by Addison Fox
So why did the scent seem exotic and highly erotic as it drifted from her heated skin?
Liam ignored that subtle tug of attraction and got to his feet, pulling out his phone. His brother’s voice filled his ear a few moments later. “Twice in one night. First Kenzi and now me. What’s going on, O Silent One?”
“I need you to hack into a few video cameras for me.”
Campbell snorted. “Sure. Cuz it’s that easy.”
“For you it is.” Liam gave his brother a quick rundown of what they’d discovered upon their arrival and Isabella’s conviction someone had been in her room.
“That’s a nice hotel. It’s not like anyone can walk up and sneak into a room. It’s a pretty locked-down environment.”
“Which is why you’re going to hack it.” Liam knew barely enough to be dangerous when it came to computers but his brother, on the other hand...
Liam had learned long ago to leverage Campbell’s skills and not ask questions.
“What time do you think it happened?”
“Between six and ten tonight.”
The light tapping of keys along with a few muttered curse words gave Liam the confidence to end the call. “Be quick. If you work through dinner Abby’ll have my ass.”
“Then it’s lucky for you I’m damn good at what I do.”
“You’re in already?”
“No, but close. Leave there and take her to the grandparents. I’ll call you later.”
“I can’t take her there. They’re worried enough.”
“Then take her to that new, fancy flat you bought.”
Liam held back the shocked “Hell no” and instead opted for something a bit more diplomatic. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Campbell let out a long, low whistle. “She must be something special if you’re afraid to take her home.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Big Brother. Keep telling yourself that.”
* * *
Isabella glanced around the impressive apartment and marveled that Liam Steele lived here. She’d understood him to be New York-based so the fact that he kept a London flat—and flat really was too simple a word for the floor-to-ceiling windows and what had to be about two thousand square feet—but she chalked it up to family money and success in a highly paid profession.
“I thought you lived in New York.”
“I do. I just live here, too. I bought the place in January. I spend a lot of time here in London and it seemed wiser than throwing my money away on hotels.”
“I’m sure your grandparents would love to have you.”
Despite the lingering fear that hadn’t fully left her since leaving her hotel, she couldn’t hold back the smile at the mixture of shock and—if she weren’t mistaken, subtle horror—that tensed Liam’s jaw.
Keeping her amusement to herself, her gaze drifted back to the view, the depth of the Steele wealth not lost on her. She knew she was fortunate—she paid her bills and still afforded a nice apartment by New York standards—but none of it changed the fact she lived in the human equivalent of a nice shoe box and he...didn’t.
Isabella saw Liam move closer through the reflection in the glass. “Do you want a drink?”
“No, thank you. I had enough at dinner.”
“Something hot, then? Tea?”
The traditionally British offering felt like the right thing and she turned away from the window. “That sounds nice.”
The tea was nice and ten minutes later, when he placed a mug in front of her and settled another for himself, she couldn’t hold back the subtle surprise. “I didn’t take you for the tea type.”
“And I didn’t take you for the type to gather the interest of some very nasty people. We’re all full of surprises.”
“I suppose we are.”
Her hands fumbled in the waistband of her sweater and she worried the cashmere between her fingers. The gesture was silly—and far from comforting—but she kept up anyway.
“You can relax here. No one’s going to hurt you.”
“That’s what I thought about the hotel.”
“They’re not going to hurt you here.”
His tone brooked no argument and she reached for her tea once more, warming her hands on the mug. “I never thought it would come to this.”
He hesitated, which was another surprise as she sat there, taking in the solid lines of his face. Whatever else Liam Steele might be, he seemed to have no issue with being direct. The fact that hard jaw stayed closed added another layer of tension to the discussion.
“Come out with it. You can’t insult me.”
“How couldn’t you think it would come to this? You’ve discovered something of deep value.”
“To me, yes.”
“To everyone.” His blue eyes glittered under the overhead light of the kitchen, alive with a subtle fire. “Everyone wants to understand where they come from. How they’re wired. Usually because they’d like to change it. That opportunity has always been walled off—locked up as it were—yet you’ve found the key. How can you honestly sit there and think no one else would care?”
His words were like an ice pick at her conscience, stabbing at the guilt that already consumed her.
“I didn’t know.”
“You do now.”
* * *
The small penlight swept side to side through the apartment, highlighting stacks of books, overflowing bookshelves and a neat—and empty—fish tank. She’d told him once she kept the empty fish tank as a reminder not to get any fish because she was so absent-minded she’d likely forget to feed them. He’d laughed at the time and they’d traded stories about living inside their heads, but he couldn’t help but see the irony of it now.
Science was all they had. Their only companion when even having fish was too much effort.
A stack of file folders on a credenza caught his attention and he followed the small stream of light to the neat, but towering, stack of manila folders. With careful precision, he flipped through them, taking in her scrawled handwriting as he went.
If the handwriting was an impatient mess, the notes were the antithesis. Page after meticulous page detailed her findings. Her successes and failures. All her learnings from the lab.
His gaze caught on a set of notes in the tenth file he flipped through. The date matched the basic time frame of her discovery and detailed the gene sequence she’d isolated for further investigation.
He took a seat at her desk and flipped through the rest of the notes, the lab findings reading like a symphony in his mind. Cellular research. Dissection of tissue samples. Gene sequencing. It was all there, detail after detail of what she’d uncovered. Questions littered the margins and the increasing scrawl of the notes indicated her excitement as clearly as if he were standing next to her.
She’d done it. Figured out the secret to what made humans tick. And with that knowledge, had figured out how to augment that to gain a specific result.
A wash of pride flashed through him, flushing his skin with heat. He was so proud of her and what she’d accomplished. He’d always known her gifts—the brilliant mind, the active curiosity and the tenacity to keep working a puzzle until she solved it—but this was more than he could have ever hoped for.
His gaze skimmed the last set of papers in the file, stopping on a small note at the bottom of the page. It was a name and a phone number he recognized—the editor of one of the most respected scientific journals in the world. Along with the name there was a quick notation:
Confirm Bradley’s understanding on gene sequence and his impressions of the work.
The article she’d ultimately published had held back a few details, promising further articulation in an upcoming issue.
H
e’d suspected she’d shared the details—or was going to—and now he had the proof. The details he and his partner were committed to keeping from the world were in the hands of the reporter.
No matter how much it pained him to consider snuffing out such a bright talent, they couldn’t stop now.
With efficient movements—something that would never grow old—he reordered the files, securing them in the neat stack she preferred, then slipped back through the oversize room and out into the hall.
A hard-won lesson clamored through his mind, his partner’s voice echoing like church bells.
If you want to make an omelet, you’ve got to break some eggs.
He understood. He’d made a commitment to his goal. And, like Isabella, science was all he had.
And if a sharp pain speared his heart as he walked away from her apartment, well, he’d have to live with that as his penance.
* * *
Isabella stared out the wall of windows in Liam’s apartment, her gaze captivated by the rain-washed city. She’d always loved London and now wondered why she hadn’t spent more time here. More time with her grandfather. More time living life outside of a laboratory.
She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on such fanciful thoughts before, but now? They seemed more present. More urgent.
Especially when she might not get the chance again.
A hard sob caught in her throat as she thought of her grandfather. The urge to call him was great, but she had held back, taking the Steeles’ advice. Both Liam and Alexander had assured her repeatedly the night before that her grandfather was safe—ensconced on Steele property in the wilds of England at the insistent invitation of Liam’s grandmother—but they also had warned her not to give him too many indicators of what was going on.
No use worrying him.
He already worried enough, she well knew. It wasn’t only her life that had changed with her father’s betrayal. Roberto Magnini had also borne the pain of watching his son’s disgrace.
How horrified he’d be, then, when he discovered the implications of her work. The risks she’d brought to their door and the potential horrors she’d unleashed on the world.
It was funny, she mused, how even though her intentions were better, the outcome wasn’t that far off from her father’s.
“It’s late.”
The deep voice called to her across the large living room and Isabella turned from the windows, her maudlin thoughts dissipating like smoke.
She thought she was prepared for the sight of Liam by now. The broad shoulders, trim waist and magnetic blue eyes had captivated her from the first but she thought she could deal with them. How humbling, then, to find out that she was just as devastated as before.
And just as curious to know what it would be like to run her palms over those broad shoulders. To drift a lazy finger over the hard lines of his jaw. To press her body against his and feel all that power and strength wrap around her.
Possess her.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Her words sounded strained to her own ears but there was nothing to be done for it. She could only hope he mistook the slightly strangled tones of her vocal chords for fear instead of bone-deep arousal.
“I was unduly harsh earlier.”
“You were honest. There’s a difference.”
He cocked his head and she had the subtle impression he weighed his words. “Most women aren’t so quick to release a grudge.”
“You’re assuming I was holding one.”
“What else had the pensive stare out the window?”
“I was thinking about my grandfather.”
He moved forward at that, coming to stop before her. “I promise you we have him safe. I had the security arranged myself and my grandparents are joining him for the weekend to keep him company. You don’t need to worry about him. Not on top of everything else.”
Although his promises couldn’t change the reality of how little of her adult life she’d spent with her grandfather, they did go a long way toward assuaging her concern. “Thank you. He’ll enjoy that. He still misses my grandmother terribly and the company will be good for him.”
The moments drifted from quiet to awkward as they both stood there. “Your home is beautiful.”
“I haven’t been in it that long. I’m still trying to get over the sense that it’s temporary.”
“The occupational hazards of being a rolling stone.” She meant the statement as a joke but knew immediately her words had fallen flat.
“You sound like every other woman in my life.”
“I didn’t mean it was a bad thing. You have a life and are living it. I’m no one to judge.”
“My grandmother and sisters don’t feel quite the same way.”
Since standing in the middle of his living room had passed awkward and had moved right on to deeply uncomfortable, she took a seat. Two overstuffed leather club chairs formed a conversation circle with an equally large and overstuffed leather couch and she was grateful for the thick cushions and a soft place to land.
Their conversation might be painfully awkward but at least she’d be physically comfortable while having it.
“So have a seat on the couch and tell me all about it.”
The joke was just enough to lighten the mood and she didn’t miss Liam’s rueful smile as he took a seat—fully upright—on the couch. “I thought your degree was in scientific matters, Dr. Magnini.”
“I’ve spent enough of my life with shrinks to know a few tricks or two.”
Damn it. Why had she mentioned psychiatrists?
It would be too easy to blame the simple camaraderie and warmth of the moment but she suspected her motives went deeper. For reasons she couldn’t define, she felt the need to expose who she was to Liam Steele. Was it so he could reject her outright?
Or so she could prove to herself—once and for all—a man like Liam Steele would never be a part of her life?
* * *
Liam knew he was a heartless bastard about a lot of things, but he’d always believed himself open and honest about the challenges of life.
So why did that light flush that colored Isabella’s cheeks suggest she was embarrassed by seeking professional help?
“I’ve spent some time on the doctor’s couch, myself.”
“You have?”
“All my siblings did. Our grandparents insisted on it after we lost my parents.” When skepticism continued to hover behind the moss green of her eyes he pushed a bit harder. “You look like you don’t believe me.”
“You don’t seem the type.”
“And what’s the type?” He couldn’t resist poking her a bit at her ready attempts to stereotype. Even if he had more than a few of his own.
He’d already painted her as the geeky scientist in his mind and it was increasingly difficult to keep that stereotype front and center in his thoughts as he stared at her lush, pouty lips and the thick fall of hair around her shoulders.
“I don’t know. You just seem so solid. Powerful.”
That flush deepened and he leaned forward, his gaze unwavering on hers. “Being strong doesn’t mean you have no vulnerabilities. It simply means you understand how to work around them. Live with them and accept they’re a part of you.”
“You make it sound easy.”
He sat back at that, half-serious and half-amused at their 2:00 a.m. philosophy session. “Some days. The good days. Other times? Not so much.”
“You really expect me to believe you’re a mere mortal?”
Liam knew her words for the light tease they were, but couldn’t fully quell the slight itch at the base of his neck. Without warning, memories of a conversation with his sister, Rowan, a few months before, prickled his subconscious.
At the time, Rowa
n had suggested he hadn’t understood how hard it had been for her to deal with the loss of their parents. As if her age or sex somehow made the pain more difficult for her to bear.
He’d shrugged it off—thought he’d fully forgotten it—so it was a surprise to realize yet again that the impression he created in others was so far from how he saw himself.
He knew he kept others at arm’s length—a lifelong trait, not one initiated by the loss of his parents. He’d simply honed it to a fine point after they were gone.
None of it meant he didn’t feel. Or care. Or live with loss.
“I’m as human as the next person. I suggest you remember that.”
“I’ll try.”
Whatever tender moments they’d shared vanished as he stood. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He was across the room before she spoke. “Liam, I am sorry.”
Curious, he turned. She stood in the middle of his home, the ambient glow of London haloing around her. “For what?”
“For dragging you into this.”
“It’s what I do.”
“You protect people who deserve it. I know you believe I don’t based on what I’ve done, but I hope you’ll come to understand I never meant for any of this to happen.”
He took a few steps toward her before he stopped. He knew she was scared—knew it from the first moment he saw her on the other side of his grandparents’ front door—yet he couldn’t quite get past his irritation at the situation she found herself in.
“Actions and consequences, Dr. Magnini. That’s what we’re dealing with.”
Without waiting for her reply, he continued on to his room.
* * *
Liam slammed his clothes into his overnight case with all the finesse of a grizzly bear searching for breakfast. He’d slept little, that bleak expression that rode Isabella’s face like a sad mask haunting him through the night.
He had no right to judge her.
No right at all.
She was scared and she hadn’t acted deliberately. So why had he been so resolute in keeping her at arm’s length? And why was he so determined to make her feel the pain of her choices?