Page 80 of Dirty Salvation

The stretch of road they were on was practically dormant, only one car passed by and she’d never felt so far from protection. Which she reasoned on some deep level was stupid, becausehello, she was with a big bad biker man who wouldn’t let harm come to her.

She hated that the panic was louder in her head than anything else.

Panic attacks didn't make sense, they didn't come calling to chat over tea, it was to override your system with a sense of foreboding and fear, it was all those little voices in your head coming together to have a feast of unimaginable alarm.

She rested her head on his chest, felt his hand come up to her neck, stroking slowly. “I’m sorry, I ruined the shopping trip.”

“Nothing is ruined. We’ll sit here a minute; see how you feel.”

“Why are you like this with me, Rider? Patient. Kind. I mean, if it was me, I’d tell me to stop whining already and get over it. I can hear my whine and I hate it.“ She tried to laugh and failed. His thumb never stopped his soft motion under her hair.

“Maybe I just love shoppin’, baby.” Even mid panic Zara heard the laugh rumble in his chest. She looked up, arched a brow at him.

And just like that, a simple grin from him, the amusement laced through that smooth whiskey tone brought calm. Damn, maybe the big bad biker man should charge for that kind of therapy, one grin and you’d be cured of all ailments.

Whatever his reasons for being so...sohim, she was grateful and wouldn’t take it for granted. It felt easy after another minute, her breathing returning to normal and the noise not so loud in her head.

All through it Rider had stood with her in the confines of his arms and just let her be, not tried to cajole with platitudes of stupid negativity or ridicule, or tell her it was all in her head.

Yep. She was going to fall for him.

“We can go now.”

She took full advantage of enjoying holding onto his waist the rest of the journey into town. Hard muscles under her hands, a warm back against her face, he had such control over the huge beast of a motorcycle. “Wow.” She declared when he came to a full stop, he helped her off with the helmet, leaving it hooked over the handlebars. “I don’t remember the first time I was on your bike, but boy, that was so much fun. You rode fast. I might have eaten a bug.”

Rider grinned, one of those full teeth grins that had her belly curling warmly. Herfriendwas making her feel things.

Bad things. Not at all friendly

“Good protein. You’re not a biker until you’ve swallowed a few critters. C’mon, let’s go.”

He caught her hand in his.

“I think I want a sweater. It’s getting cold now. Maybe it’ll snow. I should get gloves and scarf.”

“Anything you want, baby.”

“You make a good sugar-daddy.” she laughed up at him.

Noticing how many stares he got as they walked the block to a local fashion superstore. Zara was never a designer slut. She was excited to go through racks and racks worth of bargain clothes. Besides, she really didn’t have a dollar to her name, not until she sorted out her whole life again, and she was kind of hiding from that right now. And keeping track of every penny Rider had spent on her so far, she needed to get on that to pay him back.

Tomorrow.Maybe. The day after for sure.Maybe.

“I’d make a better fuck-buddy. As a sugar daddy I ain’t gettin’ any action.” dryness in his tone had her laughing again.

“People are staring…” she informed. It wasn’t so late. Stores were still lit and heavily populated, people doing their late-night spending. She saw Rider didn’t care, he gave a shrug. Were they noticing him for the leather cut he wore declaring he was in a MC or just because he was gorgeous? Definitely the latter when a blonde lady gave him the once up and down.

Zara found herself scowling.Hello, I’m stood right here with him. Blondie didn’t know she wasn’t Rider’s wife or girlfriend, yet still eyefucked him deliberately. Bottle blonde and rude.

“Maybe they’re checkin’ out your butt. It looks damn good today, baby.” to prove his point she felt him pat her a little ushering her into the store.

He’s yourfriend. She warned.

Nope, further South of her body disagreed, growing warm, wet.

Oh, Jesus.

Twenty minutes, three outfits and two bags later she was strolling back to where he’d parked the bike. Once again, he’d caught at her hand, in his other he carried her bags. “Thank you, Rider.” she told him.