Page 29 of Staking His Claim

She didn’t want to be stuck alone with Yevgeny making small talk. Nor did she want him putting up the Christmas tree she’d bought for Holly. And she certainly didn’t want to start thinking that he was helpful. Or, God help her, indispensable.

“You know, I really don’t need—” nor want “—your help.” All too aware of how much more defined the breadth of his shoulders was with his jacket off, Ella didn’t dare to allow her suddenly treacherous eyes to linger on the lean narrow hips, the broad chest clad only in the soft, finest cotton shirt with the top button unbuttoned. Far too tempting. “And don’t forget to take your jacket with you when you go.”

The sooner he put it back on, the sooner she’d be able to visualize him as a corporate Russian bully.

Leaning on the door handle, Ella shut her eyes to block out the image of him standing in her living room rolling up his shirt sleeves. How was it possible to be attracted to a man she detested?

What the hell is wrong with me?

                      Six

With her eyes shut and her shoulders bowed, Ella looked more vulnerable than Yevgeny had ever seen her as she leaned against the doorjamb of the front entrance waiting for him to leave.

The last time he’d seen her she’d looked exhausted...but this was worse.

Nothing of the Ella he so disliked remained.

No black suit. Instead, she wore a white, sleeveless T-shirt that clung to curves he’d never known she had, while cropped jeans hugged her legs tapering to slim ankles. The simple outfit only served to underline her fragility.

Yevgeny forgot that he’d come to find out whether she’d looked at the portfolios she’d told him Jo would be dropping off today. He even forgot about his plan to convince her that every parent would be wrong for Holly. Except him.

Instead, driven to comfort her, he padded across the room on silent feet to stand beside her.

She hadn’t heard his approach—or, if she had, she showed no sign of it. Yevgeny hesitated. Silky blond hair fell onto her shoulders, the style softer, less sharply defined than he remembered. Her scent surrounded him. Lilacs. Sweet...and elusive.

Slowly, oh, so slowly, he reached out a hand and touched the fine strands where they brushed her shoulder.

She started.

Then her head turned. Behind the large spectacles, her eyes had widened, and the summer sun streaming in through the door transformed the light brown irises to lustrous topaz.

As he stared, her lips parted.

He groped for words that made some kind of sense to fill the electric silence. “What do you want me to do first?”

“Do first?”

From this close he could see her pupils darkening.

All thoughts of offering comfort had rushed out of his mind.

Desire—dark and disturbing—grabbed him by the throat. He tried to respond, but his voice wouldn’t—couldn’t—work. But his body was working...in ways he didn’t even want to think about. Whoa, this was Ella McLeod of all people. He didn’t like her. And the woman had given birth to a child last Friday... He couldn’t be feeling desire...where was his sense of perspective?

“What do you want me to do with the tree?” he managed at last in a gravelly rasp.

“The tree?” The dazed, startled look in her eyes faded. With her index finger she pushed her glasses up her nose. “Oh. The tree.”

“I told you I’d help. It’s too big for you to try and set up by yourself—and you had a baby not so long ago. You shouldn’t be straining yourself.”

Her shoulders squared. The veil of fragility fell away from her. “I was doing just fine until the doorbell rang.”

Yevgeny pressed his lips together.

That was Ella.

Determinedly independent.

Making it clear she didn’t need comfort—or help. Maybe she wasn’t quite as vulnerable as he’d thought.

“Do you ever accept help from anybody?” he asked with more than a touch of exasperation, letting his hand drop away. He should be relieved that she’d returned to her usual independent and icy self. At least he could breathe again—and speak. That curious immobilizing spell that had seized his body and paralyzed his vocal cords had started to lift.

Yet he felt a whisper of regret that the moment had passed. God! Had he actually wanted to kiss Ella McLeod?

Yes.

The answer shocked him.

He had wanted to kiss her, to taste her mouth, to lose himself in her womanliness. Yes, womanliness. There was no doubt about it, Ella was every inch a woman. He would never again be fooled by the lawyer in the black suit again. He’d caught a glimpse of the person—the woman—who lurked behind the legal facade. The lacy night attire. Two pairs of well-used ballet slippers hanging in her bedroom. Even the way she’d held the baby and rocked her in her arms after she’d refused to even look at Holly at first.