Natalya must be part mountain goat and part jackrabbit. She ran as fast up steep trails as she did down them. But she was giving him a fine motivation for keeping up, because her running togs hid almost nothing other than the color of her skin. Many women he’d seen in tight leggings really shouldn’t go there—but the whole concept had been designed with women like Natalya in mind.
Women like Natalya. How many of those have you met, Mason?
Could count them on one finger and her name was Natalya Lamont.
She set a pace that excluded conversation. A couple of times she’d tried opening up the lead on him. The first time she’d added a dozen paces before he’d caught on and closed the gap. After that, he hung solid, three paces back.
He might be breathing too hard to talk, but he could still th
