by Amy Andrews
She glanced at his neck again. His trachey scar, thick and ugly, dominated the finer L-shaped scar. The thought that he might never have made it was suddenly appalling. She couldn’t help herself. She lifted her hand off the armrest and slowly reached out.
The roughness of his stubble grazed her fingers, and she shivered as they came to rest against his scar. Her other hand reflexively encircled her own throat as she pressed the puckered flesh gently, feeling it give a little.
‘Does it hurt?’ she asked quietly, mesmerised by the feel of it.
Alex didn’t dare move, didn’t dare even breathe as her finger brushed against his skin. It was such a fleeting caress, but he couldn’t remember being more affected by a woman’s touch. ‘No.’
His voice sounded huskier than ever, and she felt the rumble of it vibrate through her fingertips. His neck was warm, and she could see the bound of his pulse at the base of his neck. She stroked the pad of her thumb against it.
‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman, this is your captain speaking. We’ll soon be beginning our descent into Cairns. If you could follow the instructions of the cabin crew we’ll have you safely on the ground in about twenty minutes.’
Isobella blinked. She withdrew her hand, his skin suddenly scorching, and sat back, acutely aware of how close their heads were.
‘I’m…I’m sorry,’ she said, mortified, her face flaming. She stared at her hand in her lap, trying to fathom how it had ended up on Alex’s neck.
‘Don’t be.’
She glanced up at him. His blue gaze was gentle. And then Red came along and asked them to place their seats upright, and Isobella was glad to see her for the first time. Even her attempt at flirting didn’t irk—especially when Alex politely declined her invitation to drinks later that night.
It shouldn’t matter to her who he flirted with. But suddenly it did.
It was the worst kind of insanity.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE top-floor suite Isobella had been allocated was breathtakingly sumptuous. A king-sized four-poster bed, Balinese-style, with a filmy white canopy that floated down the sides dominated the room. Layers of fat pillows, dark cane lounge chairs and earthy seagrass rugs added to the decadence.
A rattan ceiling fan circulated lazily, billowing the bed’s curtains. Dark wooded occasional tables were scattered throughout, displaying stone Buddhas. Vases of frangipani and rattan lamps added unique touches.
It had been years since she’d stayed in such luxury, and, looking around the room, she realised that a small part of her missed the trappings of her former life. The thought irritated her. She had done better work in the last few years than in all the years she had posed for cameras.
The conference centre was on the Cairns ocean front, and the one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view from her balcony was magnificent. She stepped out, admiring the tranquil swell of the ocean, the waves undulating rhythmically against the shore. The cloudless sky was fairy-floss blue, and it was hard to believe that a low pressure system was hovering a few hundred kilometres out to sea.
Isobella inhaled a breath of salty air, turning her face towards the sun. She thrived on her cloistered life in the lab but, like any good indoor plant, occasional exposure to the sunshine was vital for life. She just wished it hadn’t been Alex who had uprooted her and was now firmly planted in the next-door suite.
She wandered back inside and unzipped her bag, planning to unpack and then fire up the Internet and continue her literature search. On the top, carefully folded with a note pinned to it, was the dress that Carla had wanted her to wear to dinner the other night.
Isobella grimaced, detaching the note. Carla was nothing if not persistent.
This has cocktail party written all over it. Dance with McHusky for me. I dare you.
She touched it. The material felt cool and soft against her fingers. Tempting. Seductive. She felt like Alice, confronted with the ‘eat me’ note. Or Eve, staring down the serpent. Damn Carla and her meddling.
Isobella ignored the dress, pushing it aside as she pulled all the other garments out and deftly hung them in the wardrobe. It only took a few minutes, and she zipped the bag up again, still containing the dress and her scraps of underwear, stowing it on the luggage rack. Even if temptation got the better of her the dress would be too crinkled to wear. And Isobella made it a policy never to iron.
A sea breeze blew through the open balcony doors as Isobella sat at the desk and booted up her laptop. She could log on to work via her remote access password and continue where she’d left off. She felt resentment at being removed from the lab bubble in her blood. Every day away from her microscope was one day further from their goal.
The phone rang, and she picked it up as she navigated her way through several passwords. ‘Hello?’
‘I’ll pick you up at six sharp.’
Isobella blinked. Alex’s gravelly voice lent a sinfulness to the perfectly innocent statement. So much so that she almost acquiesced. She shut her mouth, catching herself before she agreed. ‘I don’t think I’ll go,’ she said, clearing her throat, injecting a steadiness she didn’t feel with his husky request still tingling in her ear.
‘Isobella—’
‘It’s not necessary.’ Her eyes were drawn to the brilliant sparkle of the mid-afternoon sun on the ocean.
‘Isobella—’
‘You don’t need me there. I’d rather work on the analysis of data from the latest batch of samples.’
Alex was man enough to admit that it wasn’t a question of need. He wanted her there. Period. ‘You are part of this symposium. You are presenting a paper, and you are also representing Zaphirides Medical Enterprises and our research. People will expect you. And while you’re on my dollar I expect you to attend all functions.’
‘I didn’t want to be here, Alex.’
‘But you are.’
‘You know damn well if Reg hadn’t had a heart attack I wouldn’t have been.’
‘Why do you do that? Why let Reg take the credit for your work?’
‘It’s our work. We’re a team, remember.’ It honestly didn’t matter to her—as long as they were able to find a treatment for the Fleckeri scarring.
‘You put the presentation together, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And while everyone else is busy with their projects you practically run the dermonecrosis research single-handed.’
‘Reg works on it too. And some of the other researchers help from time to time.’
‘But it’s basically your project.’
Isobella felt a little thrill at his acknowledgement. It made her proud to be granted ownership, no matter how fleetingly. ‘He’s my boss, Alex. One of the perks, I guess.’
Alex bristled. ‘No. I’m your boss. And I’ll be at your door at six.’
Isobella heard the dial tone in her ear and looked at the receiver, cursing herself for her gaffe. But—damn it all—he knew what she meant. She replaced the phone, drawing on the steady beat of the waves against the shore for strength.
Another awful creation assaulted him as Isobella’s door opened.
‘How long does this thing go on for?’ she asked.
He almost laughed. She was so comical, standing there with her annoyed expression knitting her delicate brows together, in her standard drab shapeless trousers and blouse complete with god-awful bow at the neck.
And it wasn’t a bow that was meant to entice. To make a man wonder whether, if he tugged it, it would unravel to reveal wispy lace and bare skin. No. It was a bow that would have looked quite at home on a big, fat Christmas wreath. She reminded him of an eighteenth-century spinster, and he grappled to understand why he found her so intriguing.
‘Good evening to you too, Isobella.’
His voice stroked along tense muscles, tightening them further. She rolled her eyes as she pulled her door shut. ‘Good evening, Alex. How long does this thing go on for?’
‘A couple of hours.’
&nb
sp; They made their way to the lift, with Isobella plotting how she could leave early and Alex wondering if her entire symposium wardrobe was as bad. The lift arrived and they entered the car.
The doors slid shut and he looked at her downcast head. ‘There’s going to be a lot of industry people here tonight. A lot of money looking for worthwhile projects to back. Please try and look like your enjoying yourself,’ he said derisively.
Isobella glared at him. ‘Don’t worry. I know the drill.’ She might never have been to one of these parties, but Reg had talked about the schmoozing ad nauseam.
‘Good,’ he said, tight-lipped. The lift doors opened and he held out his arm for her in an automatic gentlemanly gesture. For a moment he thought she was going to snub him and he suppressed a smile when she reluctantly took his arm.
She dropped it as soon as they entered the cool elegance of the Daintree Room, where a couple of hundred people all dressed in their finery milled around, drinks in hand. The delicate strains of a string quartet floated around the room, and a waiter presented them with a tray of drinks as soon as they settled in one spot.
Isobella grabbed some champagne, feeling a little claustrophobic from the huddle of bodies around her and the noise of two hundred people all conversing at once. The urge to down it in search of some Dutch courage was strong, but, as panicked as she felt, Isobella wanted to keep a firm grip on her sensibilities.
Alex was looking a particularly devastating form of wonderful, and she didn’t dare give her infatuation any rein tonight. He was certainly the best-looking man in the room. His presence was commanding, and even amongst the noise of the crowd she was tuned in to the low gravelly timbre of his voice as if they were the only two people in the room.
People drifted towards them, and a small circle of delegates surrounded them, seemingly for the duration. Alex seemed to know everyone, and he was the epitome of charm as he introduced her around. After her initial misgivings, Isobella relaxed and enjoyed herself. She was, after all, talking on a topic very close to her heart. She could talk about her project all night.
‘Ah, Jenny!’
Isobella looked up from her conversation with a general practitioner to see Alex kissing the cheeks of a gamine strawberry blonde. She gave him a warm hug, and laughed at something Isobella couldn’t catch.
‘Isobella, come and meet Jenny,’ Alex interrupted.
‘Hi.’ Jenny smiled, holding out a hand. ‘I’m Jenny Bosworth.’
‘Oh, hi,’ Isobella said, returning the friendly smile and trying to not act starstruck. Jennifer Bosworth was an eminent expert in the field of marine envenomation. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr Bosworth. I’m really looking forward to your paper on Portuguese Man O’ War behaviours in Hawaiian waters. Your data on envenomation and anaphylaxis was amazing.’
‘Thank you,’ Jenny said. ‘I can’t wait to hear where you’re up to in your study.’
Isobella blushed. Jennifer Bosworth was interested in her research?
‘Jenny and I go way back,’ Alex explained, grinning down into his colleague’s face. ‘In fact it was a trip to Hawaii that got me interested in this field of research.’
Isobella nodded, noticing that Alex’s arm was around Jenny’s back, his hand resting on her hip. It looked very intimate. Were they more than colleagues?
‘Alex was on a Hawaiian beach when a Man O’ War claimed another victim. A six-year-old male. He came to see the little boy the next day and we got talking.’
‘We’ve consulted a lot over the last couple of years.’
Isobella smiled while they chatted, watching their easy interaction. She’d never seen Alex this candid. They were obviously friends. Close friends.
Jenny was called away, and was quickly replaced by the CEO of a company that had donated a substantial amount of money to Alex’s projects after his teenage grandson had been stung by a Fleckeri a few years back. Alex updated him on the project, and invited the company director to a guided tour of the Brisbane facility.
Isobella was content to sit back and watch. And listen. Hell, the man could read the Concise Oxford Dictionary to her and she’d listen. His professionalism was outstanding. He could quote figures and summarise reports and give educated opinions on all aspects of his operations. He knew what every one of his staff were doing, and their up-to-date findings. He had an air of authority that no one questioned.
‘Alex Zaphirides! Oh, my God, it is you!’
Isobella saw Alex’s jaw clench slightly, and turned to look in the direction of the voice as the CEO excused himself. A curvy siren with glossy long black hair, plush cherry lips and a killer cleavage sashayed towards him.
Alex stared. This could not be happening. ‘Sonya?’
He did that polite old-fashioned inclination of his head thing again, but not before Isobella noticed his Aegean gaze frost over. In fact everything about him had become rigid, even his usually deadly smile. It barely made an impression on his dimples.
The woman stepped right into Alex’s personal space, tottering on her sexy six-inch heels. She lifted herself on her tippy-toes, slid her hands up his jacket front and pressed her pouty mouth to both of Alex’s cheeks. ‘I do declare,’ she said, wiping away her lipstick brands, ‘you’re looking fab. It’s been too long, Alex.’
Not long enough as far as he was concerned. He removed her hand and was pleased to see her smile slip a little.
‘Time flies, Sonya.’ When you’re having surgery and radium and worrying about whether you’ll see next year and your life is generally falling apart. ‘May I introduce one of my colleagues, Isobella Nolan?’
Isobella took an instant dislike. This woman redefined fawning. Her scarlet fingertips clung to Alex’s lapel and she had the uncharacteristic urge to bat them off. Jenny’s familiarity had been intriguing, but this woman’s was plain suffocating.
Sonya gave Isobella a brief dismissive once-over. ‘Sonya Nikolaidis. Do you mind if I butt in? I knew Alex back when he was surgeon.’
Isobella took the proffered hand and shook it distractedly as she madly tried to process the information about Alex being a surgeon. The other woman was patently uninterested in Isobella’s preoccupied state, quickly turning her full attention back to Alex, and Isobella figured it wouldn’t have mattered a jot if she had objected to the interruption. Something told her Sonya Nikolaidis always got her man.
Even though Alex was grim-mouthed, his face a picture of foreboding, they looked stunning together. Their Greek backgrounds were more obvious together than separately. Just how well had Sonya Nikolaidis known Alex? Intimately, by the look of her body language. Her body seemed perfectly at ease in Alex’s personal space, leaning into him, and her gestures were indicative of a carnal familiarity.
Alex kept himself rigid, wanting nothing more than to tell her to get the hell away from him, but he had no doubt that Sonya could still cause a scene. And he had absolutely no intention of betraying how very much her desertion still rankled.
‘What are you doing here, Sonya?’ He injected a deliberate note of boredom into his enquiry. Unfortunately for him, Sonya’s ego had always been able to withstand the impact of a truck.
‘I’ve been a pharmaceutical rep for years. I’m in management now. I work for MediCorp.’
But of course. Alex clenched his fists. Only the largest supporter of Australian-based research and drug development in the land. When they did find the magic formula to help box jellyfish victims with their scarring he’d need MediCorp’s backing to produce it. ‘Congratulations.’
‘I hear you’re big in the jellyfish biz?’
Alex gave her a brisk nod. Nothing like reducing valuable scientific research to a three-word catchphrase. What had he ever seen in her? Even now her ambition was palpable.
‘Dance with me, Alex.’
Alex looked down into Sonya’s expertly made-up face. Her lips were glistening a deep red, her eyes ringed with dark kohl and fringed with heavily enhanced lashes. Her gall was amazing. Did
she seriously think that time had reduced the wounds she’d inflicted? That he’d jump at her request? ‘Actually, I’d just asked Isobella. If you’ll excuse us?’
Isobella, who had been watching their exchange in uncomfortable silence, almost choked on her sip of champagne. Alex took the glass from her suddenly nerveless fingers, placed it on a passing waiter’s tray and took her hand, tugging her towards the dance floor.
‘Alex,’ she whispered, scurrying to keep up with his determined stride so she wouldn’t fall flat on her face, ‘what the hell are you doing? I didn’t come here to dance.’
He continued leading her doggedly towards the area where the string quartet were playing and some people were already dancing.
‘I’m not dancing with you,’ she protested again in a vicious whisper as they reached their destination.
Alex smiled down at her. ‘Oh, yes, you are,’ he said, swinging her around and pulling her towards him.
Isobella automatically grabbed for his shoulder to steady herself, and before she knew it he had his arm around her waist and their hands were linked. ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’ started up, and he pulled her closer.
Unlike Sonya, Isobella was not comfortable in Alex’s personal space, and she held herself rigidly as far away from him as she could in the circle of his arms.
‘Relax, I’m not going to bite,’ he said irritably.
Even grumpy, his voice caused an eruption of goosebumps, as if he had indeed nuzzled her neck and taken a bite. Isobella glanced at his bleak mask to snap her out of the dangerous fantasy. Bad move. His dark mood just enhanced his attractiveness.
She looked down, her gaze at his throat, his scars tempting her too in their own bizarre way. Ever since she’d touched them earlier on the plane they’d grown in fascination tenfold. She wished this was a real dance. A dance between lovers. She could have nestled her head on his shoulder and nuzzled his neck, caressing the scars with her lips.
She looked away impatiently, focusing squarely on his shoulder and the dark fabric of his suit. She was excruciatingly aware of the intimacy of the music, of their closeness, of the heat coming off his body and the wild honey smell of his aftershave seducing her at every turn around the floor. She sucked in a steadying breath and was dismayed by its raggedness.