“Celery juice.”
He pulled a face. “I’ll stick to coffee.”
“I guess that explains why you don’t need sleep.”
He didn’t answer, but something shifted in the depths of his eyes, something dark and almost haunted, that made her wonder…but she didn’t want to wonder. She wanted to be alone. Didn’t she?
To prove to herself that was the case, she asked abruptly, “So…what time will you be leaving?”
“Leaving?”
“Yes. You know, that thing people do when they go away?”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Afrissonof excitement ran the length of her spine; she carefully concealed it, lifting the celery juice and forcing herself to down half of it, wincing as the ginger she’d added for a little more flavour had a peppery collision with her throat. “I don’t know what you’re doing here,” she said with a shrug, “but obviously we can’t both stay. And I was here first.”
“I see.”
“So, you should go.”
He moved closer, pausing only when he reached the kitchen bench, his eyes probing hers, lightly mocking.
“Or I could stay.”
Her heart pummeled her ribcage, exploding hard and fast. She gripped her glass more tightly, knuckles white. “Stay? Whatever for?”
More mockery, his eyes cynical and knowing. She shivered. “Why not?”
“Because I’m here to be alone. And I don’t know you. It would be weird to both be here in this small house together.”
“The house is not so small,” he said, looking around. “And I came here to be alone, also.”
“Uh huh!” She capitalized on that. “All the more reason to go find somewhere else.”
“Two people who want to be alone can do so together.”
“That’s absurd.”
“No,” he reached past her, to the coffee pot, and poured himself a large mug of the dark, steaming liquid. “It makes perfect sense.”
“How, exactly?”
“I won’t bother you. You won’t bother me. Simple.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“So what are you going to do with yourself?”
“I have work to catch up on.” Again, that strange, dead look in his eyes, and he turned away, frowning slightly, before returning his gaze to her. “Once you’ve finished your—concoction—I’ll sit here, and you’ll barely know I exist.”
“Presumably you’ll sit there dressed?” she prompted, and then inwardly groaned, because he’d done it again—arguing the small points so she conceded to a much larger one.
“If that’s what you want.”
Another little tremble of awareness passed through Mila. She wasn’t sure how she’d go ignoring him, but there was a part of her that was glad he was trying so hard to stay. Last night had shaken her to the core. Hearing a noise and realizing how completely isolated she was had made her question the sanity of this decision. Her stalker had been able to follow her to multiple cities around the world; why had she presumed this little shack on the edge of the continent would be any different? Memories cut through her—the words written in lipstick on her locker room mirror, the photos taken of her up close, in her home. The animal blood that had been spilled in her bag when she’d been competing, and those incidents all where security was relatively high. Her stalker’s reach was long, and investigations had so far failed to turn up any information.