CHAPTER TEN

“Get to know your man, baby...” – Rider

 

 

 

      Okay. Fine. Zara admitted something deep and dark to the surrounding walls and her own rampant thoughts; she was finding Rider and his attention incredibly attractive.                

      There, it was out in the open, she allowed herself to think it.

     Having panicked this morning on waking to find Rider still asleep on the recliner chair, the blanket slid low on his waist, to show the happy trail of hair leading down the hardest naked belly and beyond. It had sent her thoughts spiraling. Happening so sudden it took her breath, drying her throat, rendering her a little dumb.

      One minute she was yawning, tending fingers to her eye, noticing the swelling was less today, thinking about having jelly and toast, and then she happened to catch the sight of him after doing such a good job of overlooking the huge guy who seemed to always be there when she turned around.

      Attraction. Bam! right between her legs, heat, and a throbbing pulse.

      There it was then, she groaned as if she'd been expecting it any day now, inevitable really, she knew all about Stockholm syndrome and the like, and what with the connection she felt to him, her only anchor in a storm, he’d been the calmness she'd needed.

      Four days after he'd played Batman, bringing her into the light, she was feeling all kinds of grateful feelings and was confusing it with something sexual.

      Liar. Her conscience spoke.

      Liar, liar, pants on fire. I like him. I want him and I know he wants me.

      As a thief would with a bag full of diamonds, she'd crept out of his bed and his room after wordlessly pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a simple tank top and gotten out of there undetected, it was the only decent thing to do while she was so confused about...everything.

      She didn't want Rider.

      She couldn't. Broken.

      It was...

      It was lust she didn't trust. Misplaced feelings and confusion were a disaster in the making.

      Who would have lust on their mind at a time like this? it wasn't a romance book for god’s sake. And she was no fair maiden to fall for the hardened hero.

      Her life was a little more flawed that no happily ever after could fix. Besides, she didn't have the heaving bosom to carry off that role.

      So, doing the only thing she could, she went about the day avoiding anyone in leather and denim, and especially Rider.

      It was cathartic letting her legs fly even if she wasn’t very good at long distance running, limbs too gangly, bruised ribs meant having to stop every few minutes to catch her breath, man, athletes made it look so easy.

      On and on she hit her feet against the electronic black belt trying to beat a self-imposed stop-watch only she could hear ticking down in her mind.

      Her father the high-powered Boston lawyer would say competition with oneself was unproductive and unnecessary if you had no one to best. Thanks, Dad.

      However, she ran, stretching every muscle until they all burned equally. Her arms ached, her legs throbbed, she had a stitch pinching in her side, and she felt fantastic.

      Sweat trickled into her eyes, she’d tied her hair up into a messy ponytail never considering she’d see anyone, after all, the three days she’d used the makeshift gym within the compound basement no one else had ventured down there. Hey, maybe the bikers were avoiding her, too, she reflected.

      Zara stayed away from the sets of weights and lifting benches, there was no use for the chest press or the dumb-bells, but she'd given the treadmill a try once she'd figured how to turn it on and get it to a decent speed where she hadn't pitched off backward on the first try at running.

      That had been embarrassing.

      The quiet was welcomed to her mind, it allowed Zara to think, because, for all her success at being an ostrich with her nose buried in the dirt, she seriously needed to have a game plan set out soon, it wasn't as though she could stay at the Renegade Souls MC indefinitely.

       Could that be her plan of action?

      As far as she knew, and it went for most motorcycle clubs (not gangs) they didn't patch in women and she was not so good at spitting and drinking beer by the case anyway.

      She'd be a pitiful outlaw, she judged on her third km.

      Every muscle hurt, she was sweating profusely, her shirt clinging to her back, but Zara didn't care about her unappealing lack of vanity.

      She was blissfully alone.

      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 in Eau-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?"

      The baby startled 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 a Souls member 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?

      Four days, she reminded herself.

      Lust didn't come with a time limit, except and only when you were a fucking kidnapped hostage mere days ago.

      She couldn’t think this way.

      Giving her calf a good rub she heard Rider curse blister the air.

     "You can either talk to me or I'ma stand right here and enjoy the sight of you bent over showing me your ass, Icy. Good with me."

     Gasping, she was upright in seconds, whirling to glare at him, her cheeks stained and sure enough, he was grinning wickedly, his eyes somewhere south of her body.

     "You're a pervert!" she accused. Only his grin spread a little bigger showing even white teeth.

     "Yup. But that's not the topic right now. You’ve been hidin’ baby, and I gave you a few days to do that, now you gotta stop that shit before it pisses me off. I told you no one is hurtin’ you here, didn’t I? You’re cowerin’ in my room ----”

     “Because you won’t give me my own room!” she burst out.

     “----- and I let it go, said nothin’, waited for you to come out on your own, but here you are, lurkin' again. It ain’t gonna work for me, baby.” she noticed he conveniently ignored her statement.

      Oh, that made her mad!

     “What's going on, Rider? I thought you were running an MC, not a counseling service. I'm fine. Don't buy into women always being fragile bitches who need a man to slay dragons.” Her insides were shaking clenched tight.

      “I'm no one's victim now or then. And I wasn’t hiding anywhere, I was staying out of the way, I don’t know anyone, excuse me for trying to be courteous in the face of your assistance. Besides, I thought you’d want me to stay out of the way, don’t want me breaking all the MC rules or whatever. " She paused.

      The last person she wanted to see her as weak was him, but it was how she felt. She’d put on so much face these last few days she was exhausted from the pretense.

      His shrewd silent stare accused her of lying like he saw through her mask and felt sorry for her. It only caused her spine to tighten, needing to prove to him she was okay.

     "I’m fine, not hiding. I did what I had to do to survive. It's been a difficult few days if you didn’t notice. I’m acclimatizing. No one gives you a helping hand, you either take that breath alone or you fucking die. That’s not hiding … just ... look at me, Mister President, do I look dead to you?"

      Brave words for a liar, she cited silently but maintained her chin up, held the focus of his eyes. She wished she could read what was on his mind.

      She’d completely underestimated the effect Rider had on her.

      Four days...a reminder that it couldn't be anything else.

      It was gratitude to the guy, that was all it was.

     "No. You're too pissy to be dead, but that's good to know. I'm fuckin' glad you survived, baby. Don't care what you had to do to get through that, just glad you're here now. And I'll tell ya. You ever want to quit hidin’ and let me in on what went down those three years, I'll listen. You don't have to be a victim to want to talk to someone about that shit. Far as you're concerned, I’m whatever you need me to be. Counseling service included. If you want me to say it plainer than that, you need me, ever, you come to me."

      Zara’s entire body deflated like a lead balloon. Why did he have to go and say something sweet?

      She was momentarily stunned by his sweetness, the sincerity on his sharp face, and unwavering eyes tracing over her face, waiting patiently for her to fill in the silence, that churn of nerves felt like butterflies fluttering inside her belly, swelling into heat and----- 

      Don't fall for pretty words ... until she remembered, with punched clarity, her eyes blanking out, men said what they thought you wanted to hear, to get into your pants anyway they could.

      Rider might not use his fists, or force, but he was still a man, her conscious warned, self-preservation in full attack, a man who was looking at her with want in those piercing depths of blue.

      Men were pigs. Men were disgusting assholes. Not all men. But she was past being logical or listening to herself.

      Jumping down from the machine, she hooked up the towel she’d brought down with her, dragged the soft white fluff around her flushed face, mopping at the sweat dripping into her eyes and across her collarbone, if only to break eye contact.

      His gaze was too devastating to a system that had felt dead for too long.

      She hadn't run nearly far enough to escape the crap in her head, but for now, her workout was over until the demons came knocking again.

      On the defensive, she attacked first before she could stop herself, the words flying off her tongue like bullets.

     The best offense was a better offense, as her father would say.

      He was a better lawyer than he'd been a dad.

     "You know, if you're here looking to get laid, you have a clubhouse full of whores eager to bend over for you with their asses in the air, Prez. Is that why you won’t give me my own room?  I didn't realize my refuge came with a price. Just let me know when and where and I'll pay my debts if I must, but I don’t guarantee a porn star performance like your bitches give you, I’m not a good actress."

      Voice shaking but devoid of emotion, she knew this game well. Just open your legs, bitch, and I’ll bring you a sandwich later, you want to eat don’t you, just open ‘em, ya dig? That’s the way, bitch, ya know how to do it.  

      At least now she could figure Rider’s motives for bringing her back to his club. Help came with terms and conditions and no one ever read those.

      Please. Not Rider.

      Not him. Anyone but him.

      When she glanced at him finally, the flare of thunder took her back, literally back a step, her legs connecting with a low bench.

      He took more stomped steps towards her. His hips rolling in a menacing gait, smooth enough to give her a mini cardiac arrest.

      Damn.  Mister president was pissed.  The blueness of his eyes blazing.

      “Did you just fuckin’ say that to me?" he gritted.  "To fuckin’ me, Zara? God fuckin’ dammit, you are stubborn and fuckin’ stupid as you are pretty if that’s what you think.”  

     Deathly quiet tone emitted from that massive chest. Never moving a muscle, he was statue still now, gauging her from eyes that bore not just coldness but from within she could see disappointment and that stung more than anything, worse, she felt shame and the chill rolling off him.

      Zara shivered, instantly regretting every word.

     Accustomed to fighting for her life, having her body taken against her will, she only had words to use as weapons, she could only fight with the venom on her tongue.

      Zara grieved saying them to Rider. After everything he’d done for her, he didn’t deserve her lashing.

      She sighed.

      She supposed she could blame it on temporary insanity, it wouldn’t be far wrong. Her head went in so many different directions all the time, it was a wonder she had an intelligent thought at all.

      He prowled, dragging her thoughts from the madness to the present, Zara's eyes widened expecting the worse and getting...nothing. He stopped a foot away, arms folded over the great span of his chest.

      He really was so astonishingly big all over.

      She admired his size, intimidating, but there was something darker about it.

      Calming.

      He'd never physically harm her, she discerned.

      No matter how bitchy she got, whatever nasty words she spat at him, and for a girl like Zara, it was safety.

       Her contemplation must have shown on her face; she was horrible at hiding emotions. It came with the blonde hair and pale complexion, everything was there to read.

      Zara’s brows furrowed in the middle. Insanity was a real thing, she surmised.

      The biker and her own mind were making her fucking crazy.

     “Pickin’ a fight with me ain’t gonna help any, you’ll still be hidin’. So, here’s what’s gonna happen, baby.”

      Again, with the baby. Did he even realize what it implied?

      He’d called her baby when she’d slept with him. It didn't help that she had first-hand experience on the way Rider had sex or how he sounded when her lips closed around his dick. It made seeing him, reliving that night, difficult.  She'd never given anyone oral pleasure until him. He'd chuckled and instructed her on what to do, then cursed the air blue when she appeared to be doing it exactly how he liked. Afterward, he'd told Zara You're the fucking best, baby...now lemme feel your lips again.

      It was a dark depressing truth that he’d been her first but not the last. She’d only enjoyed it the once, however. So, there was that.

      “You hidin’ inside my club stops right now. Talkin’ to my brothers isn’t a requirement if you don’t want to, but you quit fuckin’ hidin' out like you’re in prison. And if you accuse me of wantin’ to fuck rent out of you once more I’ma put you over my knee and show you just what I can do for free.  And I guarantee you’ll like it. Tell me you’re gettin’ me, Icy.”

      Hm. Wasn't it maddening when a man-made sense?

      Like really, really fucking maddening.

      She’d always hated being wrong when It was an impotent anger going nowhere and she succumbed to what she was feeling and that was insecurity.

      So much anger for the crap she couldn’t control.

      What could Zara do other than lash out at the one person who didn't deserve it.

      Wrong place wrong time wrong person.

      The towel looped over her shoulder she used the white ends to dab sweat and shame from her cheeks, one was easier than the other.

      Avoiding all contact with Rider's eyes, though she felt them boring into her.

     “Fine. I get you. I'm not saying sorry." Her chin went up and she sent him a quick side defiant glance.

      He advanced, stepping around a weight bench. Nothing separated them now.  "Didn't ask you to, baby."

     "Hm. What else was I to assume?"

     "Let me take a stab in the dark and say something shockin’ ... that I want to help you. Fuck. That I like you, Zara, for all your crazy-as-fuck ways of thinkin’ I like you. I always liked you. There's never gonna be a right time, so why not just say it and put it out there, not askin' you for anythin' right now, but you need to know that's what I'm thinkin' when I look at you. Is it too soon? probably. Still sayin' it." His rough voice teased.  “You’re insulting yourself when you say shit like that. Don’t do it again. You think I’d take payment out on your pussy for letting you stay here? Baby, you’re probably the smartest chick we ever had at the Souls MC, that includes the other chapters, but you just said the dumbest shit I ever heard. Believe when I get my mouth on that sweet pussy of yours again, it ain’t got nothing to do with owing me a debt. And when you climb me to get at my mouth ‘cause you’re so fuckin’ hungry for it, cravin' my taste on your tongue you won’t be feelin’ like you’re payin’ a tab.”

       Zara’s head reared up so fast she nearly gave herself a concussion, the blood raced to her face and neck, no gentle blush this time, it was a full-blown wildfire situation.

      Frantic butterflies went nuts in her belly.

      His eyes had gone from wild to smokey, heated even, trained on her profile.

      No amount of rubbing could eradicate the flush on her neck crawling up to her cheeks, deep cherry red, it had nothing to do with her work out.

      And all to do with Rider's dirty unfiltered tongue.

      Oh, shit.

      Who said that? Who just spoke what they were thinking?

      Jesus. She wanted to pant.

      “You can’t say things like that.”

      “Just did. What you see is what you get with me.”

      He affected her in ways she didn't want to probe. Part of her wanted to scream for him to leave her alone, she was damaged, to find someone else, and then another part of her, the needy clingy part wanted to curl into all that chest for a minute and allow him to protect her. “I gotta say, lovin' that blush of yours, Icy. I’ma make you blush again and again.” Amusement laced through Rider’s silky deep voice. One more step and he'd moved closer, filling her space enough that she had to crank her neck to see his face.

      Tell him okay. Say it. He painted the most evocative picture, drawing memories of them back into her mind.

      Only those same thoughts scared the crap out of Zara, it felt too normal somehow.

      That same defensive tongue reared its ugly head. "Sounds a little like wishful thinking. You want to fuck me, Prez. It has nothing to do with liking me from my way of calculating it."                

      Shut up Shut up. If she’d been normal she could have flirted with him, to bat her lashes and smile prettily and reply with her own attempt at dirty talk, though she would have failed miserably at that.

       Instead, all his candor had done was render her a tiny bit dumb.

      Head and body contradicting each other.

      Her skin bathed in fire everywhere he looked. Her nipples puckered for his hungry attention. It was as if her body reacted all its own accord whenever Rider was around.

      Goosebumps broke out along her arms.

      She couldn’t take it a second longer.

      She watched as a change took place in him in the space between one blink and the next. Gone was the biker president concerned for her safety who’d done all he could to alleviate her fear, to reassure her.

      He’d been replaced by someone raw and confident standing grandly before her. His fingers flexed, in turn, it tightened the muscles of his arm.

      Beautiful, she thought.

      The switch should have intimidated her, after all, men like him had terrorized her mind, but she couldn’t deny feeling a race of sudden excitement.

      Anticipation.

      When he spoke, his voice rasped raw.

     "I do. Again. And I love that your sugary mouth says ‘fuck’ like that. I’ma have you sayin’ it a lot." His honest return cocked her head to the side, a bottle of water stopped halfway to her mouth.

      At last, she let it travel all the way, cold water running down her throat in hopes to dampen what he was heating.

     "You find it hard to believe I like you and I also wanna fuck you hard? Had you before. They're both not mutually exclusive, Icy. Not crazy to hear I wanna spend time with you, either or get you to come out of yourself, to know you’re safe here. No one would dare touch you." Rider held his head at a differential tilt, glancing up at her though he stood so much taller than she was.

      Her face warmed.

      Ah, Jesus.

      Oh. Well. Stumped.

      Zara didn’t reply right away until she’d untied her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

    "Experience.” she offered cynically. Testing him. “If you don't want me to pay room and board with me on my back moaning some fake platitudes to stroke your ego, what do you want from me?"

      It must be something else. Of course.

     Someone like Rider, who could have any woman he crooked an eyebrow at, helping her with no ulterior motive seemed impossible.

      He'd just admitted he wanted to sleep with her again. Talons of fervor clawed at her insides, searching his face, she had to wonder was she crazy to want to believe him?

     "We could start with everythin’. How 'bout that? Maybe I want everythin’ from you, Zara."

      A shudder present in her voice when she could manage to speak.

     “That’s not … I… I don’t have everything to offer you or anyone. I told you I was broken."

     Rather than touch on what she’d said he told her. “Walk with me, baby." He caught up her hand before she could protest.

      Long warm fingers clasping hers gently enough that if she'd wanted she could have easily pulled away. God help her she didn't.

      The clubhouse seemed empty today. Hardly any noise came from the rooms when he led her up from the basement, silently tracking corridors. Food smells reached from the kitchen, and someone was running a vacuum inside the storage room direction, but other than that it was a ghost town.

     Zara's fingers clutched in Rider's, her first instinct had been to flinch from his touch, logic overriding her apprehension, this man didn't want to inflict pain on her, he was harmless, she told herself, hard to believe, harder to put into practice.

      She hated feeling the way she did.

      A beautiful man she had once been wildly attracted enough to give him her virginity laid it out clearly, he wanted her still, and she could only blink stupidly looking for his angle.

      She didn't get more pathetic than that. Ugh.

      Just as well he took over as she followed him docilely, mute for the time being while her heart raced.

      They ended up in the common room. Outside the wall of windows, she noticed The Souls clubhouse was bordered by a handful of bikes not in use at the moment, giving the forecourt that empty feel about it while most were working, or out of town running scouting intel for the president. She might be hiding, as Rider challenged, but she'd always been careful at listening to what was going on around her.

     Eavesdropping kept her alive.

      Zara had picked up enough chatter to know Rider was trying to help another chapter of the Renegade Souls that wasn't doing so well profit wise. She admired that he cared about his people. It was another part of Rider she was discovering and if she was truthful, she'd admit she was softened towards that caring quality in him.

      Not only an outlaw biker president, he was a successful businessman.

      Would she have discovered that about him three years ago, if things had developed between them? it was always with the What If's that pained Zara the most. What if she hadn't come back to his clubhouse the next night. What if she'd gone an hour earlier/later? What if she'd taken Sycamore street instead of Wilton on third?

      A lot of What If's.

      And each all circled back to this one man.

      Zara could have easily justified if it were not for meeting Rider she wouldn't have even been out that night, would not have been readily plucked by one of the Rebels members. Naive and more than a little in love with the man who had taken her virginity she'd returned to the club so eager to see him again, her eyes full of stars assuming he'd wanted to see her as well. Wrong. Only to find him in flagrante delicto with a girl on her knees, Rider fisting her hair. Rider seeing Zara framed in the doorway, devastation too clear on her face to hide it, still he'd growled lustily for the girl to unzip him, to get ready for him to feed her his cock. Zara could still feel the penetrating look he'd given her as her heart had broken into a million pathetic pieces.

      None of it was Rider's fault, she'd fancied herself in love after their amazing sex. It was her own doing she'd cried on the side of the road waiting for her cab ride, when she'd thought one of the Souls bikers had stopped in his pickup rig to see what the trouble was. The guy had even smiled at her, told her he hoped she was okay and to get herself home. The next she knew a foul-smelling rag was over her face and then nothing, until a lot later when Zara had woken up a naked captive.

      The rest was in her history chapters, forever etched as being the worse time of her life.             

      She longed to turn the page, especially as she confronted this man asking to share herself with him, what was stopping her?

      Why was she in her own way?

      Even now, with her head so messed up in twenty different directions she didn't blame Rider for the way things had turned out, he had just been a cog of many in her fated path.              

      No one blamed a butterfly for flapping its wings and causing a tornado across the world. 

      Evil was done to her by evil men, that was their choice, never hers.

      The blame game was for fools. She had enough to contend with without swallowing Hades' bitter pill as well.

      If anything, Rider had salvaged her sanity by being the one good thing she would think about often. Now he was sheltering her from the world for no apparent price at all. An outlaw who did altruistic deeds for free. On paper, it would appear impossible, but here he was, and that's exactly what he was doing.

      The weight of his hand in hers was distracting pulling her from the past into the now. The gesture was more intimate than she'd experienced in a long while and when he dropped her hand, those same long fingers strayed to her back for a moment running her into a shiver when it rested there right at the dip of her butt.

      The touch reminded her of the number of times he'd kissed her right in that same spot.

      And no mistake about it, where Rider was concerned it didn't seem to matter the atrocities she'd endured or the fleeting days that had passed since that nightmare ended. 

      Lust had no timetable and Zara wanted him.

      Alarm bells went off in Zara's mind, great clanging things until she took a second to rein it in.

     Wanting him was easy to admit.

      She just didn't know if she could have him.

      She'd been scarred inside and out, she was no longer that virginal naive girl who thought the world was made up of rainbows and good intentions.

      As much as her body awoke with his affectionate touches, she was scared she was so broken she'd never enjoy that part of herself again.

      She hadn't lied when she'd told him she had nothing to offer him.

      Damaged didn't have a repair date. It was a state of mind, a reality she lived with.

      She owed Rider her respect if for no other reason than he gave her freedom and protection, not to mention patience.

      When at last Zara spoke, he'd seated her at the long-curved bar, banked behind with as many bottles of alcohol as you'd find in a nightclub. They lined up like sobering soldiers, below that shelf was rows or clean glasses of all sizes and shapes.

      Rider stepped behind and cocked his brow.

      She felt the swell of regret knowing that if she was ever capable of a normal relationship she would have wanted it to have been with him.

      She forced a smile. "Wanting everything seems a tad much, don't you think? You've grown increasingly greedy in your presidency, Rider.  I suppose you can buy me a free drink at your bar. I'll have a virgin Pina colada."

      His grin turned her belly inside out. "Got no Pina colada, baby." She secretly loved that he was calling her baby. Some of her coldness thawed.

     "Here, have a coke. I poured it myself so I know it's the best." His charm melted her further.

      Not to mention the sinful mouth she couldn't stop looking at or wanting to kiss again.

     "How many girlfriends have you had in the past three years? not including that hungry she-devil on her knees in front of you swallowing your dick like she was practicing for a pie eating contest." She plucked at a curious question.

      She watched his eyes widen before a laugh barreled out of him. Zara smiled a little with uncritical satisfaction to have surprised him.

      He propped his hip against the chrome bar, facing her, strands of chocolate brown hair not caught up in his bun hung down by his beard. She did the decent thing by reaching a hand up tucking them behind his ear.

      He caught her hand, keeping it in his loosely, his thumbs working against her knuckles. Intense eyes on her face.

     "Oh, fuck me, Icy, don't say dick like that, not if you don't wanna be spread out on this bar." Zara coughed and spluttered choking on her drink. "I'm never gonna live that shit down, am I? She didn't suck my cock, baby, god’s honest truth."

      Zara lifted one of her brows staying quiet. He went on.

     "It was a dumb as fuck move. I'd already dirtied you up, hadn't I? ripped all those orgasms out of you the night before, all sweet and begging. You were so wet, fuck, I could still taste you on my tongue the next day."

      Her thighs clenched. Still, she didn't say a word, hardly breathed through his thumb brushing against her skin. It felt like small fires were licking her fingers.

     "Dumb as fuck move, Icy. I knew you'd come to the club again to see me, one of my boys told me you were askin’ around for me. I told that chick to get on her knees before havin’ you sent over to the office, wanted to chase you off, didn't want to dirty you anymore, you had big plans, you told me when you were all soft and soaked in my pleasure. You were heading to law school. That wasn't gonna mix well with my club ... and ... Jesus. "

      Rider paused to lift her hand to his mouth, giving the same attention only this time to let his lips move over her fingertips, one slow move at a time, each knuckle basking in his attention.

      She tried to pull it back and he stopped her by pressing his mouth to the center of her palm.

     "You rocked my foundations, baby, down to the core, I was fuckin' scared of that feelin'. I wanted to keep you, knew it the second I saw you in that teeny tiny yellow dress lookin’ like sunshine and temptation, my cock achin’ for you, I wanted you, but too much shit was goin’ down with my club, couldn’t keep you then, I thought I was doin’ the decent thing when in actuality it was a shitty move."

      So much admission, Zara's mouth once full of soda suddenly dried on a hard gulp. The sips of cola feeling like sawdust in her belly.

      Her eyes searching his face for any hint of a lie.

     "It doesn't matter now."

     "It does if you're still lookin’ at me the same way you did three years ago, like I crushed you. It was a shitty thing for me to do. I'm sorry, Zara."

     “Apology accepted, but it really doesn’t matter, Rider.”

      Zara shrugged, pulling her hand free at last, she rubbed at the tingles in her palm feeling his kiss there.

     "Zara baby. Look at me."

     "It's over, Rider, it doesn't matter why you did it, or why I believed what I was seeing. We didn't know each other or owe each other anything. Look…I. I should get back to----"

      He growled low. "Baby. I need you to fuckin’ look at me now."

      He'd wanted to keep her.

      Why was she choking on all those 'What If's' again?

     Rather than let Rider see her eyes as they filled with tears and emotions, she turned away. His curse pulled her attention long enough for her to watch him using his hands braced to the bar and vault cleanly over it in one swift move landing deftly on his feet directly in front of her.

     He didn't stop there, his large body crowded her until she had no choice but to back up and up ... her spine pressed against the ridge of the bar.

     "Rider, stop. Back up. I have things I need to be doing." Weak excuse.

     Goosebumps rose on her bare arms, acutely aware of his eyes raking down her body, the stare made her nipples pebble with want.  No part of him was touching Zara, still, she felt him right there, as if his mouth was caressing her. He cranked his head down, really staring at her, impatience lighting up his eyes, his jaw tight like he was gauging every word before he spoke it.

      "Did you hear anythin’ I said in the last hour while I poured my guts out, Zara? You keep me locked out of you, I can't penetrate that fuckin' wall no matter what I do. You don't talk, you barely answer if I ask you somethin'. You've ghosted around for days.  I've met sociopaths with better conversational skills." A growl came out of him.

      And with the scorching memory of him leaping the bar as easily as a gymnast, the sexy growl was just the cherry on her Rider sundae.

      Every part of Zara ached for him.

     Steely determination made her lift her head.

     "Well thank you for that, mister sensitivity, I'm one rung down from a sociopath, don't tell your VP, he likes his title." Her go to setting of defensive back-talk and sarcasm was obviously switched on.

     "I heard everything you said. You're overwhelming, Rider.  You don't get just how much. you're all ... and then ... just. Ugh, and now you're telling me all this out of the blue expecting me to agree with no thought given whatsoever. You're just too much and I don't know what you want me to say. It’s kind of absurd really. We don't even know each other."

      Rider shifted forward suddenly, crowding her with his bulk and height and his glorious beard just right there in front of her face distracting as hell, only this time pressing his belly against her body, his hips came next, the distinct hardness digging through his jeans, into her belly.

      Oh. Sweet. God.

      In tandem, her lungs began to hyperventilate.

     "This is what I mean. Back the hell up. I can't breathe. You're overwhelming me!"

     "No, I'm not, baby." A voice smooth and silky. So assured of what he was saying he was smirking with it.  "You're turned the fuck on by me. You think I don't know when my girl is wanting her man to fuck her."

      I’m not your girl. Her tongue was too thick in her mouth to speak it. Hands circled his trim waist with plans to push him back, only he was a solid mass, unmoveable.

      Rider leaned more into her space, his head coming down another fraction, his cheek brushed hers, soft bristled hair on her cheek, oh... she knew it would feel nice.

      Lips gently skimming.

      If she angled up towards him, it was only to tell him to back off. Probably. He smelled good so it messed with her thinking for a second. And then another.

      She felt his hands, one at her hip, the other slid around the back of her neck, tipping her head back so they were eye-to-eye.

     “You’re---you’re not my man." the place between her legs pulsed. Her man. Oh, Jesus.  "This is crazy. We don't know each other, Rider. Too much time has--"

      His rugged masculinity hit her hard all at once. The sheer mass of him towering down over her.  Or maybe that was the way he rubbed his hardness into her belly scrambling her brain.

     "You want me to be your man? Get to know me? Let me in, baby. Just a little way in. You don't haveta hide from me." The double meaning wasn't lost on Zara. Her mouth turned sand-dry. She slipped her tongue tip out to lick her lips wetting them.

      His eyes darted down to her mouth and he groaned. “Killin’ me…” Long fingers came up to tangle in her hair, caressing her scalp. Tempting her. “Fuckin’ say it, Zara. I see it in your eyes.”

      It might have been the soda’s effect, but Zara felt drunk.

      Drunk on affection from the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen.

      “This is happenin’, baby. Don’t argue with me…”

      And like that Rider had shut down any more conversation.