A Dom is Forever (Masters and Mercenaries #3)(3)

Ian Taggart didn’t like charities? There was a surprise since the man was practically a charity in and of himself. Liam knew he was alive today based on the man’s sense of charity. “From the press surrounding him, he’s practically a saint.”

Ian smiled, though on him it was more a predatory baring of teeth. “I don’t believe in saints. Sinners. Now, I can believe that.” He sighed as he looked back in the atrium. Avery was ordering a sandwich and a cup of coffee. “Have Adam and Jake moved in?”

Ian’s eyes shifted around the big room, constantly seeking a threat.

They weren’t carrying. He felt a little naked without a gun. It was too dangerous in such a public place, and they weren’t exactly here in a formal capacity. That was his fault. Everyone on the team had tried to talk him out of coming back to Europe, but it had been years. He’d changed. Perhaps it was past time to face his demons and honor his brother’s memory.

After he’d taken down Eli Nelson.

“They moved into her building last week. We were oh so lucky that her neighbor decided to leave town for a while and was forced to sublet the place.” Liam kept his eyes on Avery as she paid seven pounds fifty. She smiled at the bloke in front of her. How did the woman smile like that, bright and open after everything that had happened to her? She smiled as though she’d come through that crucible and could still have a full heart in her body.

Of course, it could all be an act.

“I think you’ll find Adam and Jake are paying enough to well compensate the lady,” Ian explained. His body went on alert, shoulders squaring. “Who the f*ck is that? I thought you said she didn’t have a boyfriend.”

Liam felt his eyes narrow as Avery greeted the tall blond man. He was obviously British. It was all there in the cool cut of his suit and the deeply pretentious way the bugger air kissed her cheeks. He had to bend over because Avery was short. She was short and curvy, and the Brit bastard was looking down her shirt.

“I haven’t seen him before,” Liam said. A solid week of following her around and he hadn’t once seen her even look at a man who wasn’t carved of marble and brought back to London from some far-off place during the days of British Imperialism. The only man he’d seen her with was her boss. She would wheel him around St. James’s Park twice a week, settling a blanket around his unsteady legs before making the jaunt. Molina could walk with the aid of a cane, but the millionaire used a wheelchair on those walks of theirs.

Ian was already taking pictures with his phone. It had been adapted for Ian’s own use. High resolution, super focus. Any picture Ian took was immediately forwarded to headquarters for a little turn through Adam’s facial recognition software. They would have the bugger’s name and life story within minutes.

Why the hell did he want to kick the blond bloke’s ass? Days of watching Avery Charles and going over and over her tragic story had made him protective. She’d been through a lot. And the young Liam, the Liam he’d been before he’d lost his brother, would have been all over her.

Still, it was a bad idea to get protective of a woman who just might be involved in international terrorism.

She sat down at one of the long tables, blond bastard following her. He curled his tall body into the seat across from her as she began talking animatedly. He reached out, cradling her hand in his, but she almost immediately pulled away, grabbing her coffee mug.

No sex there. No intimacy. She was awkward, unsure about his physical affection.

“He’s not the boyfriend.” Ian almost certainly saw what he saw. Ian was a master at reading body language. Likely because he was an actual Master. And that was why Liam wanted Ian to see her in person.

“What’s your take on her?” Liam asked.

Ian had been watching her for two hours, since she’d gotten off the Tube at Holborn. Liam had been following her path for days, and she took the same trains without fail. She left the offices at Charing Cross and bought a bottle of water. Switched from Bakerloo to the Picadilly Line and got off at Holborn. From there it should have been a quick walk up New Oxford to Bloomsbury and the museum, but Avery seemed to always find a way to stroll and look at whatever minutiae caught her eye. And she often had a camera. One day she’d spent twenty minutes taking pictures of tulips in street boxes.

It was maddening. Boring. Dull as dishwater. And he’d started to wonder if she was seeing a world he didn’t see.

Ian leaned back, taking out the museum map he’d bought and pretending to study it. “I think she’s intriguing. Given what I know about her background, I would have expected someone a little more broken than she appears to be.”

Yes. That was the problem. Most women who had lost what Avery had lost would bear the marks like scars. It would be there in their eyes, but Avery’s were a clear, crystal blue. “It has been ten years since the accident.”

“That kind of pain never goes away.” Ian’s lips formed a grim line, and his eyes closed momentarily. When he opened them again, his face was a careful blank. “She lost her husband and her baby in an accident. She nearly lost the use of her legs. It might have been ten years since the accident, but I assure you, she feels it every day. Or maybe not. Maybe she’s not capable of love. I’ve met people who weren’t.”

“She works for a charity,” Liam pointed out. He didn’t like the cold way Ian was talking. Ian hadn’t been the one watching her day in and day out. Ian hadn’t been the one to see how she stopped and talked to people on the street and how she’d helped a lost kid. She’d hugged him and held his hand while everyone else just walked on by as though it wasn’t their problem.