Page 65 of Snatched
COLT
I’m stretching on the turf when I see her walk in.
And everything in me stops.
Elena is wearing a wine-red one-shoulder athletic set that looks like someone poured the color of Friday night down her entire body.
I forget how to inhale.
The fabric hugs her waist, her hips, her curves—every part of her she tried to hide that first day.
Today, she walks straight toward me with the kind of confidence that makes my pulse slam against the inside of my throat.
Damien, behind the desk, straightens like he just spotted a crime.
Great. Fantastic. He’s going to be glued to us all session.
She stops in front of me.
“Hi.”
Her voice is soft, but her eyes? Her eyes are trouble.
“Hey,” I manage. “You…you wore red.”
Her lips twitch. “Thought you liked red.”
“I—” I swallow. “It’s a good color.”
Understatement of the century. She steps past me onto the mat and does a slow quad stretch.
One leg up, hip out, and her back arched.
I am aprofessionaltrainer. I have seen thousands of people stretch.
None have ever stretched like this.
She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Ready to work?” she asks, pretending innocence so poorly it might as well be a confession.
“Yeah,” I choke out. “Let’s… let’s warm up.”
I put her on a treadmill for five minutes so I can gather what’s left of my sanity.
It doesn’t help.
Her ponytail sways, and her shoulders flex.
The cut of the bra shows a long, perfect line of skin.
Damien is actually craning his neck to watch us. Fantastic.
Time to focus.
“Alright,” I say when she steps off. “We’re lifting heavy today.”
She smirks. “Is that what you said in your…nutritional lecture?”
