When I see the bikes pull in across the street, I suddenly realize why this rental house was so cheap and the leasing agent so eager to unload it. But when you're running for your life, a dead-end street with few neighbors sounds perfect. One look at the badass biker next door though, is all it takes for me to know I want nothing to do with trouble like him. He's the worst kind of dangerous—a man built like a Chippendale dancer who radiates confidence and fearlessness. I'm sure there's not a situation he couldn't handle or a room he wouldn't own just by walking through the door. Like a viper, he's the kind of man you don't mess with unless you're willing to get bitten—the kind of man men fear and women want to tame—the kind of man my mother warned me about. With his looks, and the primal sexual vibe he exudes, I'm sure his bed is a revolving door of sexy young hotties eager to please him—women who haven't had a child and lived through more sadness than one can bear. He can intimidate me, but I'll never let him see that when he looks at me with those killer eyes, he scares the crap out of me.