er! She's a con artist! I bet she paid Dr. Evans to say all those things!

ously quiet. "My assistant will escort you out. If I hear you qu

solute. The protests outside th

massive desk. "I don't care how you convinced Evans you were the solution. If you deliver,

her blazer, revealing the crisp white shirt beneath. She pulled a fol

efore we talk business, I need to assess my primary research subject." She stopped dir

s arms. A flicker of amusement crossed his face

ntly of antiseptic and something else-a clean, herbal scent. She lif

s?" she asked, her voice a

, a soothing current that seemed to sink right into his skull, loosening a tension he hadn't even noticed.

ysical contact. Only one woman had ever been able to touch him withou

ulse point at his throat. She could feel the fast, heavy beat under her thumb. A

the too-familiar feel of it-it wa

d her wrist like a manacle. His other arm snaked around her

ire, Doctor," he growl

ripped from his throat. He tightened his grip and, with a viol

nd echoed in th

pale skin of her left shoulder. And there, stark a

world

s. A memory, brutal and vivid, slammed into him: a chaotic night six years ago, a woman's fac

by the violence. Her ey

d the mole. His voice came out strangled, barely a whi

ed to pull the torn fabric together. "Is this how you treat all your specialists, Mr. Sterling?" S

rned t

his hand grabbing her arm and spinning he

om the scarred face burned into his memory. But the mole, the scent, the way

sele ordered, voic

ck hit the

ined. "Ms. Mack is refusing to leave. She insists

roared, his eyes never

er than your research projects," Gisele

d, he tightened his grip and started dragging her toward a d