blue eyes before he reached out a hand and gestured her closer. “Where are you headed?”
She glanced at the crumpled paper, now nearly transparent with rain, but didn’t move from her spot. “Three twenty-five.”
“You’ve found it.”
“But I’m looking for Mr. Steele.”
“I’m his grandson, Liam.” Cultured tones lit up his voice—not quite British under the American but obviously influenced—before he reached out and snatched the umbrella, then took her firmly in hand. “You must be this evening’s entertainment.”
Entertainment? “I’m just here to see your grandfather, Mr. Steele. I won’t take up much of his time.”
A small smile lit up his face and the transformation was so shocking she simply stopped in the center of the large foyer to stare for a moment. A large glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, lighting the entryway in a soft glow and the warm light bounced off the rich locks of his hair.
The smile changed his face—warmed it considerably—and in some small, nonsensical portion of her brain she had the distinct thought the man smiled rarely, if ever. The stoic figure who stood in the doorway had looked like a formidable opponent. But the smiling man before her was a devastating one.
Sleek as a shark and likely as lethal, with a smile that begged you to come closer.
“Who are you?”
The words were as effective as the rain at dousing her fancies and she pulled herself from her drifting thoughts. “Isabella Magnini.”
“Dr. Magnini?”
“Yes.”
“The Dr. Magnini who presented at Davos last year?”
“One and the same.”
Liam shook his head once more, his muttered words nearly undetectable as another clap of thunder echoed off the marble entryway. “Wily old bastard.”
“Excuse me?”
“Please, let me take your coat. My grandparents are in their sitting room enjoying a cocktail.”
“I’m so sorry to intrude on your family’s personal time.”
The smile fell, that stoic facade concealing all expression on his face. The slightest lines bracketed his eyes and mouth—faint, yet evident enough to add character—and whatever sarcasm she’d sensed vanished when he finally spoke. “No intrusion at all as I’ve no doubt you were invited this evening.”
“Your grandfather suggested I come. He’s been—” She broke off, not sure how to explain the conversations she’d had to date with Alexander Steele about the strange happenings in her life.
How did one explain the subtle sense of being watched? Or the odd feeling that someone had rifled through your things, even when your clothing and papers and bookshelves remained in perfect order?
Or the very real sense someone had been inside your home?
She fought the shiver that threatened to roll down her spine and focused on the man before her, willing her nerves to calm. “Your grandfather believes he has the resources to help me with a...small matter.”
If he had any question about her hesitation he gave no indication. “May I take your coat?”
Isabella glanced down at the rain-soaked front of her jacket—how had she forgotten it?—and slipped from the garment. The endless days of spring rain had greeted her the moment she’d arrived in London the previous week from New York and she had moments where she’d wondered if she’d ever get dry.
His fingers brushed hers when she passed over her coat and she forced herself to maintain simple, even breaths despite the flare of heat that skittered up her arm. Humans touched. Their bodies came into contact all the time. It was normal. Common, even.
And certainly nothing to dwell on.
She was dimly aware of his gaze before he turned to settle her coat on a hallway stand. That same rush of heat that had run up her arm kept up its assault, crossing her chest before settling in her stomach. With a precision born of long years of practice, she counted off the periodic elements in her head and willed her pulse to calm.
Hydrogen. Helium. Lithium. Bery—
“Let’s go introduce you to my grandparents, then.”
With a soft sigh she followed behind him, the elements fading away like smoke, replaced with decidedly more well-formed thoughts. Like how strong and safe and solid and reassuring those broad shoulders looked under his rain-flecked shirt. And how enticing it would be to simply reach out and touch him.
Stick with the elements, girl.
Men who looked like Liam Steele didn’t look twice at women with wild hair and curvy figures and, in the rare instances where they did, her profession typically ran them off before they could take a third glance.
Or any action at all.
* * *
Wily old bastard.
The thought had run through his mind on a loop since Dr. Isabella Magnini arrived, soaked to the skin, a half hour ago. Liam hadn’t touched the second whiskey his grandfather had poured for him while he’d gone to answer the door, preferring to keep his wits fully about him. The choice was a smart one as it hadn’t taken Alexander Steele long to dive into the matter at hand.
“You need to protect the girl, Liam.”
“Of course we will, Grandfather. That’s what the House of Steele does.” He and his siblings had formed the House of Steele about four years before, their diverse interests and skills a match for a surprising number of in-need individuals and companies. From basic protection to digital forensics to active investigation, he and his siblings had the tools and the talent to fix problems.
While Liam ran the firm with his siblings, there was no mistaking his grandfather’s continued use of the word “you” had a distinctly singular ring to it.
Although it was clear the rain-soaked doctor needed their help, he’d yet to fully understand what her problem was, and his grandfather’s pleading eyes and continued insistence on protection weren’t getting him any closer to figuring it out.
“Why don’t you explain the problem for me, Dr. Magnini?” He’d kept his attitude casual, unwilling to play into Alexander’s hands, but Liam had to admit his gaze had strayed toward the woman a few more times than was comfortable. He had no idea why, but something in her demeanor had drawn his attention.
It certainly wasn’t her clothes.
Her sweater—a rich cashmere that looked like it had been stretched and worried over at the waist until it lost all shape—didn’t do much for her figure, and the wool pants that clung to the bottom of her legs like wet shackles were about as fashionable as a potato sack, but...
His thoughts tapered off as her gaze collided with his.
Those
