Illicit acollection, p.65
Illicit: A Contemporary Romance Collection, page 65
Yelling felt good. Damn good. So she screamed. Not words this time, just pure unadulterated rage. At the restaurant critic, at her parents for getting the family business into trouble, at herself for failing her family, failing Steve, failing Alec. Failing to stay away from Alec all those years ago and for failing to stop the yearning building again for the handsome young man with the pretty, damaged eyes she’d never been able to forget.
Yes, her inability to control her reaction to him made her angry. Made her stupid and reckless. She screamed again, letting the anger and fear pour out of her mouth.
The scream turned to a yelp when her bathroom door slammed open.
“Izzy,” Alec cried. He ripped open the shower curtain, chest heaving.
She stood still, shocked. Hot water streamed over her body. Once he ascertained she was alone, safe, Alec’s eyes warmed as they slid from her face, down her neck, to her chest. Her breasts plumped, growing heavy under his perusal. He licked his lips and stepped into the shower.
“Isobel,” he whispered. "You're—thank God." His voice thickened with emotion. He inched closer.
“You’re going to get wet,” Isobel murmured, her throat raw from her screams. She should turn off the water, grab a towel. Instead, she stood there, hot water pounding against her shoulders, running over her skin, entranced by the flames of desire leaping into Alec’s gaze, lust tightening his jaw. His nostrils flared. Could he smell her desire?
“Don’t care,” he muttered. “Needed to make sure you were okay.”
She couldn’t reach for him. As much as she wanted Alec, and to see how good things could be, she couldn’t cross that patient-therapist line.
Steve had taken a chance on her. He offered a place for her and her parents and Portia—an opportunity for them to get their financial footing again.
Isobel summoned what little resolve she had left. “I’m fine. You need to leave. Please.”
Alec
* * *
“Iz….” He met her eyes again, saw the pain there. “Yeah, okay.”
Alec turned away from Isobel. It was the best way he could think of to keep his distance. That didn’t stop his racing thoughts or raging hard-on, though. He reached for the door.
“Alec.”
Her tone stopped him, but he didn’t dare face her. Not when he wanted to grab her and kiss the breath from her hotter-than-he’d-imagined body.
“If you want to wait, I’ll be out in a moment.”
He nodded and headed into her living room. He left his soaked sneakers by the front door and sat on the couch.
Now he’d sit here, pretending Isobel wasn’t naked and slick with only a wall between them.
Sure. He could do that. He needed to keep his mind off things, like how his erection dug into his zipper, making him feel alive...and damn uncomfortable. He adjusted himself again and tried to summon unsexy thoughts.
His family popped into his head. Would his mother tattle about Martin to his father? Those thoughts were about as unappealing as his wandering mind could get.
For the whole month, Isobel had been pushing him to open up, in the one area he’d rather not venture. Not because he didn’t want her to know… Well, he didn’t. Pretty much everyone in Salt Lake understood Luke Monson was a self-righteous ass.
No. Alec didn’t want Isobel to know Alec brought Luke’s attention, his disdain, down upon her and her family. His mother confirmed that in the conversation they’d had earlier in the week. That’s why Alec wanted Izzy to drop the subject—so he wouldn’t have to confess yet another massive mistake that caused her hurt.
The bathroom door creaked open and Isobel slipped out, dressed in fresh jeans and a fitted tee. Her hair hung in damp locks down her back, making her shirt wet enough to cling to all the right places.
He dragged his stare away. Don’t think about sexy things.
Isobel cleared her throat. “We should talk about what happened.”
Because she liked to talk. Always had. No wonder she was a therapist. Boone sang her praises—how she teased out what was worrying him when Boone couldn’t. Alec never went that deep, but he could see how Izzy would be excellent at getting to the hurt and helping to scoop it out.
If he’d let her.
Which he couldn’t do. He probably needed to talk to someone, but he didn’t want it to be Izzy. He wanted her for much more than to fix his head. But if he asked to be transferred, Izzy’s feelings would be hurt and she could reject him.
If he wasn’t careful, he could ruin both his and Izzy’s futures.
“Alec? How are you?”
“Fine. I’m fine. Worried about you.”
Izzy huffed out a laugh. “Funny. I’m worried about you.”
God, he loved her, but that didn’t mean he should have her. Could have her. Not if his father wouldn’t leave her alone.
“Oh!” She went back into her bathroom and came out with a bottle of ibuprofen. She poured a glass of water and brought both over to Alec. “For those aches and pains you’re still forming.”
A ghost of a grin spread across her mouth, but her brows remained pinched, like she was turning over a problem in her mind that seemed insurmountable. He took the pills, aware of her sharp intake of breath, the rise of her breasts against the soft cotton of her shirt.
He swallowed them and the water. Izzy perched on the edge of the single chair across from him and cleared her throat.
“I think Steve should take over your case.”
He’d thought that, too, but he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Alec resisted the urge to squirm in his seat, which irritated him. Fine, he’d call her bluff.
“What are you saying?” Alec asked.
“If we don’t make progress on the mental health aspects of your therapy, you’re removed from the ranch,” Isobel said quietly. “I don’t want you to leave because I wasn’t your best chance at healing.”
Many thoughts flitted through his mind, but he blurted out, “Like Martin?”
Isobel’s face froze, her eyes sheened in fear, exacerbated, no doubt, by the run-in earlier.
Alec folded his lips back between his teeth and bit down, hard. That had been a low blow.
“I’m sorry, Izzy. I didn’t mean it quite like it sounded. I…I’m worried about you.”
Some of the lines vanished from Isobel’s face, and Alec breathed easier.
“What do you want to do when you leave here?” Izzy asked.
“I—” He hadn’t thought about it.
“You’ve got countless hours of flying. You could go commercial. I looked it up to be sure. You can do news helicopter piloting for those aerial shots or emergency transport. Maybe even chartered craft. A military pilot can have a good career in the civilian market.”
His insides tightened at the thought of being in the pilot’s seat again. “I won’t fly.” It was a struggle to keep the emotion from his expression, let alone his tone.
“You’ve got the training…”
“And you have an associate degree in culinary arts, but you’re trying to dissect my brain instead of making brioche.”
The hurt that slammed across Isobel’s face made him recoil internally.
His stomach tightened. He knew something bad had happened to the restaurant. Probably because of his dad…which meant because of Alec, for the words he’d thrown at his father before he’d packed a duffel bag and walked out.
His father always settled the score. Always. And with Alec gone, Isobel, her family, would have been his target.
Isobel closed her eyes and tipped her head back, almost as if that would hold the tears at bay. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“Iz…”
“Meeting now is outside our normal schedule, and it’s inappropriate for you to be in my cabin if it’s not an emergency.” That cool, professional tone was back. “Which this isn’t. I’ll let Steve know about the transfer next week during our monthly strategy meeting.”
Alec knew those rules. Ridiculous indoctrination from church. Boys couldn’t be trusted around girls, if they’re left alone. His blood boiled but he bit back any negative response.
“Fine. I’ll go.” He rose from the couch, his body reluctant to leave, but Izzy looked uncertain, her eyes dark with worry.
Tension shimmered from her body. He didn’t blame her for kicking him out.
He stepped onto her front porch. After he closed the door behind him, he looked up and his stomach clenched. Luke Monson stood across the path, arms crossed over his chest. His dark hair was threaded with silver and his lips twisted in a sneer. His expensive shirt and pants looked as out of place on the dusty path as Alec had always felt in the family.
Luke raised his brows and his gray eyes grew colder with each passing heartbeat.
Alec’s palms twitched and sweat prickled the back of his neck. What the hell was his father doing here?
“Why am I not surprised?” Luke laughed, but the sound rasped across Alec’s skin, caustic and ugly. “You fell right back into the honeypot I rescued you from all those years ago. You’re weaker than I thought.”
9
Isobel
The shouts and sounds of a fight caused Isobel to hustle out the front door. She flung her still-damp hair away from her face and stared, open-mouthed, at the sight in front of her.
Luke Monson lay on the ground, blood pouring from his nose. Alec looked green and seemed to be staggering. Two hired hands stood between the two men. Steve was next to a sheriff’s deputy, probably the one who’d come to go through Martin’s room.
“You don’t talk about her like that,” both Steve and Alec were shouting.
While Isobel’s first reaction was to rush to Alec’s side, she checked herself when Steve turned to face her, his face a complete mask of disapproval.
“Come to my office in ten minutes,” he rumbled. “We need to sort out this mess.”
Isobel nodded. She closed the door to her cabin and bolted it for good measure. If only she’d done that before her shower, then Steve wouldn’t be throwing her out on her rump now.
Isobel had chosen to get involved with Alec on a more personal level—to let him stay in her cabin and then to talk to him there, clearly out of the normal regulations. She’d chosen to step in front of Goldie to save Alec’s life. Never would she regret that decision—though, having to tell her mother and father and her baby sister that they had to move again because of her? Isobel regretted the probable need for that conversation more with each breath.
But Steve had always been fair—a decent man and a thoughtful boss. He wouldn't throw her parents out because he was unhappy with her. Isobel swallowed hard. He might fire her, but she'd be okay.
Somehow, she'd be okay.
Even though she’d failed at the very work she’d come to love. Again.
Isobel trudged to her bathroom and braided her hair, hoping the rhythmic motion would soothe her. She padded to her bedroom and opened the dresser, slipping on a pair of wool-blend socks and her black leather boots that still sat next to the chair where she’d pulled them off earlier.
Half-expecting to see the men still outside her door, stuck in that terrible tableau, she paused at the threshold. They weren’t still there. Isobel’s heart pounded as she walked toward the main house. She passed her sister who played in the backyard of the big house, away from the noise and fighting. Isobel lifted her hand in greeting, trying to smile.
That expression wouldn’t come. Not even when her baby sister waved back enthusiastically and twirled through the dirt, chasing behind the two large brown and black mutts who roamed the property and whom Portia loved as her own. They tumbled over themselves, yipping and scrambling in the dirt while Portia laughed and called them to her.
Because of Isobel’s impetuousness, Portia might lose this home, too.
With a leaden heart and even heavier feet, Isobel made it to Steve’s office. She raised her hand to knock but the door burst open. Luke paused there, locking eyes with Isobel. His eyes narrowed as he drew himself up taller. He glared at Isobel past the double shiners already setting around his cold, gray eyes.
“Gold-digging slut,” he spat. “You can’t help chasing after the rich boys, can you?”
“That is no way to speak to my employee, Mr. Monson.” Steve’s voice reverberated with anger.
The sheriff deputy appeared at Luke’s side and won the brief tug-of-war, causing Luke to stumble past her, making sure his shoulder slammed into hers.
Steve hurried over to Isobel as she turned to watch the sheriff lead Luke away.
“You okay?” Steve asked.
Isobel raised her gaze to Steve’s, eyes wide, heart thumping hard. “What…” Isobel sucked in a breath. “What was that about?” she managed to squeak.
He sighed, running a hand down the back of his neck. “That,” he said, “is me rectifying a mistake. For Alec, and for you.”
“I don’t understand,” Isobel said. Her head wanted to float away—she couldn’t focus, couldn’t seem to inhale a deep breath.
Steve steered her into his office, shutting the door behind him. Instead of going back to sit behind his desk, he settled Isobel in the chair and then leaned his hip against the edge.
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
Isobel wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “What?”
“Luke Monson came here to get you fired. And to have Alec released to his care.”
“Is that possible? I mean, Alec is an adult.”
Isobel squeezed her fingers together so hard, the tips turned white. Part of her wasn't surprised. Those nasty looks made her feel cheap and dirty. She shuddered. Luke Monson never liked her.
“No, it’s not. Mainly because of the high quality of your notes.” Steve tapped out an irregular beat with his pen. “Not the personal health information—HIPPA doesn’t allow me to share that—but thanks to your detailed notes, I can say without doubt Alec Monson is in control of his mental faculties.”
Isobel dipped her head, but her heart thumped hard in her chest. Breath trickled from her lungs as she tried to process the lengths Luke would go to control the people in his family.
“Of course he is.”
“We all know that.” Steve hesitated before he picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Isobel.
Isobel unfolded it and read aloud: “I destroyed one of your dreams. I’ll do it again.”
Isobel glanced up from the paper to meet Steve’s concerned expression.
“Mean anything to you?” Steve asked.
Isobel spread her fingers wide to keep from clenching them into fists. “Maybe…only…my family’s restaurant…” She trailed off. “But…who wrote it? Why?”
Steve closed his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Luke tossed it on my desk. I never should have accepted Alec’s application…” He sighed, a heavy sound that made Isobel’s heart flutter in her chest again.
"What are you talking about?" She managed to push the words past her stiff lips.
“My sister Laurel was Luke’s girl before he married Cynthia.” Steve’s smile held no humor. “She’s gone, by the way. My sister, I mean. Skipped out of Salt Lake and all of Utah from what I’ve been able to gather when she realized Luke Monson had no intention of marrying her…or taking care of the baby she was carrying.”
Isobel’s mouth turned drier than a desert. “Alec has a half-sibling?”
Steve shrugged. “Could. I’m not sure what happened to Laurel or her child. We were never able to track her down. She…disappeared.”
“Thee moy,” Isobel murmured.
“Bottom line is this: Luke got Martin here. Faked documentation to do it, which is a serious offense.”
Isobel’s heart pattered in a heavy rhythm against her ribs. “What? Why?”
“To cause trouble.”
“The snake, the burrs, the gun.”
Steve nodded, his lips slammed together in a thin, angry line. “Among other issues, yes. But Luke can’t control Martin, and he’s developed a thing for you.”
“Luke?” Isobel squeaked, her heart slamming around in her chest cavity.
Steve shook his head. “Martin. Martin has an unhealthy obsession with you.”
“What does that have to do with this note?” Isobel asked. She folded it closed again, but the words were still there, taunting.
“Luke doesn’t share. He’s angry Laurel got away—and he blames me for that. He’s angry with your parents. He’s angry with you for catching Alec’s eye.”
“That’s an extensive list,” Isobel said.
“Don’t I know it.” Steve slammed his fist against his thigh. “I should have turned Cynthia away when she showed up here, but I’ve always been a sucker for a sob story.” He rubbed his hands over his face, which had aged and grayed over the course of their conversation.
“You’re telling me both Luke and Martin are dangerous,” Isobel whispered. “And will remain a danger to you, to me, to Alec.”
Steve’s eyes turned bleak. “Seems that way. As for the note itself, I’d like you to talk to your parents. See what we can put together for the sheriff’s department.”
Alec
* * *
Didn’t matter what country he was in, an infirmary or hospital…hell, even this clinic all smelled the same: like antiseptic and old misery. He hated that smell, just as he hated being forced to come to the small, three-room building that housed the area’s doctor’s office.
Alec took the five-second-hold deep breaths he’d learned in Germany. Eventually, he stopped shaking. There had been so much blood when he broke his father’s nose. Sure, the man deserved it, but Alec was going to have to call his mother to explain.
Alec bit the inside of his cheek to keep from sliding into the past and back to the night when he left. Isobel had so many good points. About him needing help. About her not being the right person to provide it. He wanted to argue, because a cold dread sank in his gut at the thought of her disappearing from his life again. Fighting her, fighting the therapy he needed wasn’t the way to keep her here, though.
