Page 3 of Dirty Salvation

There was no question about it, she stared unable to pull her gaze away. Heat tumbled inside her belly. A stain of color rushed to her cheeks when he beckoned her forward with two fingers.

"Fuck this." Hawk growled and stalked off muttering he needed afucking drink and some wild pussy.

Thank god.Wild was not in her repertoire. Zara could barely muster lively. Too much focus on her studies had made herdull dull dull, she was about as exciting as stale popcorn, and really that was all she could be bothered with on any given weekend, forget about dating, and sex was a non-issue currently.

Legs led her forward, drawn to close the gap between those five feet separating her from him... she felt as if every step dragged her out of her life long tedium and head first into the blue-wild heathen territory.

This was what excitement felt like.She thought, drawn implacably to him, he was a magnet and she was happily heading towards the force.

His eyes raked up and over her body and the daring heat of it burned her insides until she knew her panties were damp, and her belly muscles quivered.

One look and her hormones had awoken wanting to touch everything like a kid in a candy store leaving her sticky fingerprints everywhere. She’d smelled the wicked coming off the man's stare. It was danger and magnetism, she was lucky her underwear was still around her waist and not flopping on the floor.

She was feeling things. Dirtyunusedthings in her abdomen and lower.

For a fricking outlaw rule-breaking biker.Go figure.

The most beautiful man.

He was take-a-fourth-look kind of stunning.

Zara did some of her own looking because it was the only option but to stare and take him all in, one greedy gulp at a time, a nervous glance over her shoulder, to check for her friend and then back towards him.

He was taller than most of the men here, tall and absurdly masculine, not surprising, this place it was wall-to-wall testosterone, only he had extra oozing from his frame.

My god.It was as though she was seeing men for the first time. Absolutely no one looked like him at college. No one. Now she was a little dizzy from the attention he was paying her.

Breath-taking.

His mess of rich mahogany hair was caught up at the back in a bun as though he’d just rolled out of bed and scraped it back with those long-tapered fingers of his and tied it haphazardly. It gave him a rugged all male appearance. A look that had her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth.

She'd never thought in a million years that would be a visceral factor in attraction for her, but there it was, beating a thrum between her legs, making her breasts peak and ache to be touched.Lust. And the attraction didn’t stop there.

His left arm was covered from his wrist with colorful ink all the way up until it disappeared beneath the black T-shirt, she had the urge to discover how far up it went, wanting to look closely at the design, to run her fingers over the vivid orange, blue, red and black.

Her gaze strayed to his chest, to his vest patch.

This wasthepresident of the Renegade Souls. Morgana had told Zara his name before they’d arrived, said how feared and formidable the guy was, but at the time she'd been too busy trying to breathe and not panic, wishing she was back at home under a blanket with a mug of cinnamon hot chocolate and a good romance book, she'd clearly forgotten it.

"What's your name, Dorothy? You're a long fuckin' way from Oz, arentcha..."

Oh, that sexy voice. No hint of drunken slur, nor was he a native to Colorado either just like her.

When he took the bottle to his lips she watched every slow movement. His throat worked in a rhythmic swallow. Her gaze ate up the moment, and she had to bite back a moan. Perfect neck. Tanned, with thick veins.Biteable.

With all her etiquette lessons her mother pushed onto her from the year she was pushed out. The many debates she'd chaired at college, speaking in front of hundreds of people with an air of confidence and impassioned wisdom. Zara found herself without a voice suddenly. Shy and intimidated by the beautiful man who continued to gaze at her, a sly smile turning up one end of his mouth as his brow lifted expectedly waiting for her to speak.

Say something. She chastised.Anything. Pick a word. A verb. A half-baked sentence!

"I..erm..I'm Zara Freeze." Well that didn't sound too moronic.Tell him you carried a watermelon, too.

His laugh was rich, cream thick ... beautiful like he was.

"Icy. I should have known from the cold shoulder you just gave to my VP. Take a seat, Zara Freeze. Lemme get you a drink. Grinder, bring the lady a beer down here." He rose his voice to the bartender before taking the red cup out of her hand she’d been clutching.

"You got it, Prez. Here you go, babe." He uncapped a beer, a bottle so cold condensation ran down the slim neck, and he slid it over. She grasped it automatically murmuring her thanks.

Perspective was in the beholder. No two people that night would describe what happened in the same way, simply because everyone sees situations differently, a word added here, an embellishment there, but no one's interpretation was more vibrant than Zara's right then while she soaked up the steadfast attention of a pair of blue eyes and a wicked smile.