The Manhattan Encounter. Addison Fox

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.

      None of it meant he didn’t feel. Or care. Or live with loss.

      “I’m as human as the next person. I suggest you remember that.”

      “I’ll try.”

      Whatever tender moments they’d shared vanished as he stood. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

      He was across the room before she spoke. “Liam, I am sorry.”

      Curious, he turned. She stood in the middle of his home, the ambient glow of London haloing around her. “For what?”

      “For dragging you into this.”

      “It’s what I do.”

      “You protect people who deserve it. I know you believe I don’t based on what I’ve done, but I hope you’ll come to understand I never meant for any of this to happen.”

      He took a few steps toward her before he stopped. He knew she was scared—knew it from the first moment he saw her on the other side of his grandparents’ front door—yet he couldn’t quite get past his irritation at the situation she found herself in.

      “Actions and consequences, Dr. Magnini. That’s what we’re dealing with.”

      Without waiting for her reply, he continued on to his room.

      * * *

      Liam slammed his clothes into his overnight case with all the finesse of a grizzly bear searching for breakfast. He’d slept little, that bleak expression that rode Isabella’s face like a sad mask haunting him through the night.

      He had no right to judge her.

      No right at all.

      She was scared and she hadn’t acted deliberately. So why had he been so resolute in keeping her at arm’s length? And why was he so determined to make her feel the pain of her choices?

      The packing done, he dragged on the last zipper and heaved the suitcase off his bed. It was time to go eat a rather large plate of crow.

      He walked into the main living room and heard the pop of the toaster and smelled the coffee as he settled his suitcase by the door. “That smells good.”

      “I hope you don’t mind.” Isabella shrugged from behind the large island that dominated his kitchen. “I’m not one to skip meals.”

      “Of course I don’t mind. I’m glad you found something.”

      The stilted conversation stuck in his throat and he walked to the single-brew coffee machine and set up an extra dark roast he hoped would do something for his mood.

      “What happens once we get back to New York?”

      Her words were quiet but there was no mistaking the apprehension laced underneath. That fact was even more evident as Liam turned toward her and caught sight of her shaking hand as she buttered her toast.

      “We’ll protect you.”

      “It’s not that simple. Whoever’s behind this has proven how stealthy they are. Do you have the resources to go up against someone with black ops training? Special forces training?”

      The immediate reaction had him cocking his head. “You think a government’s behind this.”

      “It’s a very real possibility.”

      “What about the possibility it’s someone closer to you? The threats and intrusions have been very personal in nature.”

      “Not possible.”

      “Why not? To your point, someone in special ops knows how to take out a target.” The words were out before he could snatch them back and Liam knew how insensitive he sounded. Although it was another point in the “Liam’s a bastard” column, he refused to mince words with her.

      He and his siblings had decided long ago that they wouldn’t keep clients ignorant of the danger that surrounded them. It was at best unfair and at worst, perilous to keep them in the dark.

      “You’re saying if I were their intended target, I’d have been dealt with by now.”

      “Yes.”

      “It’s