Page 22 of Second Chance Christmas

“I landed on a vase,” she answered by rote. “I must have knocked it as I fell. It broke beneath me.”

He swore softly. “That must have hurt.”

She closed her eyes, her lower lip trembling. “It did.”

“Did you hurt anything else? Falling down stairs is a dangerous occupation.”

Despite herself, a small smile tilted her lips. “I broke my wrist. Had to wear a cast for six weeks, through the heat of summer. One star. Do not recommend.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She plastered a smile to her face and turned to face him. “Anyway…”

He nodded, but there was a look in his eyes, an intensely watchful look that made her stomach tighten.

“How would you feel about a bath?”

She frowned.

“This time, with me.”

Her heart stammered. “Ah. Well, in that case…”

She was rewarded with the most breathtakingly beautiful smile she’d ever seen. She felt almost like she’d died, and gone to heaven.

Before joiningher in the bath, Leonardo had ordered room service, so when they emerged, wrapped in matching terry towelling robes, a tray had been wheeled into the room and placed by the table. Cassidy padded over to it, running a finger over the condensation-covered neck of a bottle of champagne.

“Do you eat and drink like this all the time?”

He laughed. The sound was like melted caramel against her veins. She sighed softly.

“No. When I’m training, it’s pretty strict.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“I have a dietitian and chef,” he said, shrugging. “They work together to make sure I’m getting the right macronutrients.” He laughed again. “Your expression tells me you don’t like the sound of that.”

“I’m not sure I even understand it,” she said with a shrug. But the truth was, she was covering again. Covering the fact that she hated how little she knew about his life, when at one time, they’d known each other’s deepest secrets and dreams.

“It sounds more complex—and boring—than it is. It’s just about making sure I’m getting enough carbs and protein without feeling like I’m eating all day long.”

“How much do you train?”

“Why? Are you considering a career change?”

“I don’t have a career,” she muttered, then wished she could eat the words because it was admitting more than she wanted to. And he saw it. She recognized the speculative gleam in his eyes and knew he’d circle back to that, to ask her more later.

He reached for the lids on the food and began to remove them. “I train pretty much every day.”

“How much?”

“About six hours, usually.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Because it’s just…a lot.”

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