Maelstrom

Chapter 27: No Escape

I froze for a fraction of an instant – a huge mistake on a whirring treadmill as it immediately propelled me toward the delectable man standing at the end of it. I stumbled back gracelessly and flung a hand onto the console to slap the large "STOP" button in the center. The machine slowed enough for me to recover my balance, and then stopped.

Alkaev smiled, looking quite pleased with himself. He was standing at the end of the machine, lightly gripping the handrails, effectively trapping me in place. He clearly hadn't shaven today and was wearing what I assumed must be his day-off clothes: worn old jeans, leather boots dirty from the winter streets, a heavy-knit charcoal gray sweater that very nearly matched his eyes, and a scuffed, broken-in black leather jacket. He was utterly, inarguably gorgeous, and I suddenly felt that I had on decidedly too little in the way of clothing.

"Of all the looks I've seen on you – and there have been quite a few, now – I think this is my favorite ... so far," he remarked, his eyes roaming freely over my body. I didn't need to look down to know what he was seeing: essential body parts covered with scraps of black and sea green spandex, and a quantity of glistening flesh that would be considered indecent outside of a gym, a beach, or a Victoria's Secret catalog. "Although I'm also quite partial to the pink outfit you were wearing a couple of weeks ago," he conceded.

I felt a crimson blush spread across my face at his allusion to our impassioned groping session; hopefully he put my high color down to my recently interrupted workout. Seeing the sparkle in his eyes and the half-smirk twisting his beautiful smile, I doubted he was fooled.

I scanned the rest of the gym; I needed to look away from him to think. "Where are your buddies, the Men in Black? Don't they go everywhere with you?" I didn't see any sign of the bodyguards, but perhaps they were waiting in the lobby, since they were neither members nor likely to be dressed for exercise. Of course, neither was Alkaev, and he was standing in the middle of the health club's rubber-matted floor. But then, he wasn't the kind of man someone, anyone, said "no" to.

"It's Mateo's day off," he responded. "Marshall is waiting out back in the car."

"I see," I said quietly. I was finding it increasingly challenging not to panic. "May I?" I asked, indicating the end of the treadmill.

"Of course." Alkaev stepped a few inches to the side, gesturing elegantly for me to step down from the machine. I did, suddenly keenly aware as I slid past him of what I probably smelled like at the moment. Damn him.

"What are you doing here? Slumming?" I asked as I rubbed a towel over my neck and chest and headed for the women's locker room.

He fell in beside me. "I came to see you," he responded smoothly.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I've had someone following you for the past couple of weeks," he said matter-of-factly. "Ever since that night in my office."

My exultation at being right about being watched warred with my horror at being right about being watched. Had I been careful enough? Had I done anything that might send up red flags? Everything seemed okay, since it was Alkaev talking to me at my gym instead of one of his security team strangling me in a back alley.

"Followed?" I repeated with faked incredulity. I was trying to put a bit of distance between us, but he easily stuck to my side as though glued there. "That's ... creepy."

He laughed. I noticed that we were – no, he was – starting to turn heads. Normally I would consider that a bad thing, but when unexpectedly in the presence of someone extremely dangerous, maybe a little increased attention from potential witnesses was a good thing ("Why, yes, officer, I can describe the man she was with ...").