The Gentleman Biker

He’s majestic; there’s no other word to describe him. Even as he sits still, his power is evident. The look he passed around the room, like a predator with its prey, sent shivers down the spines of all who gathered there. His presence in the small room was overwhelming, and a waft of nervous energy scented the air.

If this were a different time, another place, he would’ve been a king sitting at his council or a warrior directing his troops before heading into battle. Such is the way he carried himself, as if he were a head above all those around him, both literally and figuratively speaking.

Men feared and revered him, while women flocked to him like moths to a flame. It’s that aura of mystique that surrounds him, the strength that emanates from him with his every move. He has such a way about him, an essence that commands the admiration of both men and women.

Each man now avoided his glare. They’d learned in the short while since he’s been here what folly awaits any who think themselves bold enough or strong enough to square off with him. So none dared look into those eyes, eyes that convey much without speaking. Those eyes can spell disaster, or warm the coldest heart, according to the mood he’s in.

His look could be deemed one of beauty if such a soft flowery word could be applied to a man of such obvious masculinity and strength. But anyone would be hard-pressed to find a more fitting word to describe him. There isn’t one. Though he oftentimes wishes it were so. He’d long given up trying to get people to quit describing him in those terms like he was a damn female.

His looks are the first thing people whisper about wherever he goes. Long before anyone sees what lies beneath all that perfection, they’re usually taken in by his appearance. Something he’d learned to live with and had even come to appreciate since it kept others from seeing the real him too soon. Who would believe that the model handsome Ivy League graduate was anything but what he appeared to be?

Dark shoulder-length hair tied neatly at his nape into a ponytail, with not a strand out of place. High, perfectly formed brows and the most beautiful green eyes that shone with some inner light no man could account for sat above a chiseled and well-defined jawline.

His dimpled cheeks coupled with the cleft in his chin just spared him from being beautiful and instead made him the most handsome man in any given room. It was hard, even for his enemies, at first sight, to look away. And most were left wondering how anyone could be so perfect, not only in face but in form. Plastic surgery was their best guess, but leaked photos from his youth showed the same unnatural beauty.

Those who met him after hearing of his reputation could never reconcile the two. He looked like he belonged in a boardroom somewhere, what with his air of sophistication and his penchant for getting things done in even the most impossible situations.

It has caused many to underestimate his true essence to their own detriment because they fell for that veneer of gentlemanliness he used like a weapon. Like a cobra that strikes when least expected, so is he. They never see him coming, and some unsuspecting souls had bled out at his feet by the time they realized just what it was they were dealing with, and all because they’d been deceived by his appearance.

So, it was easy to see why the men in the room had once mistaken him for just another city slicker with more money than sense when he first appeared. They’d relaxed their guard, secure in the knowledge that the wet behind the ears son of their previous boss would be easy to manipulate; they’d been worried for nothing.

He’d ignored the looks that passed between them, guessing accurately at the thoughts in their heads. It was his way always, to give his prey a false sense of safety. To a man, he was sure they saw him as a pretty face simpleton that they could easily walk all over. That usually lasted for as long as it took some idiot to piss him off.

Now he sat at the head of the table where more than a few of the men that waited outside had wished to be before his arrival, more sour grapes. Beneath the short sleeves of the black silk, tee was revealed even more of his beauty, in the form of his well-defined muscular arms that were now folded across his chest with the tattoos that told a story on full display.

His thighs were also well-formed beneath the black leather of his pants, making for one hell of a gorgeous beast at six foot three inches tall. But more than his face and body, it was his relaxed pose, legs outstretched, and the one-finger playing across his lip that added that air of sophisticated savagery.