Page 27 of Hot Momosa

Her frown deepened.

“You won’t even know he’s there.”

“I don’t like it.” She pulled her robe tighter.

Dahlia had more than enough on her mind without me adding to it. However, that didn’t change the fact she was in danger, and we needed a rock-solid plan. “You said it yourself. The stalker is close by. Otherwise he wouldn’t have had time to drop the latest letter in your mailbox.”

The color drained from her face and her shoulders sagged. “You’re right, and if I have to have a bodyguard, Stuart is a good choice. He seems normal.”

I knew what she meant, but I quirked a brow, anyway. My best shot at easing her stress was to keep her talking, and with any luck, getting her laughing. “Define normal?”

She made a circling motion with her hand. “You know, less like a musclebound bruiser.”

“What do you have against muscular men?” I folded my arms, making sure to flex my biceps in the process.

“Nothing…it’s just…” Dahlia stiffened, met my eyes, and dropped her gaze to my arms. Seeming to catch on to the fact I was joking with her, she smiled.

“Well?” I balled my hands and execute the quintessential body builder pose—slight squat, fists four inches apart in front of my junk, chest, biceps, and shoulders flexed. I finished it off by scrunching my face and grunting.

“Nothing. I have nothing against muscles.” Dahlia laughed and my world righted itself.

“Now that we have that settled…” I nodded to the kitchen. “Hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Not even for the world’s most outstanding breakfast food?”

She perked up. “Do you have strawberries?”

Please, for the love of everything good and holy, tell me they haven’t spoiled. I gave her an exaggerated smirk. “Do I have strawberries?”

“I’d love some French toast.”

I ran through my mental list of Dahlia’s other favorites. “How about some mimosas for the hot momosa?”

Dahlia’s face fell as if I’d hurt her.

What the hell did I do to cause that look in her eyes?“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Sorry, I’m tired and overly emotional.” She waved her hand. “It’s just…that phrase reminded me of when Gunnar was tiny.”

Shit. How do I respond to that? Apologize?

Before I could puzzle it out, she walked into the living room.

Dahlia curled up on her side of the sofa and stared out the windows at the city lights. “I’ve always loved it here, but a fourth-floor condo with a rooftop deck isn’t exactly toddler friendly.”

I seated myself on the ottoman in front of her. The position was close enough to reach out and touch her, but not too close. I didn’t want her to feel caged, or worse, like I was coming on to her. “I had the place baby-proofed months ago.”

She glanced around the room and frowned. “Still, I can’t stay here.”

Before I could reply, her phone rang.

Dahlia pulled the cell from the robe pocket, glanced at the screen, and furrowed her brow. “It’s Harrison.”

Just my luck. She’d managed to remember her damned phone. “Answer it.”

She turned her body away from me. “Hi, Harry.”

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