Page 45 of Hidden Attraction

A voice filled her ear, its regional accent low and musical . “I will agree to meet. But not there.”

A tremor—part excitement, part apprehension—snaked its way down her spine. “Of course. You name the place, sir.”

Julian’s attention was fixed on her, and unfortunately, so was the director’s. Using the skills she’d honed in countless negotiations, Alyssa offered them both an assuring smile and waited for the man’s response.

It was clear he knew something, and that he didn’t want to be overheard.

“There is amat’am.” A restaurant.

“That sounds perfect,” she breezed out more as a way to expel the air accumulating in her lungs. “Can you please share the name?”

“Sahraa. Seven o’clock.”

“That sounds perfect.” Smiling and nodding at Leïla, she said a quick farewell and ended the call. She passed the phone to the woman. “Thank you for allowing me to use your phone, and for putting us in touch with the interpreter.”

The woman’s expression held a degree of curiosity, but she didn’t ask more. She simply took the phone and, with a final wave, returned to her office.

Alyssa reached for Julian’s arm. Feeling off-balance for no good reason.

With a hand on her waist, he steered her outside to the scooter.

“Maybe I’m picking up your ability to tell if something is off. I feel so shaky inside.”

He gripped her upper arms, looming over her protectively. “I’ll keep you safe, Alyssa.”

A warm, weightless tumbling started in her gut. Without thinking, she lifted her hand and cupped his jaw. The bristle of his beard stubble against her fingertips grounded her.

He leaned in and brushed his lips over the spot between her brows. Her eyes automatically slipped shut, and she sucked in a gulp of his masculine scent.

Then he urged her onto the scooter once again. When they were securely within the confines of the safehouse, she dropped to the sofa and lowered her face into her hands.

“No one bombs a peacekeeper,” she muttered.

The cushion dipped under Julian’s weight. “You’re right. That’s why it was so devastating and out of the blue.”

She lifted her head and looked at him directly. “Tell me what you know about the bombing. I need to know everything before we meet with the interpreter for dinner.”

He let out a huff of air, a sign she had noticed meant Julian was gathering his thoughts. “The bomb was brought in during a normal supply delivery.”

“How do they receive their supplies?”

“I looked into it. They have global warehouses stocked with essential supplies and get regular shipments.”

“Somebody was able to mess with the shipment before delivery.” She nodded as the pieces clicked into place. “Now we know what to ask over dinner.”

He gave her a sharp look. “What time is dinner?”

“Seven.”

His eyes hooded. Slowly, he brought his finger from the hollow of her throat, up, up, with a heated stroke, to the point of her chin. Fireflies danced in her belly as he tilted her face upward and lowered his lips to hers.

She didn’t remember moving. One second, Julian was just sitting there—all broad shoulders and coiled restraint, the kind that burned behind his eyes whenever they were too close for too long. The next, he had her off her feet, arms wrapped around his neck, and scarcely space between them.

“Julian,” she gasped, more air than voice.

“Not another word, Alyssa.” His growl was low, hot against her cheek as he walked them across the room of the safehouse toward the bedroom, every heavy step deliberate. “You’ve been looking at me like that all day. You knew what would happen.”

She had. God, she had. Still, nothing could have prepared her for thefeelof him right now—every hard, warm, impressive inch against her, carrying her like she weighed nothing, like she belonged in his arms.

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