Page 9 of Beckoning Liam

"It’s Romany—the same language the terrorists have been using.”

“I thought you worked in ‘obscure’ languages,” he said.

“Romany is considered somewhat obscure, as it isn’t used as much as other languages. Its use is widespread, but it can be easily confused with Slavic or Indic languages. It also draws elements from various other languages, including Hindi, so it can be misclassified and evade recognition. Once I figured out what it was, it just became about trying to understand it. It wasn’t like it was some kind of cipher. Damn it," she muttered under her breath. "Rovena’s not just in danger; it looks like she might be part of the puzzle itself. We have to act now, Liam. With or without protocol."

“I got a message to Cerberus last night, they can pick her up.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “My guess is Rovena has already taken steps to get herself out of harm’s way. She isn’t going to go with or listen to anyone she doesn’t know. So, you’re stuck with me.”

Liam watched her, something akin to admiration flickering in his eyes. "All right," he conceded, the word heavy with the significance of his decision. "But we do it my way. Understood?"

"Understood," Becks agreed, her voice a quiet combination of steel and silk. They stood side by side, two enigmas wrapped in shadows, ready to defy the odds and confront the darkness as one.

Chapter Four

Liam

Liam tightened the last strap on the boat’s supply compartment, the cold bite of the sea air sharpening his senses. Becks moved beside him, her hands brushing his as she reached to the strap on her laptop messenger bag, lingering just a second too long. He could feel her gaze on him, even as he focused on securing their gear. A spark crackled between them—a dangerous, electric undercurrent that had been there since they’d first met, smoldering beneath the threat of constant danger.

Becks’ lips curved in a half-smile. She seemed pleased that she had gotten her way and that they were headed out to meet Rovena. It was a look that made his pulse hammer. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been as attracted to a woman as he was Becks. Her fingers brushed his arm as she settled into the seat next to him. Ignoring the heat radiating between them, even in the damp chill, was next to impossible.

As he powered up the engine, Liam’s eyes were on her, his hand steady on the throttle as the boat leapt forward, cutting cleanly through the churning waters of the English coast. Hastings faded into a blur behind them as they headed across the open expanse of the English Channel to France, thesea stretching out like an invitation to escape—or to pursue something even more tempting. The steady rumble of the boat created a cocoon of noise, closing them off from the rest of the world, and Liam found himself acutely aware of every shift Becks made beside him.

Hours passed, the tension between them steadily increasing, until the French coastline appeared at last, wild and foreboding. The fog over the English Channel made it easy to stay hidden as Liam adjusted their course toward the mouth of the Seine, which would take them to Paris. They’d made it through the first leg, but the unease in his gut told him they weren’t out of danger yet.

As they glided into the calmer river water, the fog began to clear and Becks slid closer, one hand braced on his arm as she leaned in to check their course. Her breath, warm against his cheek, made his jaw tense.

“Right into the heart of it, then?” she murmured, her voice laced with a thrill intertwined with dread.

“Unfortunately, there’s no other way. When we dock, keep your laptop close,” he replied, forcing his tone to remain even, though he knew she could feel the way his pulse beat in his wrist beneath her hand.

Her grip tightened slightly. She might believe this was the right thing to do, but she was afraid. This was no pleasure cruise, and Becks was a distraction, one he couldn’t afford—and one he wasn’t sure he could resist much longer, even if he wanted to. The world around them faded, the riverbanks sliding by in the afternoon sun, as if the whole universe had narrowed down to just this—him, her, and the daunting promise of what might lie ahead.

The boat's engine hummed like a low, seductive promise as it cut through the waters of the Seine, carrying Liam and Becks toward the heart of Paris where Rovena would be waiting.

"Keep your head down," Liam murmured, his voice rough with unspoken tension as he steered the vessel with disciplined ease. Becks obeyed, surreptitiously scanning their surroundings.

Becks clutched the rail with knuckles as white as the mist that often hovered over the land in the morning. Her fingers trembled not from the cold but from the adrenaline rush of their covert mission.

Liam glanced at her, the sight of her curvy body poised for action stirring something primal within him. She was so much more than the bookish intellect or simple submissive in need of a session he'd first believed her to be. He was beginning to believe she was a woman of depth, courage, and hidden fires. It was a combination that made the dominant in him ache to explore every facet of her submission at some later time, when their lives and those of others threatened by the terrorist plot didn't hang on a knife's edge.

"Stay sharp," he replied, his attention snapping back to the river ahead. "We can't afford any slip-ups." His gaze lingered on her just a moment too long, a kind of acknowledgment of the magnetic pull between them, before he refocused on their destination.

"Once we dock, blend in. We're just two lovers taking a stroll. We’ll rent one of those scooters to get us to the meeting place," he instructed, the words tasting like ash, for every inch of his being screamed to protect her rather than expose her to further danger. The idea of masquerading as Becks’ lover sent an illicit thrill through him, a dangerous spark in the powder keg of their situation. What might it be like to visit Paris and not be hiding behind a facade?

"Of course," Becks replied, her tone steady.

He docked quietly and efficiently, disembarking onto the cobblestones that led to the garden's entrance. They found a scooter to rent, and headed for the rendezvous spot. Liam kepta protective arm around Becks, ostensibly the gesture of an enamored beau, but in truth, it was the shield of a guardian ready to unleash hell should their foes emerge.

"Remember, just stay close to me," he said, his breath ghosting over her ear. She shivered next to him, an action that had nothing to do with the chill of the afternoon.

"No problem," she breathed out.

In this dance of danger and desire, Liam knew he was her anchor in the storm, the command in his touch grounding her even as it promised pleasures of a different kind once they were free from the relentless chase.

TheJardin des Tuileries loomed ahead, its public openness offering both the safety of a public space and cover if things got dicey. The proximity to the Louvre did nothing to quell Liam's awareness that their unknown enemy could be watching from any angle. He felt it in his bones—that they were being hunted.

They moved through the pathways of theJardin des Tuileries, the early afternoon granting them both a semblance of privacy and the ability to blend in with the tourists and Parisians. Their footsteps were quiet, their communication reduced to the language of bodies attuned to each other's every move.

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