by Amy Andrews
She heard the absolute certainty in his voice, and then remembered how clinically he had looked at her abdomen—as if she’d been under a microscope. ‘Oh, no,’ she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘I’m sure they’re highly fascinating for you.’
Alex realised he’d made a critical error when he’d examined her so thoroughly on the boat. He thought for a moment, then pursed his lips and pushed them right up close to her ear.
‘You are sexy. Your body in those awful clothes and horrible glasses is sexy. Your naked body is a whole other level sexy. In fact I want nothing more than to take you into the nearest bathroom, rip those dreadful clothes off you and show you just how very much I don’t give a damn about how fascinating those scars are.’
Isobella froze, the fingers plucking at her napkin stilling at his sinful proposition. The brush of his lips rendered her incapable of movement. ‘You can’t mean that,’ she whispered.
‘I do. I absolutely do,’ he whispered back.
Red came along just then and reached across Isobella, collecting Alex’s tray. ‘I hope everything was satisfactory, Dr Zaphirides?’ she purred.
Isobella didn’t hear Alex’s reply. Her brain was sluggish, stupefied by desire. She felt as if her skull had been flipped open and an electric mixer had been applied to her brain, scrambling it into a million pieces. He thought she was sexy? Dared she believe him?
Like Paolo? He had told her how sexy she was about a hundred times a day. And a bunch of other fashion industry people had used the word as casually as if it were a preposition. Anthony had kissed and touched her at every opportunity in their briefly intense month, had told her he was the luckiest man alive.
Why should she believe it from Alex? Even though his cerulean gaze was hypnotically honest and his frank words free from artifice? She wanted to believe him. But wanting didn’t make it so. Why should she put her faith in a catch-kiss-and-throw-back man? Even if his words were sincere, he was never going to commit to her. She knew where he stood on that. But, after years of being alone and pretending it didn’t matter, she wanted more than a casual affair.
‘Where were we?’ Alex murmured, after the stewardess had moved off.
Isobella sat up straighter in the chair, steeling herself to deliver a stern lecture. Fortunately the head stewardess made the ‘prepare for descent’ announcement—asking passengers to fasten seatbelts, place trays up, return seats to the upright position.
‘Landing, I do believe,’ Isobella said coolly.
‘Isobella, I think we were in the middle of something.’
‘No, Alex.’ She looked him straight in the eye. ‘We weren’t.’
Alex saw determination solidify her gaze, as hard as year-old toffee, before she turned away from him and reclaimed her in-flight magazine. She wanted to be left alone. That much was clear. She wanted him to butt out and leave her to her lonely lab geek life. This was none of his business, and she redefined complicated.
He didn’t do complicated. He liked simple. Easy. Carefree. And, no matter how unappealing they all sounded right now, he’d grant her wish. He’d leave her alone, stop interfering, get the hell back to Melbourne and his uncomplicated life.
But he did make a mental note to visit the Brisbane lab more frequently.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ISOBELLA peered down her microscope at the latest tentacular material from a Fleckeri Mike and Theresa had sent to the lab yesterday. Her mind wandered to Alex standing on the beach the morning after the cyclone, his white shirt flapping in the breeze. He’d looked so sexy, so vital and male.
Damn it! One month down the track and Isobella finally admitted what she’d known almost from her first day back. She was going to have to resign. She was in love with her boss and being back at the lab was a daily torturous reminder of it.
In love with Dr Alexander Zaphirides.
How stupid!
He was everywhere. Not just in her head. He was on her e-mail and her phone line, and in the conversations she overheard from her colleagues. It was his lab. Every piece of equipment, every piece of paper had his name on it. Everywhere there were constant reminders of him.
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t sleep. She was distracted, and flitted from being irritable one moment to being day-dreamy the next. Her productivity had slipped. She’d stare at a specimen for ages before remembering what she was supposed to be doing with it. Her data entry was slow. She forgot where she put things and planning her day was hopeless. Her colleagues were noticing.
And then, when she’d finally get it together, Alex would ring. With his sinful voice. Oh, sure, it was always about work, but he’d manage to slip in something seemingly innocent about Piccolo, and then suddenly she’d be back there—back to that night, with him inside her, chasing the storm and her fears away, whispering to her, his voice stroking her body like an extra hand.
And if that wasn’t enough he was redefining her role—using Reg’s absence to get her out of the lab to do more field work. She’d been out and done follow-ups on several old Fleckeri cases in the Brisbane region twice already, and he’d sent her an e-mail yesterday with an airline ticket in the attachment for another follow-up.
She knew what he was doing. He was determined to get her out of the lab. Out of her comfort zone. If only he knew that it didn’t matter any more. The lab was no longer her refuge. Everything in it reminded her of him. Her haven was no longer. Nowhere was safe from thoughts of Alex.
She waited till everyone had left for the evening and dialled Alex’s direct line. The temptation to e-mail him her resignation had been strong, but she knew she owed him a more personal explanation.
She glanced at the time. Six o’clock. She knew he’d be there. He was an even bigger workaholic than she was. She mentally ran through her speech as her foot tapped an agitated rhythm on the floor, waiting for him to pick up.
‘Hello?’
Isobella’s prepared speech died in her throat at the decidedly normal, decidedly girlie voice that answered the phone.
‘Er…hello? Who’s this?’ Isobella asked, frowning at the phone. Surely she hadn’t rung the wrong extension? She knew Alex’s number by heart.
‘It’s Sonya Nikolaidis.’
Isobella froze, her hand tightening convulsively around the receiver. She heard Alex in the background, asking who it was. She stared at the phone for a second before dropping it back in its cradle as if it had burnt her.
Alex and Sonya?
She swallowed, feeling sick. And stupid. And foolish. She’d been mooning over him like a teenager. Unable to forget their time and what had happened. Reliving it again and again like a pathetic lovesick sap. While he’d been back in the game. How many women had he slept with this past four weeks? How many nibbles on his line?
She sat at her computer and composed a quick, brief and professional letter of resignation. She attached it to a one-line e-mail and clicked ‘send’ before she changed her mind. Then she switched off her computer and left the lab without a backward glance.
Alex had a hangover the next morning when he opened the e-mail. He’d been drinking too much lately, and after his meeting with Sonya to secure further monies from MediCorp he’d imbibed more than he should have. It rankled to have to deal with her on a professional basis.
He read the e-mail through bleary eyes. Isobella was resigning? Effective after Reg came back to work and was settled back in?
What the—?
‘Over my dead body,’ he muttered as he dialled her number. He needed her in Brisbane, damn it. She was practically running the project single-handed.
‘Trop Med—this is Isobella.’
Alex could have reached through the phone as her cheery greeting jangled through his aching head. ‘I don’t accept.’
Isobella gripped the phone hard. ‘Alex.’
‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he demanded.
‘It’s all in the e-mail.’
Alex’s top lip curled. The le
tter was textbook. It told him nothing. ‘It’s rubbish, Isobella. I thought you were dedicated to the project? I thought it was the most important thing in your life? The centre of your universe?’
It had been. But now her love for him took pole position. ‘I don’t have to give you any reasons, Dr Zaphirides.’
‘The hell you don’t. ’First she slept with him, and then she told him to forget it had ever happened, and then she resigned? One of his best researchers?
‘I’m not going to leave you in the lurch, Dr Zaphirides. I’ll wait until Reg has resumed full duties. It’ll give you plenty of time to find a replacement.’
Replacement? God damn it, he didn’t want someone else. He wanted her.
‘I’m flying to Brisbane today.’ He scanned his diary looking at what he could postpone or cancel. ‘This afternoon. I’ll book a table at Daniel’s. I’ll pick you up at seven.’
She did not want to have dinner with him. Even if Daniel’s was one of the poshest restaurants in Brisbane. She certainly didn’t want him picking her up. ‘You don’t even know where I live,’ she said exasperatedly.
‘You forget, Isobella, I’m the boss. I know everything.’
His gravelled voice left her in no doubt that he was thinking of all the things he knew about her. Even the things he shouldn’t. She swallowed. ‘Dr Zaphirides—’
‘I swear to God, Isobella, if you call me Dr Zaphirides one more time…’
Isobella shivered as the husky threat hung in the air. She sighed. ‘It won’t make any difference, Alex.’
‘It’s not a request, Isobella.’
She bristled at his autocratic statement, and remembered how he had presented her with the Piccolo fait accompli in much the same manner. She’d forgotten in all her mooning how determined he could be.
Alex waited for a response, unsure as to why he was being so hard-nosed. All he knew was she couldn’t leave. ‘Isobella. I think you owe me a face-to-face on this.’
She knew he was right. Whether she wanted to ignore it or not, they were more than acquaintances, more than just colleagues. She loved him, for God’s sake!
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask whether Sonya would be joining them, but she bit down hard to prevent the green-eyed monster having its way.
‘Fine,’ she snapped, and banged the phone down in his ear.
Alex smiled despite his annoyance. There were very few employees who would hang up on him. But then Isobella wasn’t a run-of-the-mill employee. For a start he didn’t know any of his other workers so intimately, and nor did he want to. And there wasn’t one of them he’d fight this hard to keep. Not when they so patently wanted to go.
Somehow telling himself it was all about her research skills just wasn’t washing. Maybe it was the thought that she was ruining all his plans. Having her in Brisbane had been perfect. She was near, but not too close. He could be in contact, make subtle changes, force her out of hiding under the guise of the job and slowly bring her out of her shell.
He could see her regularly, check on her progress, slowly insinuate himself into her life. Maybe eventually coax her into a date or two. And then a repeat performance of what had happened on Piccolo. God knew, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else for weeks.
Frankly, it was a damn nuisance that she’d decided not to play the game. Alexander Zaphirides was a man who did not like his plans interfered with.
When Isobella opened the door to Alex promptly at seven he knew instantly he’d been wrong. It hadn’t been about her work, or about keeping her close so he could chip away at her shell. He was in love with her. It was as simple as that. She was fresh-faced and lovely and he wanted to fall into her eyes and drown in them for ever.
‘Come in,’ she invited stiffly, clenching her fists to stop herself from reaching for the broad expanse of his magnificent chest in his exquisitely cut suit jacket. Dear God, she had missed him. ‘I’ll just get my purse,’ she said, turning on her heel.
Alex wandered into the apartment in a daze, his revelation making him dizzy. He noticed nothing about where she lived, or the things she surrounded herself with. He was too busy castigating himself for his blindness. How could he not have seen he’d fallen in love with her?
Maybe because it wasn’t an emotion with which he was overly acquainted. He’d certainly never felt this overwhelming sense of rightness with Sonya. He’d felt lust and possession and pride, but never this buzz energising every cell with a delicious ache to have her by his side always.
He turned to face her as he heard her approaching. She strode towards him and he blinked. In his tailspin he hadn’t noticed her attire. She was wearing a dress. A magnificent dress.
The shapeliness of her long coltish legs was clearly evident as the clingy burgundy fabric hugged their outline. As was everything else. Her breasts were outlined in all their pert, perfect glory. And the material clung to the flatness of her stomach before flaring gently from thigh level down to the hem that swung around her knees.
The dress was sleeveless, baring her beautiful shoulders and nicely toned arms to his view. The V neckline rested on the generous rise of her cleavage. Her neck was bare, her trachey scar exposed.
Sans glasses, her face was classically beautiful. Her glossed lips so very, very kissable. His ugly duckling had become a beautiful swan.
‘Isobella.’
She could hear the hiss of his breath, and the way her name was torn raggedly from his damaged cords. What had possessed her to wear the dress she wasn’t sure. In fact she hadn’t been sure about wearing it at all. Still wasn’t.
It had gone to Cairns and back with her unworn—why had she felt the urge to change her mind at the last minute tonight and slip it over her head? Maybe it had been Sonya’s voice on Alex’s phone last night, goading her. Maybe at this, their last hurrah, she wanted to show him she could compete with his ex.
But the way he was looking—no, gaping—made her nervous, and she squirmed beneath his silent scrutiny, her hand nervously stroking her very exposed neck. She wanted to flee back to the safety of her bedroom and seek solace in her standard clothes. Remove her contacts, push her glasses on. Climb into the baggy trousers and shapeless top she’d laid out on her bed.
She wasn’t used to men staring at her any more. What on earth had possessed her to wear this dress? ‘It’s…it’s not appropriate,’ she stuttered into the growing silence. She swallowed against a throat that felt as if it had been lined with cement. ‘I’ll go and change.’ And she whirled on her heel and bolted for her bedroom.
Alex blinked at the apparition that had disappeared as rapidly as it had appeared. What the—? ‘Isobella? Wait!’ he called after her, following her escape.
Isobella shut and locked her door, sagging against it. What had she been thinking? It didn’t matter how much she dressed up the outside, he’d already seen what she really looked like. Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked hard, refusing to let them fall. Who had she been trying to kid? Yes, he’d told her she was sexy, but he’d been with Sonya since then.
Beautiful.
Greek.
Unblemished.
Perfect.
She moved away from the door, pulling the dress up over her head and hurling it on the ground in disgust. The door handle twisted suddenly, startling her. It was followed by a loud thumping and she grabbed her robe. ‘Go away, Alex,’ she choked, the tears fighting to get past her determination not to cry.
Her voice was muffled, but he could hear the emotion straining it. ‘Let me in.’
Isobella secured the tie around her waist and pulled the lapels tight against her throat. ‘I don’t want to talk to you, Alex. I never want to see you again,’ she called.
‘I swear to God, Isobella, I’m going to kick it down if you don’t open it.’
Isobella stared at the door, scandalised. But she believed him. She looked down at her robe, knowing it wasn’t the most suitable attire to be entertaining a gentleman in, but, hell—he’d seen her
in a lot less. And he wouldn’t be staying. She walked to the door and flipped the lock.
Alex took a calming breath before he entered. He was about to tell a woman who never wanted to see him again that he loved her. He opened the door cautiously, half expecting something to be hurled at his head. She was standing by the bed, her hand clutching her robe tight at her throat.
‘Isobella.’
She darted him a nervous look, and he saw her knuckles tighten at her neck, but she didn’t say anything—just stood looking mutinously at the floor.
His gaze fell on the discarded dress. ‘Please get dressed and let’s go to dinner.’ His nerve had deserted him. She looked so closed-off right now. Maybe if he could get her to loosen up she’d be more receptive to what he had to say.
‘I’m not going to dinner with you, Alex. It won’t change the outcome. I’m resigning, and it doesn’t matter what you say to try to persuade me—’
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Why do you want to leave? I thought you loved your job. And don’t give me some politically correct legalese mumbo-jumbo.’
She did love her job. She had. But she loved him more, and she just couldn’t put herself through the torture of being so near to him and yet so far. He wanted her to be honest. But she couldn’t. Not totally. She didn’t want her heart to be crushed again—it might not survive this time.
‘It’s too hard now.’
Alex held his breath. ‘Because of Piccolo?’
Isobella nodded.
Alex searched for words. The right words that might be the key to unlocking her guarded heart. ‘You know, I learnt a lot about you while we were away. But I also learnt a lot about me. You told me that not all women are the same. That not all women leave. And I was actually starting to believe that. But here you are, walking away, because it’s suddenly got too hard. Just like Sonya.’
Isobella felt a swelling in her chest, pushing at her ribs, grabbing at her heart, rising into her throat at the unfairness of his comparison. Sonya had cold-bloodedly left him when he had needed her most. It had been cruel and harsh and she so didn’t deserve a second chance. The memory of Sonya’s voice on Alex’s phone line needled further.
