Fall from India Place (On Dublin Street 4)

“Otto Gersbach,” Lin said. She placed another photograph on top of Otto. This one was of a good-looking, curvy blond woman in a business suit, walking through what appeared to be a large lobby. “And his daughter, Brigit. She’ll be there tomorrow night as well.”

“Where’d Ian hire you from? The CIA? These look like surveillance photos,” he said, both amused and disgusted. He liked Ian and respected his brain, but Kam valued his privacy and freedom too much to condone spying. Just one more reason to tread very carefully in the carnivorous world of high finance and business—

“Ian values preparation,” Lin said neutrally, interrupting his thoughts. “He likes to have every detail he possibly can available to him before he goes into a meeting.”

“And you help him do that,” Kam murmured, his narrowed gaze running over Lin’s stunning face. What was Ian and Lin’s relationship? He’d met Ian’s wife—Francesca—on several occasions and liked her very much. He knew Ian was crazy about her. Other women didn’t seem to exist for him with Francesca in the picture. The fact that Francesca was going to have his baby this winter cemented the idea in Kam’s head that Lin and Ian definitely were not romantically involved. But what about before Francesca had come on the scene? Surely his half brother wouldn’t have denied himself with this exquisite beauty efficiently meeting his every demand?

He let his spoon drop in the bowl with a loud plink at the thought.

“What lengths would you go to in the name of service to Ian?” he growled softly.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her smooth expression fracturing slightly. “Are you suggesting I’d do something illegal for my job?”

He tore apart a piece of bread and shot a pointed glance at the photos.

“Those photos were taken from a security feed at Noble Enterprises in public places. There’s nothing illegal about them,” she defended.

“How many photos of me did you review before you walked in here tonight?” he asked before he wolfed down several bites of soup.

“None, if you must know,” she said, and he was glad to hear the anger in her voice. Good to know there was some passion behind that perfect face and body.

“You said you’d recognize me anywhere.”

“Only because you look so much like Ian,” she blurted out heatedly. He met her stare, a little shocked by her outburst. She inhaled slowly, seeming to try and calm herself, and Kam realized she’d been shocked, too. “Trust me, I never saw any photos of you. If I had, I . . .” She paused and looked away. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really got you so prickly?”

He gave a rough bark of laughter and shoved back his bowl of soup. “You want my whole life story?”

“No, just the reason you’re so determined to dislike me,” she replied without pause.

His gaze dropped over her white throat to the exposed skin of her upper chest, above the neckline of the fitted sweater she wore. The garment was streamlined and chic, but included a ruffle around the wrists that he found sexy—a concession to her femininity. Her breasts looked like they’d fill the palm of his hand perfectly, not too large, not too small. They thrust erotically from the plane of her chest, pert, firm, soft seeming. They rose as she inhaled. He met her startled stare.

Not like her? What gave her that impression?

Maybe it’s because you know a woman like her would never give you the time of day if it weren’t for these unique circumstances. And you’re playing defense against that knowledge.

“I like you just fine,” he said honestly, ignoring the voice in his head and refusing to censor the heat in his tone.

Her lush, unadorned lips trembled slightly. He couldn’t take his eyes off them. She had to have the sexiest mouth he’d ever seen. He leaned in without conscious thought, a man who had caught the scent and was determined not to lose it.

“What do you mean by that? What if you had seen a photo of me?” he demanded quietly, their faces just inches apart.

“I would have been better prepared.”

“Too late,” he replied succinctly. He leaned closer still, her eyes drawing him in . . .

She blinked and started back. Victor had arrived with their entrees. The bartender flinched when he saw Kam’s furious scowl for having interrupted at such a crucial moment.

He could tell Lin was flustered as she asked Victor for another glass of wine and swallowed some ice water. Feeling a little guilty for coming on so strong, he let her talk business as they ate the steak. She’d been right yet again. The meal was delicious and more than satisfying. So was listening to her smooth voice and watching her.

She ate with a combination of elegance and genuine hunger that fascinated him. He’d wondered at one point if she was studying his table manners, determining whether or not he’d make a fool of himself by grabbing his food with his hands or using the wrong fork at one of these stuffy business dinners. Her face was very hard to read, however, if lovely to look at. He realized he was taking pains to revert to his college and medical school years in London in an attempt to appear more civilized and refined. Irritation flooded him.

Lin had been sent here to make him more comfortable in this proposed venture, not judge his rustic ways. He hadn’t adapted to polite society at his biological father’s hypocritical urgings, he reminded himself, despite his mother’s pleas for him to do so. He didn’t change for any woman, either. His experience with Diana had proven that. He couldn’t alter who he was.