Page 3 of Handle Me

LOLA

Anderson Stone was naked.

My brain refused to process more than that simple fact. Although I was dimly aware I should stop staring, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t.

Because it turned out Anders had every right to his arrogant attitude.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a smirk that suggested he was anything but apologetic. “Is this making you uncomfortable?”

That was a challenge if I’d ever heard one. I squared my shoulders, lifted my head, and glared. “No. Why would it be of any consequence?”

A muscle ticced in his jaw at my subtle dig, but he shook it off. “Let’s be clear about this. My brother is worried about my image, not me. I’ve got everything under control.”

“Really?” I arched an eyebrow and began to count on my fingers. “Since you found out who your father really was, you’ve crashed your car during a race, got into a fistfight with your brother at a bar, and been on the cover of every tabloid in the world, looking like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Out of bed, huh?” he repeated, intentionally bypassing my point altogether. “Is that what you imagined? Seeing me roll out of bed?”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” I said flatly, ordering my body not to think about the images he was planting in my head. Anders might have made me blush, and he might have caught me staring, but there was no way I was going to pad his ego any further. “And from the looks of it here, your lap times are suffering. You and I have very different ideas of what under control means.”

His grin fell from his lips, and he stalked away. I followed, doing my best not to look at him and failing miserably. His broad shoulders continued into a lean, muscled back that narrowed into a tight ass so perfect I could probably bounce a penny off of it. God clearly had a sense of humor because Anders was as gorgeous as he was infuriating.

Get a grip, I commanded myself silently. This was ridiculous. He was not the first naked man I’d ever seen, so why was I acting like a teenage girl? “As I was saying,” I continued loudly, “the family thinks I can help you navigate the press and prepare you for—”

“I don’t give a shit about the press,” he cut me off.

“Not giving a shit is not a strategy,” I said tightly. “You need a strategy, or they will eat you alive.”

“Why?” He whirled around to face me, bringing his body uncomfortably close to mine. My nipples tightened into painful beads that poked against the lacy restraints of my bra. Heat pooled in my core, curiosity mixing with my annoyance. I already knew I hated him, but my body hadn’t gotten the memo. It seemed much more interested in this bastard than I was.

It took me a second to realize he was waiting for an answer. I knew he wouldn’t like a single reason I gave him, but I offered one anyway. “Because I know your brother, and the more trouble you cause, the more security he’ll send to follow you around. You think a couple of bodyguards hanging around are bad? You think I’m bad? Imagine twice as many guards. Imagine him calling you every single day to tell you off. Imagine that he forces you to move back to London where he can keep an eye on you personally.”

But Anders remained unfazed. “He wouldn’t.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Believe me. He doesn’t give two pence about me. He just wants to keep his family out of the tabloids.”

“Newsflash,” I said sourly. “You’re part of his family, which means that reasoning applies to you, too.”

“The family he cares about,” he clarified in a cold voice.

So that was what had him so bent out of shape. “Well, by all means, hang yourself to prove you can, but I didn’t come all the way to the middle of nowhere to soothe your wounded ego.”

“Is that so, boss? What did you come here for?” He leaned toward me. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to intimidate me or seduce me.

I wanted to back away and put some much-needed space between him and me. But every inch of my body resisted the sensibility of that plan. Awareness rippled through my body, raising goosebumps where our bodies nearly met. One step from either of us, and we would touch. I was so close to being in his arms that I could almost feel them around me. The harder I tried to resist my imagination, the more it took hold of me.

He was trying to back me against a wall. Metaphorically, at least. I wasn’t sure what would happen if he physically did that. I hated that part of me wanted to find out.

“I came because I was asked to,” I said softly. “My family needed my help.”

“And you always do what your family asks you to do?” he pressed.

“No,” I said. My answer caught him off-guard, and he blinked.

“No?”

“No,” I repeated. “But when my family needs my help, I try to give it to them.”