She was obviously uncomfortable as her gaze continued to flit around the room, and he started to wonder whether Isobella suffered from agoraphobia. She had seemed perfectly at home in the lab, albeit completely alarmed at his suggestion that she come out tonight. But here she looked completely out of place.
She finally spotted them, and he noticed her hesitation before she squared her shoulders and moved towards them. One thing was certain—Isobella Nolan did not want to be here.
Without the camouflage of the white coat he could see her legs were long and slender as she strode to the table but the second she stopped the layers of trouser material swallowed their shape.
Isobella was conscious of her colleagues all watching her as Alex stood and greeted her. His husky rumble rendered her powerless to move. Her nipples hardened as if he had reached out and trailed his fingers across her breasts.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ She addressed the table. ‘I was…’ mentally hyperventilating ‘…my sister held me up.’
‘You’re here now.’ Alex nodded. ‘We saved a seat for you.’
Isobella was pleased to see her legs were still obeying impulses from her brain, even if the rest of her body was not. The empty seat was directly opposite Alex, and she cursed Carla for delaying her departure.
She stroked her throat reflexively as she settled in her chair, reassured by the presence of the high collar. She nervously adjusted her glasses, pleased she had changed out of the dress after Carla had retired to her bed. The dress had looked amazing, and had felt so feminine against her skin, with its clingy fabric and plunging neckline. But she lacked the confidence to wear it. She would have felt exceedingly self-conscious in it, and she was already way out of her depth.
Luckily the same couldn’t be said for her underwear. Lingerie was a major weakness of hers—always had been— and the feeling of soft satin and the rub of lace was one she freely indulged. Something had to compensate for the blandness of her lab wardrobe and the fact that no one at the table tonight knew the silken wisps that lay beneath her baggy clothes made the wearing of them bearable.
Conversation resumed at the table, and Isobella feigned interest. Reg was beside her, talking about the presentation, and she nodded and replied and made some suggestions on automatic pilot, while at the same time taking absolutely none of the discussion in.
She was aware of Alex’s too frequent gaze on her. It felt heavy against her skin, and she wanted to look him straight in the eye and tell him to stop. What did he want from her? She was here, wasn’t she?
His presence was just too disturbing by far. Every husky word and gravelly chuckle coming from his perfectly sculptured mouth vibrated the air currents around her, causing a feather-light friction all over her body that was as erotic as it was distracting. He was hitting a big ten on her McHusky scale, which only ramped up her nervousness several more notches.
It didn’t help that he looked amazing tonight. He was wearing a shirt the exact shade of his cerulean blue eyes, which somehow managed to magnify his utter maleness tenfold. He hadn’t shaved before coming out, and the light growth of stubble at his jaw drew her gaze like a helplessly addicted moth craved light.
When he laughed his face creased into irresistible dimples, and the skin around his eyes crinkled into little lines that she just wanted to reach out and touch. Smooth. Kiss.
And then there were the scars on his neck, fully displayed again. As Reg talked about Cairns she found herself thinking that if he only wore his shirt buttoned up, and a tie, they’d be completely covered. Why didn’t he? She had the same urge to touch them as she did his eye crinkles. Feel their irregularity. Smooth them. Kiss them.
‘I don’t know, Roland,’ Alex said to the man sitting beside him. ‘I think it’s a field that attracts a more mature workforce. Most people seem to come from other occupations into the lab. Take Isobella, for example. She was a nurse before becoming a research assistant.’
Tuned in as she was to the rumble of Alex’s conversation, Isobella’s head snapped up instantly.
‘Really? I didn’t know that,’ Roland murmured.
She heard the surprise in Roland’s voice and saw it mirrored all over his face. In fact the whole table was looking at her, as if Alex had just proclaimed she’d been a nun prior to joining the team.
Imagine their surprise had he announced she’d been on track to becoming the next supermodel.
Isobella looked at him. His blue eyes were challenging her to elaborate. Her cheeks grew warm beneath her colleagues’ scrutiny, and her pulse pounded through her head. She thought at this moment she quite possibly hated Alexander Zaphirides.
Hated his supreme confidence and how comfortable he looked in this social situation, in contrast to the near panic that was sweeping through her own veins. She hated him for insisting she come tonight, dragging her out of her comfort zone and then putting her in the spotlight. She wanted to crawl under the table and hide from prying eyes.
How the hell did he know this stuff anyway? She’d gone through the interview process with his admin people, and whilst she assumed he’d had the final say she’d also assumed he’d taken their recommendation and approved her employment without more than a cursory glance at her application.
‘Yes,’ Isobella confirmed, uncomfortably aware of the growing silence. She wasn’t used to being the centre of attention any more. She was used to fading into the background. She didn’t want their interest piqued. ‘For a while.’
‘And what made you decide to jump ship?’ Alex probed.
Conscious of everyone waiting for her response, Isobella squirmed. This was none of his business—none of their business. But avoiding the question would only serve to arouse further interest. After all, this was a social evening with colleagues. People talked about themselves in social situations.
Which was exactly why she avoided them.
Isobella suppressed a sigh. Where did she start without sounding like a complete loon? By saying that six weeks in hospital had given her a true appreciation for what nurses did? That it had been a natural progression for her, eager for a new career and jaded from the selfishness of modeling, to fall into that honourable profession? That she’d enjoyed being a nurse— in fact missed the patient contact more than she allowed herself to admit? But it had been too…social? And…open.
How crazy did that sound? Even if it was the truth. Her nursing colleagues, used to being entrusted with people’s most personal details, had never really understood her desire to keep to herself. Their candidness and their expectation of it being returned had made her uncomfortable. Also, the uniforms had made hiding her tracheostomy scar really difficult. Civvies and a white coat had been an absolute dream.
‘I enjoyed being a nurse very much,’ she said primly. ‘But…’ Isobella adjusted her glasses. ‘I wanted to try something different.’
Alex noted the nervous fiddle, and the way her gaze didn’t quite reach his eyes. She was lying. He wanted to reach across the table, whip those god-awful glasses off her face and demand to hear the truth. He hated that she hid herself behind those dreadful, unfashionable, clunky frames.
‘Did you have to retrain?’ Roland asked.
Isobella nodded.
