by Addison Fox
“Oh.”
He turned on his heel with the bags and continued on toward the snaking security line, his gait stiff.
A small smile she couldn’t quite hold back sprang to her lips and the spiral of tension holding her stomach in a tight fist loosened ever-so-slightly. Maybe the conquering hero had an Achilles’ heel or two after all.
To a mere mortal such as herself, it was an oddly comforting thought.
* * *
Whatever momentary lapse in judgment had caused her to think Liam human fled the moment they sat down in the captain’s lounge to await their flight. At least eight women had given him the once-over with their eyes in the one-hundred-yard jaunt from security to the club and the elegant hostess manning the front desk—who was old enough to be his mother—had flirted like a blushing school girl.
“Would you like something?” Liam settled their bags under their table and stopped to wait for her answer.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She snagged her tablet—the one she used for fun—from the depths of her purse and snapped open the cover.
“It’s a long flight and the food here’s better.”
“Please help yourself. I’ll wait for the plane.”
A strange expression flitted through his gaze before he seemed to think better of responding and headed for a wall-length counter filled with every sort of food imaginable.
The moment his gaze was averted, she appraised the counter full of food and knew she’d been hasty. Fresh fruit. Cookies. Even hot sandwiches filled the wall and her stomach let up an unladylike growl in indignation of being ignored.
She nearly gave in and followed him when a tall, statuesque woman sidling up to the counter filled her line of vision. The woman’s gaze was predatory and her wide mouth spread into a welcoming grin as she moved next to Liam. Isabella was too far away to hear the conversation but there was no way she was mistaken on the woman’s body language.
No, sir-ee.
Every line in the woman’s slender frame screamed out an invitation. And judging by the appreciative grin on Liam’s face, he didn’t mistake the offer.
Isabella refocused on her tablet and ignored the unfolding flirtation. She was Liam Steele’s client, nothing more. She had a problem and it was his job to fix it.
End of story.
The words on the screen jumbled in front of her eyes as her vision swam with the memories of their kiss and she blinked to refocus. Slowly, the chapter heading came back into view and she threw herself into the story of a roving space pirate and the female cantina owner determined to help him put his sketchy past behind him.
She’d been enjoying the story up to now, the author a personal favorite. In her mind’s eye, she’d fleshed out the big bad space pirate as a cross between Harrison Ford and Channing Tatum. How insulting, then, when he morphed in her mind to bear a striking resemblance to Liam.
Couldn’t her books even be off-limits?
With a resigned sigh—and a willingness to eat a portion of crow along with a fresh sandwich from the serving bar—she glanced up into Liam’s warm gaze.
“Problem?”
“Of course not. I just decided I was hungry after all. I’ll just go up and get something.”
“Then it’s a good thing I got you a sandwich and a banana.” He pulled a plate from behind his back, the promised sandwich filled to the brim with fresh-cut turkey, what appeared to be slices of pear and a wedge of soft cheese.
She took the proffered sandwich and fought the petty urge to go up and get something different. Good heavens, what was wrong with her? Her mother might have spent most of Isabella’s childhood thoroughly disengaged but even she’d managed to raise a child who was well-mannered and gracious.
Not to mention thankful when someone did something nice.
After she swallowed a bite, she set down her plate and turned to face Liam. “Thank you. The sandwich is delicious.”
“They know how to send a traveler off in style here.”
“Yes, they do.” She used his comment as an excuse to look around the lounge and away from the intense scrutiny of his gaze but his voice pulled her back to the here and now.
“We should get into JFK a little before two. My sister Kensington and her fiancé, Jack, are picking us up themselves.”
“Okay.” While the extra attention still felt unnecessary and overblown, Liam’s caution overrode any protests she might have.
“I’d like you to stay at the family house tonight.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I think it is. I’d also like you to give us keys to your apartment. Jack and I can go over and check things out tomorrow. He’s in security as well. Between the two of us, we know what to look for and how to suss out any threats.”
“I’ll go with you, of course.”
“I’d prefer you stayed behind.”
Whether it was lingering frustration over the long-legged Amazon and her smooth moves or the sheer insult of being left behind while someone investigated her home, she didn’t know.
She was fast hitting a point where she didn’t care, either.
“It’s my home. I appreciate your guidance but I believe, as your client, I still have final say. I’m going with you.”
“Isabella—”
“No. I’m not leaving you to walk through my apartment and look through my things while I sit and do nothing.”
“Someone’s proven themselves a threat to you on several occasions and, by all accounts, with increasing severity. You’re better off staying where we can control the situation.”
“I’m not negotiating this with you. I need to get inside my apartment and see if anyone was there. Besides, I won’t be scared away from my own home.”
“And I’d like you to be reasonable and let me do my job.”
She pushed her plate aside and leaned over the small table, her gaze direct. “No, Liam, I won’t be reasonable. Or pliable. Or pitiful. I may not be some athletic Amazon like Blondie over there,” she tossed her head in the direction of the woman from the serving counter, “but I know my own mind and I know this. You’re not going into my home without me.”
“Blondie?”
“Excuse me for being vague. I was referring to the statuesque blonde who almost had her tongue down your ear.”
“I believe her name’s Stella.”
“Of course it is.”
“She’s an old college acquaintance of my sister’s who thought she recognized me and came over to say hello.”
“How sweet.” Isabella flung a hand, nearly knocking over her plate in the process. “Why don’t you go get reacquainted?”
“Since she’s leaving on a tropical vacation with her boyfriend, I’m not sure either would appreciate the intrusion.”
Isabella looked over to where the blonde had sat down and had the distinct mortification of watching the woman run her hands over the rather large and imposing chest of a man she clearly had feelings for.
Damn it all to hell and back.
A few other choice expletives floated through her mind in rapid succession at, once again, being caught out of her depth. “How lovely for her.”
“Quite.”
She took a sip of the soft drink he’d brought her and willed the mortification to fade as quickly as possible. The cold slide of sugar coated her parched throat and while it couldn’t quite beat the heat of embarrassment flushing up her neck, it did make her feel a bit better.
“I don’t think you’re pitiful, Isabella.”
“Thank you.”
“And for the record?” A small smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, those blue irises twinkling. “I sure as hell don’t think you’re pliable, either.”
Chapter 5
So
the cat does have a few claws.
Liam couldn’t hold back his delight at that fact, nor could he quite shake off the sudden flash of mischief that sparked under his skin. Was Isabella jealous?
He wouldn’t have thought it behind the cool exterior that had him in a permanent state of confusion, but the evidence was rather clear in her words. And over Stella, of all people. The woman was a shameless flirt and if it weren’t for the fact that she was a friend of his sister’s he probably would have faked ignorance when she walked over.
Of course, between two sisters who knew half the population of both Manhattan and London as well as grandparents who had been movers and shakers for more than half a century, his chance of going anywhere without meeting someone he knew was slim to none.
He could only be grateful his brother’s lifelong behavior bordered on reclusive, ensuring they had few acquaintances in common, but even that was beginning to change. Campbell had undergone a significant change of heart since marrying Abby and the two of them now had connections as well.
It was his life and the consequence of the status his family enjoyed and he’d learned long ago to live with it. Hell, with House of Steele they’d learned to use it to their advantage. But in all that time, he’d never seen the connections in his life as more than a necessary nuisance to get him to an end goal.
Until today when Isabella unsheathed her claws.
There was something about her he couldn’t define and that intrigued him. If he were honest with himself, he was used to putting women in neat boxes.
The ingenue. The model. The actress.
Each fit a specific space and while he appreciated them all and never promised what he couldn’t deliver, he forgot about them quickly once they were no longer a part of his life.
Isabella, on the other hand?
He suspected she’d be a difficult woman to forget.
Maybe because she is a woman.
The thought rose up with such force he nearly fumbled the bag of chips in his hand.
Along with the thought came an image of his grandfather, rubbing his hands at correctly matching the two of them up, and Liam shut down whatever it was about Isabella that had him captivated.
The woman underneath the shapeless clothes and computer-like mind might be enticing, but the implications of tangling with her weren’t.
“Why don’t you like flying?”
The question broke into his musings—direct and pointed—just like Isabella.
“I just don’t.”
“You must fly often.”
“At least once a week, usually more.”
“Don’t you think you should do something about that? Hypnosis or acupuncture or something?”
He knew it was a ridiculous fear. Hell, he’d BASE-jumped off several buildings the world over and had a surprising love of climbing. But there was something about a plane. The closed space and the very real fact that he turned his destiny over to someone else.
A small shudder gripped his shoulders.
Nope. He did not like to fly.
“I live with it.”
“Yes, but you don’t have to. Whether you choose modern medicine or holistic medicine or even a psychologist, there’s a therapy to help you.”
His toes curled in his Italian loafers as the word therapy hit its mark. He knew it was an irrational response, but he hated that word.
Hated what it suggested.
Although he’d played it off earlier with Isabella—and he did believe therapy had its place—he’d had his fill. He had given it the old college try and got out of going as fast as he could.
Talking through problems worked for others but he wasn’t wired that way. And he sure as hell didn’t think sitting in a chair and spilling his guts to someone else would make his parents come back or assuage the all-consuming grief that he’d never see them again.
With a casualness he didn’t feel, he shot her a lopsided grin that usually had the effect of charming the woman sitting opposite and derailing whatever they were about to say next. “A few vodkas and I’m all set.”
“But there are solutions. Drugs. Professionals who can help you.”
He cut her off. “I’m fine. And not everything can be fixed by science. Hasn’t that fact sunk in yet?”
The words hit their desired mark when her face fell into somber lines, her eyes going wide. “Excuse me then. Clearly you’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“I have.”
She took a small bite of her sandwich and he suspected he’d earned roughly the same status as a puppy kicker or hunter of unicorns.
The announcement for their flight came over the PA system and he dropped his balled-up napkin onto his plate. “You ready to go?”
“Yep.”
He hated he’d made her feel bad and suspected the tight knot in his gut from lashing out at her wasn’t going to go away any time soon.
But he couldn’t deny the extreme relief that he was no longer under Isabella Magnini’s microscope.
* * *
Edward Carrington the Third fiddled with the keys on his laptop as the hum of the coffee shop swirled around him. His trip to London had been surprisingly productive, the visit to Steele’s apartment lobby producing the desired result.
The man had taken one look at him, made the threat and ushered what was no doubt a scared Isabella straight back upstairs.
Damn, but he loved when an experiment went according to the hypothesis.
The visit to Steele’s apartment had been part impulse and part test. He’d already achieved the objective of his trip by messing with Isabella’s hotel room. The early morning lobby visit was the icing, giving him an advance look at Steele’s surroundings and how the man lived. Liam Steele’s reputation preceded him and Edward had no doubt the man was prepared for most eventualities.
The lobby security hadn’t been hard to crack but it wasn’t a cake walk either. And the lobby guard hadn’t been easy to persuade either. He’d tried various scenarios for two days to get the guards to leave their posts and it was only when he’d hit on manufacturing a problem at home for the morning guard that he’d managed to divert the man.
Everyone could be diverted for a price. For some it was money. Others security. Even others it was love. Everybody had a trigger, all you had to do was find it—his research had told him that time and time again.
And there was nothing that delighted him more than seeing his research come to life in practical application.
He finished up a quick status email to the Doc and closed the lid of his computer. Isabella had been a thorn in his side for way too long and it felt good to imagine her finally getting her comeuppance.
Magnificent, actually.
He drained the last of his cappuccino and looked around the small store. A few people sat in pairs, their quiet conversation humming around him. Several others sat like him, tapping away on keyboards, lost in their own thoughts.
It was funny, really. If any of them knew his thoughts they’d likely run screaming.
He’d spent his life as a refined, productive member of society, hiding how he really felt about everyone else. The weakest—yet oldest—son of a wealthy clothing merchant in New York.
How excellent then, that his life had taken such an incredible turn these last few years.
All because of Isabella. He wasn’t sure if he should kiss her or kill her and that was the real rub.
He stowed his laptop in a thin neoprene case and dropped his empty cup on the way out. Neat. Orderly.
He didn’t leave traces.
A skill he’d put to use once more after the cozy couple arrived back in New York.
Hot damn, he loved it when a hypothesis became a cold, hard reality.
* * *
Isabella
took a small sip of her champagne and avoided looking over at Liam. He wasn’t fidgeting, per se, but he certainly wasn’t settled, either. His large form sprawled in the first-class seat and he’d shifted several times to get comfortable.
By the continuous shifting, she could tell he clearly wasn’t at ease.
She was pleased to see the second dram of vodka still sat on his tray, unopened. Although she didn’t think he had a problem to have a few drinks on a six-hour flight, it was still somewhat comforting he wasn’t downing the midmorning drinks like water, either.
He has too much self-control for that.
The thought swirled through her mind, yet another reminder of how he fascinated her.
What did she care if he drank himself into oblivion to get through the flight to New York? They were being picked up on the opposite side.
His personal choices were none of her business.
With the deliberate precision that had marked her behavior her entire life, she kept her eyes glued to her tablet, turning the electronic pages with a regular cadence. The pages were all for effect—she hadn’t read a word since opening the book—but it gave her something to focus on.
She refused to have any sympathy for him. Nor could she quite squelch the thought that he’d earned his discomfort fair and square.
Not everything can be fixed by science. Hasn’t that fact sunk in yet?
No, she wasn’t the best at reading social cues and perhaps she’d pushed a bit harder on his fear of flying than she should have.
But he had no right to speak to her like that.
The heavy press of his hand on her forearm caught her attention and she turned to look at him.
“Would you like another glass of champagne?” He reached for the small bottle of vodka and waved it. “I need more ice.”
“No thank you, I’ve had enough.”
He resettled himself after ringing the call bell and she refocused on her tablet, the awkward mantle that shrouded both of them only growing more oppressive under the silence.
