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“No,” he agreed, eyes on her thoughtfully. “Nonetheless, I’ll stay.” He nodded as if to cement the idea to himself. “You won’t even know I’m here.”
And perhaps that was true,but the same definitely couldn’t be said of Leonidas. His gaze flicked to Mila, distracted for at least the hundredth time from the report he was reading. Her stretching routine was long, detailed and incredibly provocative, though he suspected that wasn’t intentional. She was a figure skater. He didn’t know much about the industry, but he could imagine being limber was a part of the job.
Butthislimber? Even with the impediment of her broken ankle, she stretched out the rest of her body, crying out every now and again when she moved the wrong way and her ankle obviously activated. Only then would her eyes meet his, as if apologizing for disturbing him.
He’d been planning to leave later today, and then she’d come into the kitchen all sassy and cross and demanded that exact same thing and he’d decided to challenge her. Just for fun. There was no point in staying, really. He was craving his own company, a place to sit and brood and reflect on the changed landscape of his life.
But with her admission that she was being stalked—terrorized—things had changed, and he’d known immediately that he couldn’t leave her here to face that risk alone.
If Benji had known what kind of danger she was in, there was no way he’d have let her hole up here, at least, not without beefing up the non-existent security of this cottage.
Which meant Benji had no clue about any of this, and Leonidas was on the ground, so it made sense that, for the sake of his friend, he stay and keep her safe. The plan was simple. Ignore each other, and they could both get their solitary time.
But ignoring Mila was impossible. In fact, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her, remembering the way her body had felt beneath his, since she’d semi-tackled him to the floor last night.
He swore mentally as he remembered her supple curves, her slender waist and slim figure, her athleticism and strength surprising him, even when he’d easily overpowered her.
What if he’d been her stalker? What if her stalker was built like him?
Red rage flooded his veins, every iota of his ‘protector’ DNA firing to life.
Leonidas had come here to mourn his father in peace, and instead, he’d been given a task that required almost all his concentration and focus. Firing off a quick email to his assistant in Athens, he leaned back against the barstool, eyes fixed on Mila as she lifted her arms above her head, balancing on one leg, the other bent at the knee, breathing in deeply so her breasts shifted beneath the frustratingly over-large shirt she wore.
He couldn’t wrench his gaze away. He stared at her, unashamedly, as she changed position, carefully rearranging herself, so her hand was rested on the back of the sofa and she could move one leg from side to side, fast and precisely, the strength and muscle conditioning impossible to miss. Then, out of nowhere, she kicked the leg up, higher than her head, in a straight line with her body, all her weight supported on her good leg while her bad was pressed flat to her face, one hand lifting up to press against her ankle.
It was, without doubt, the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
Slowly, she eased the leg down, holding it about an inch off the ground, then reaching for her crutches. “Now who’s objectifying whom?”
“I am,” he agreed without missing a beat. There was no point denying it. “Does it bother you?”
Her lips parted, eyes flicking to his, surprised by the directness of his challenge. “I—,” she licked her lower lip, eyes drawn together as she considered that. “I could use your help, actually.”
He dropped his pen and stood in one fluid motion. “How?”
“Would you stretch me?”
A member of his anatomy jerked with enthusiasm at that very idea. “What does that entail?”
“I’ll talk you through it.”
There was no way in hell he was going to say ‘no’. Not if it meant being close to her, touching her, again.
“Okay, little thief,” he growled. “What do I do?”
“Help me onto my back.” She gestured to the yoga matt she’d laid onto the floor. “Just not how you did last night.”
“You sure? I remember that being kind of fun.”
The heat blooming in her cheeks showed she’d felt the same.
“It’s hard for me to get down on the floor—or up off it.”
“I’m at your disposal,” he said, lifting her easily so she made a noise of surprise, then pressed a hand to his chest, breathing a little rushed.
“You’re really strong.”
He pulled a wry face. “You’re hardly heavy.”
