to talk about? Unless I've done something wrong?" A visit from the president... what MC rule had she violated? None as far as she could recollect.

What happened in an MC stayed in an MC, well that edict was fine and unbroken since she hadn't spoken to aSoulsmember all week.

His movements were that of a great panther as he prowled around the treadmill, for a second he disappeared from her sight and she longed to swerve around to follow him with her gaze, the prey must never turn their back on a predator and Zara made no mistake in thinking Rider was anything other than a great predator.

King of his jungle.

Then he was back in her eye-line, stood directly in front of her.

Tall. Powerful. Overwhelming.

Making her sweat more than the running had.

"You tell me," two thumbs hooked into the waist of his jeans, he looked like one of those rakish models you saw in a special edition of GQ magazine when they did rough countrymen month. Zara's mouth dried and she wrenched her eyes away, using the excuse of stretching out her cramped legs to avoid looking in his general gorgeous atmosphere.

The man was just too much. Did he realize it?

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