The Manhattan Encounter. Addison Fox
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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 words on the screen jumbled in front of her eyes as her vision swam with the memories of their kiss and she blinked to refocus. Slowly, the chapter heading came back into view and she threw herself into the story of a roving space pirate and the female cantina owner determined to help him put his sketchy past behind him.
She’d been enjoying the story up to now, the author a personal favorite. In her mind’s eye, she’d fleshed out the big bad space pirate as a cross between Harrison Ford and Channing Tatum. How insulting, then, when he morphed in her mind to bear a striking resemblance to Liam.
Couldn’t her books even be off-limits?
With a resigned sigh—and a willingness to eat a portion of crow along with a fresh sandwich from the serving bar—she glanced up into Liam’s warm gaze.
“Problem?”
“Of course not. I just decided I was hungry after all. I’ll just go up and get something.”
“Then it’s a good thing I got you a sandwich and a banana.” He pulled a plate from behind his back, the promised sandwich filled to the brim with fresh-cut turkey, what appeared to be slices of pear and a wedge of soft cheese.
She took the proffered sandwich and fought the petty urge to go up and get something different. Good heavens, what was wrong with her? Her mother might have spent most of Isabella’s childhood thoroughly disengaged but even she’d managed to raise a child who was well-mannered and gracious.
Not to mention thankful when someone did something nice.
After she swallowed a bite, she set down her plate and turned to face Liam. “Thank you. The sandwich is delicious.”
“They know how to send a traveler off in style here.”
“Yes, they do.” She used his comment as an excuse to look around the lounge and away from the intense scrutiny of his gaze but his voice pulled her back to the here and now.
“We should get into JFK a little before two. My sister Kensington and her fiancé, Jack, are picking us up themselves.”
“Okay.” While the extra attention still felt unnecessary and overblown, Liam’s caution overrode any protests she might have.
“I’d like you to stay at the family house tonight.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I think it is. I’d also like you to give us keys to your apartment. Jack and I can go over and check things out tomorrow. He’s in security as well. Between the two of us, we know what to look for and how to suss out any threats.”
“I’ll go with you, of course.”
“I’d prefer you stayed behind.”
Whether it was lingering frustration over the long-legged Amazon and her smooth moves or the sheer insult of being left behind while someone investigated her home, she didn’t know.
She was fast hitting a point where she didn’t care, either.
“It’s my home. I appreciate your guidance but I believe, as your client, I still have final say. I’m going with you.”
“Isabella—”
“No. I’m not leaving you to walk through my apartment and look through my things while I sit and do nothing.”
“Someone’s proven themselves a threat to you on several occasions and, by all accounts, with increasing severity. You’re better off staying where we can control the situation.”
“I’m not negotiating this with you. I need to get inside my apartment and see if anyone was there. Besides, I won’t be scared away from my own home.”
“And I’d like you to be reasonable and let me do my job.”
She pushed her plate aside and leaned over the small table, her gaze direct. “No, Liam, I won’t be reasonable. Or pliable. Or pitiful. I may not be some athletic Amazon like Blondie over there,” she tossed her head in the direction of the woman from the serving counter, “but I know my own mind and I know this. You’re not going into my home without me.”
“Blondie?”
“Excuse me for being vague. I was referring to the statuesque blonde who almost had her tongue down your ear.”
“I believe her name’s Stella.”
“Of course it is.”
“She’s an old college acquaintance of my sister’s who thought she recognized me and came over to say hello.”
“How sweet.” Isabella flung a hand, nearly knocking over her plate in the process. “Why don’t