Chapter 43
The crackling fire cast flickering shadows across the rough stone walls of the cave. Isabella Sinclair knelt by the flames, carefully arranging a bundle of dry grass she had gathered. “Good thing this hasn’t been soaked by the rain,” she murmured. “It should last us until morning.”
Her fingers moved deftly, concealing a slender, razor-sharp blade between them. As she stirred the fire with a stick, the golden light danced across her face, catching the dark glint in her eyes. A loose strand of hair fell across her cheek, adding to the air of quiet danger around her.
Alexander Kingsley leaned against the cave wall, his grip tightening around a jagged stone before he let it drop. “Your bandaging skills are impressive,” he remarked, his voice low and measured. “Where did you learn them?”
Isabella didn’t meet his gaze. “I was a bit of a wild child,” she said with a wry smile. “Always getting into scrapes. Call it survival instinct.”
Alexander chuckled under his breath. Her answer was too polished, too rehearsed. If roughhousing could teach someone to dress wounds like a field medic, then medical schools would be out of business. Still, he played along. “You must have been quite the prodigy.”
“And your legs are a medical marvel, Mr. Kingsley,” she shot back, her tone laced with subtle venom.
The tension between them thickened, the air growing heavier with each passing second. Isabella’s fingers brushed against the hidden blade, her muscles coiled, ready to strike. Alexander might be formidable, but his wheelchair made him vulnerable.
She had heard the rumors—how Alexander had clawed his way to the top of the Kingsley Group with ruthless precision. She had dismissed most of them, but now, seeing him here, she wondered how much truth they held. His constant reliance on the wheelchair had always struck her as suspicious. Now that she had glimpsed his secret, she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate any threat.
Breaking the silence, Isabella tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint smile. “That pin on your jacket is striking.”
Alexander’s fingers traced the delicate silver brooch, his expression unreadable. “A memento,” he murmured. “From a woman.”
His gaze locked onto hers, dark and probing. “A very intriguing—and dangerous—woman. Makes one wonder who she really is.”
Isabella’s skills on the cruise ship had been flawless, far from the meek, obedient wife the tabloids had painted her as. Alexander wasn’t a man who believed in coincidences. Their meeting had been anything but accidental.
“Careful, Mr. Kingsley,” she warned, tossing another log onto the fire. The flames flared, casting eerie shadows across her face. “Curiosity has a way of backfiring.”
“But the pin is exquisite,” he mused, a smirk tugging at his lips. “The previous owner must have had impeccable taste.”
Isabella resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The man had the audacity to compliment himself through her.
Then, without warning, she looked up, her smile sweet and lethal. “You’re quite skilled yourself, Mr. Kingsley.” Her fingers grazed the concealed weapon in her palm.
Alexander’s expression hardened. “Just a hobby,” he replied coolly. “But I appreciate your assistance, Miss Sinclair.”
He knew exactly what kind of woman Isabella was—one who struck first and asked questions later. After all, he had once held a gun to her back to get what he wanted.
The cave was silent except for the crackling fire, the tension between them so thick it was almost suffocating. Their eyes locked in a silent battle, an invisible storm brewing between them.
Then, Isabella rose gracefully and crouched before him. Her hair brushed against his cheek, the scent of jasmine and something sharper filling his senses.
“You have a cut here,” she murmured, her voice soft. “It doesn’t look like a knife wound.”
Her cold fingertips traced his chest, the hidden blade now dangerously close to his heart.
“Would you like me to take a closer look, Mr. Kingsley?” Her smile was warm, her voice honeyed.
And in that moment, Alexander knew—she was just as deadly as he was.
