her that she hadn’t eaten since the stuff they passed off as food in the hospital.
She moved the covers back and slowly climbed out of bed.
Her muscles still ached, but she was happy the stabbing pain had eased considerably. Maybe everyone would stop asking her if she wanted pain meds. Just thinking about them made her brain fog up.
I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all.
A pair of slippers sat on the side of the bed, a bathrobe flung over a chaise lounge. They had thought of everything.
Even clothes.
The drawers had jeans, T-shirts, sweaters, leggings . . . a pair of hiking shoes, all-weather boots, and runners. Even underclothes . . . and everything looked like it would fit. Olivia was pretty sure she had to credit Sasha for the outfits. Whoever these people were, they were thorough.
Olivia couldn’t help but wonder what she normally preferred in terms of style. She didn’t look at the pants and wish for a dress or see the black leggings and think she’d never wear that. They were clothes. Cloth that served a purpose.
Forcing her thoughts away, she pushed her arms into the bathrobe, careful to not make too many fast movements and encourage discomfort in her chest. And then decided against putting on the slippers. She’d rather feel the stairs under her feet, even if the floor was cold.
The house was asleep . . . or the people inside were, in any event. She moved quietly through the hallway, past a TV room on the third floor, and down the stairs to the main floor.
At the bottom of the stairs she saw the shadow of a man in front of the window watching the same moonset she had up in her bedroom.
She looked closer.
It was Leo. He and AJ were similar in size and shape, only Leo’s hair was shorter, his shoulders maybe an inch wider.
Olivia stared.
He was wearing a pair of lounge pants, the kind some men wore to bed and others stripped down to after a long day.
No shirt.
A slow smile spread over her lips.
Leo worked out.
Those slightly-wider-than-AJ’s shoulders were sculpted like Michelangelo’s statues. His waist tapered to an ass she couldn’t help but think matched the rest of him. The fact that he was in a house full of people but was walking around without a shirt meant two things . . . it was the middle of the night and he didn’t expect anyone to be up . . . and Leo slept naked. She would bet money there weren’t any boxers or briefs under those pants. Her thoughts led to him dropping the pants before climbing into bed and grabbing them when he needed a quick run to the kitchen or bathroom.
She felt her breath fall from her lips a little faster, a little warmer.
Attraction.
The word floated in her head as if what she was feeling in her belly was more than hunger. Or hunger of a different kind.
She closed her eyes and forced the word, and the heat, out of her head.
Not the time.
Not the place.
Diverting her eyes, she took a couple of steps toward the kitchen.
Because Leo still hadn’t heard her, she softly cleared her throat.
He jumped and pivoted quickly.
“Sorry. I was trying to be quiet,” she told him.
His shoulders relaxed when he saw her. “You succeeded.” He looked at the path she’d just walked.
“I woke up hungry.” She found a light switch, turned it on, and dimmed them to match the evening.
“No one wanted to wake you for dinner, but there is a plate for you.” Leo moved past her and into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and reached inside. “We all thought you needed to sleep . . .”
He kept talking, but his words didn’t register. Mr. FBI had the perfect amount of hair on his chest.
An image of her fingers raking over his pecs settled in a comfortable position in her brain.
Leo turned, a plate in his hand, the light from the refrigerator casting him in a silhouette. He stopped talking and moving . . . and his eyes met hers.
Chemistry. The moment when attraction hits both people at the same time.
Her gaze moved to his chest, then back up . . . slowly.
Leo closed his eyes, shook his head, and blew out a quick breath. “I should, ah . . . put a shirt on.”
That’s a damn shame.
But she didn’t suggest otherwise. Instead, she removed the plate from his hands and walked to the microwave. “Thank you.”