Page 58 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

Gritting her teeth, she moved down the corridor, then froze as a shadow passed the window. He was walking along the sand that was just outside the lounge room. He was quick, too, and big. Oh, God.

This was it. This was how she was going to die. And she’d never get to claim her gold medal at the Internationals, the last piece she needed to equal her mother’s record, and become one of the top British figure skaters of all time.

Too late, she remembered the back door. She hadn’t used it. Benji had told her the lock was sticky and it was best to use the front door only, so she’d forgotten all about the second entrance to the house. Now, as the noises outside stopped, she held her breath. He was there.

Whoever had been stalking her had followed her to this Croatian sanctuary and was about to break in through the sticky back door. With sweat beading her brow, she grabbed the closest thing she could find—a rolling pin from the almond cookies she’d made earlier—and moved with as fast a gait as her crutches allowed, into the tiled laundry. Sure enough, the door groaned.

Oh, god.She pressed herself against the wall, lifting her hand high, closing her eyes so she’d hear the exact moment he burst into the room. Another curse, this time in English, and then the door gave, opening with a loud groan.

It all happened so fast.

The hulking figure of a man entered, and then, fear turning to ice in her veins, she was crashing the rolling pin down on his head. Only he was so much taller, it was impossible to strike hard enough, certainly too hard to knock him out, so he spun, his craggy features showing shock in the light thrown by the full moon and open laundry door. Or was it menace?

She shivered, lifting the rolling pin again, badly off-balance on her crutches, but now, he had all the advantage. He was so much larger, stronger, and lacked a broken ankle, so could move freely, without impediment. He grabbed the rolling pin before it crashed down again, drawing his body closer to hers, his breath heaving out of him. Terror flooded her. She kneed him, but had to use her bad leg as it wouldn’t hold her weight. She managed to connect with his thigh, stunning him enough to loosen his grip, and then she pushed one of her crutches into his foot.

He made a gruff, growling sound, then caught her crutches, pulling at them, throwing them away from her, so she was totally off-balance, hobbling on her one foot.

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded indignantly, and despite her fear she was cognizant enough to feel relieved. If he didn’t know who she was, then this wasn’t her stalker. But he was still a random burglar, and they were alone in this very isolated shack together.

She pushed at his chest, using all her weight, so she toppled a little, and began to fall towards the ground. He reached for her right as she went to kick him again, attacking like a wild animal now, desperate and livid all at once.

Her knee connected with his groin and he cursed harshly, thrown off kilter by her attack, so that when she fell, he tumbled with her, his body weight on hers, caught only by his quick-thinking reflexes. She thrashed beneath him, hitting her head on the tiled laundry floor, uncaring for the sharp shock of pain, just terrified now because of the man who’d broken in and was lying on top of her, his powerful body heavy and hard, so strong and muscled.

How could she be aware of his physique at a time like this? Or the masculine fragrance emanating from him, or the deep timbre of his voice?

She shifted again, trying to get out from under him, but her breath snagged in her throat as a thousand sensations flooded her, not all of them bad.

“Get off me,” she demanded through gritted teeth, glad she could at least give the appearance of indignation. Fear, though, was receding. If he’d come here intending to kill her, he’d have been able to do it by now.

“Not until you tell me who you are, little thief,” he growled. “Didn’t you read Goldilocks as a little girl?”

She glared at him, not keeping up.

“Making yourself at home in someone else’s place is a recipe for disaster.”

“Are you the big bad wolf?” she demanded, blood heating to boiling point.

“Wrong fairytale.”

“You can’t be Prince Charming,” she muttered.

“Definitely not.” His rebuke was swift, his body equally so, as he reached for her hands and trapped them above her head, holding them easily in one of his, so she was pinned beneath him, totally subjugated by his body, his weight. A shudder travelled the length of her body, not remotely unpleasant.

She writhed, telling herself she was only trying to break free from the immovable wall of his body, but deep down, she couldn’t deny the pleasure that was spinning through her, unwanted, unasked for, and totally shocking.

“I’m stronger than I look.”

His teeth were visible as he grinned, the lack of light still allowing her to make out the silhouette of his face, and her heart shifted into higher gear.

“Show me,” he invited. “Free yourself.”

She glared up at him, annoyed beyond words that he’d called her bluff. Strong she might be, but clearly, she was no match for him.

Nonetheless, she strained, twisting and turning, despite the way his hand pinned her wrists and his body held hers still. Every movement she made caused her to be achingly aware of him as a man, of his nearness and strength, so her breath burned hot in her lungs and her mouth was dry. Pride, though, was on the line. She tried to free a leg, to knee him once more, but he only pressed himself against her harder, making any movement impossible, and so she gave up, dropping back against the tiles, all but surrendering.

“Fine,” she grunted, out of breath, but not from her struggle. “You win. So? What’s your plan? Are you going to tie me up while you ransack the house?”

“I presume you’ve already beaten me to the good stuff?”

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