Addison Fox - The Manhattan Encounter

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, Rowan 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.