was the responsive woman who’d clung to him, fully engaged and kissing him back?
And why did the sudden urge to drag her back into his arms pulse through him with the heavy throb of a line of bass drums?
Their eyes met and that bass throb amped up another level, pushing him to take some action. To reach out once more and touch her, just to see if she was as soft as he remembered. To see if her lips were as enticing...
Liam shook off the thought and took a few steps back.
Isabella Magnini was a job, nothing more. He’d take care of her and see his responsibilities through and move on. It was what he did and it was how he lived his life. He’d built a structured, orderly world around himself that he controlled.
And he’d be damned if a frightened woman who’d discovered the potential to unleash hell changed any of that.
* * *
Isabella stayed where she’d been told and watched Liam through the sliding doors of one of Heathrow Airport’s many concourses. As he’d confirmed with his brother, he’d made good on his plan of hiring an armed escort to take them to the airport and was now thanking the man for his services.
The exchange was brief but it gave her the opportunity to observe him in action. The late morning rain coated the air a misty gray yet he stood out against it, as bright and vibrant as the sun.
The long, trim lines of his body captivated her, but it was something beyond the physical—something far more ephemeral—that drew her in as she traced his form with her eyes.
Competence shone from him in the simplest of actions. His quick handshake with their guard. The flash of his hand as he snagged his rolling suitcase. Even the quick flick of his wrist as he brushed drops of rain from his hair.
All of it bespoke of a man comfortable with himself and his surroundings, secure in who he was.
Was that what made leaders? No, she quickly amended, that’s what made conquerors.
The idea took root and she let it simmer as Liam walked closer, evaluating him through that new lens. Their elevator kiss the day before had certainly reinforced the notion and the events since—the quick, competent change in plans, the work with his brother back at headquarters, even the possessive order to stand inside the doors and wait for him when they’d arrived at the airport.
Here was a man used to giving orders he expected would be followed.
So why was she letting the simple fact that their elevator kiss meant nothing to him chafe at her like sandpaper on skin?
The thought had kept up a steady tattoo in her brain for the better part of the last day, even in the face of the very real—and shockingly present—danger she was in. Even worse, she’d spent a near-sleepless night focused on that while he looked fit and ready to conquer the day.
“Ready?”
She nodded and knew full well his question was meant to indicate their walk to security, so why did she feel something more? Something deeper at the question?
Was she ready?
She’d hidden from life for so long—had willingly buried herself in work and nothing else—that she’d missed out on so much. Her twenties, certainly, and if she kept it up her thirties would end up a blur as well. A blur of lab notes and beakers, computer analyses and charts and graphs that might calculate any number of things but couldn’t assuage how lonely she was.
She was ready for something more and now that the life she hadn’t put much stock in was in danger, she knew that more keenly than ever.
Liam took her suitcase in his free hand and gestured her forward with a tilt of the head. “We’ll wait in the captain’s lounge after we check in.”
She reached for the handle but he was already out of range and she took a few quick steps to catch up, her heels clicking on the tile. “What difference does it make once we pass through security?”
“I don’t want you out in the open.”
She knew the lounge he spoke of—it was a premium environment for premium fliers—but she’d never been there. “Isn’t that the whole point of going through security?”
He stopped and turned, the blue of his gaze penetrating as he waited for her to catch up. If she wasn’t mistaken—and her ability to read social cues meant her chances were only about fifty-fifty on being right—he looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I don’t like to fly. The quiet of the lounge helps me calm down before a flight.”
“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
