Isobel shoved a collection of Soduku puzzles into her travel bag, and did a quick mental scroll through her list. T-shirts, and new socks. Enough chocolate covered raisins to induce a diabetic coma, several large bags of Salt n' Vinegar chips—which her Da loved to eat with the chocolate covered raisins.

A nauseating combination, but one she was happy to indulge for this long overdue visit. The latest John Grisham novel and, lastly the puzzles.

Sealing the zipper on her tote, Isobel's phone rattled on her dresser. Recognizing Teresa's number, she plucked it up and swiped her thumb across the screen. "Hel—"

"Isobel, thank god!" Teresa cut her off, her tone rich with frustration. "I need you to pick up Marco from his specialist appointment in twenty minutes."

Isobel's mouth tumbled open. "What? I can't, I'm—"

"Please, it's an emergency. The press are tailing me hard, I can't lead them to Marco. The press slapping his face across the news right now is the last thing he needs."

No, he certainly didn't. The specialist was outside of the city, and on route to her father, but to go all the way out there, turn around to drop him off, by the time she got back on the road the highway would be a mess of traffic that would back her up for hours.

"Isobel?"

"Yes, okay. Sure." Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, she blinked away frustrated tears. "Give me the address."

Despite getting off at the wrong exit, Isobel reached the medical care center in under twenty. On the outside it looked like a gorgeous, modern home. The sign was subtle, and street facing, but once she rolled into the driveway, she gazed up at the three-storey mansion made of sleek dark grey blocks and red cedar and large glass windows.

The massive red cedar doors swung open, smooth as a whisper at the slightest touch.

Inside the waiting room was empty and a mature woman sat behind a stately reception desk behind a glass partition.

"Hi," Isobel adjusted the weight of her purse on her shoulder. "I'm here to pick up Marco."

The woman smiled. "ID please."

"Right." Removing her drivers license from her wallet, Isobel slid it through the envelope sized notch and waited as the woman carefully scrutinized it.

"Wonderful. He's just finishing up with Dr. Saltzman. Examine room 4b."

Isobel stammered but the receptionist was already on the phone. Dismissed, Isobel pushed steel into her spine and walked through. The corridor split into two, with metal plaques telling her which way to go. Outside of 4b, she gathered the rest of her composure and knocked before entering.

Marco stood, shirt in his hands and torso bear. His bandages were off—revealing the slick scaled tilapia skins layered overtop the healing burns. Covering his neck and down the left side of his body to his waist. His eyes snapped up, the blue darkened at the sight of her surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry. The nurse told me to—"

"Please, come in." Dr. Saltzman appeared from behind Marco. A tiny little man with a crown of black hair hugging the side of his head, the top bald and shaped like an egg. "You must be Isobel." He ripped open a fresh packet of gauze and went to work, wrapping up Marco like a mummy.

Slowly.

Isobel tried not to pay attention to each passing minute as they piled up, one after the other, like each layer of gauze over his skin.

"There. That should do it. Marco tells me you've been very helpful with assisting in his care."

"Oh, I don't..." Isobel's eyes bounced around the room. She could feel Marco's boring into her. "I'm not really doing much."

"Don't short change yourself," Dr. Saltzman said with a smile. "He's healing beautifully. Another six weeks and he won't need the dressings any longer."

"That's good news," Isobel managed, breath catching in her lugs with each inhale and exhale.

Finished with the gauze, Marco dragged on his shirt, then his hoodie and yanked the hood low over his face, drawing the strings. "Thanks," he said to the doctor, and shook the man's child-size hand.

"Remember to keep the bandages dry," Dr. Saltzman said. "I'll see you in two days for new dressings."

Outside the office, Isobel fumbled with her car keys and unlocked the doors.

"Why are you here?" Marco asked as she pulled open the passenger side door.

"Teresa called me," she said, pushed hair out of her face after a sharp kick of damp wind. "Apparently she's shaking some press and didn't want to lead them to you."

Marco grunted, thrust his hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed and fixed to the ground.

"I'm sorry," Isobel added. "I wanted to wait in the reception but—"

"Does it bother you?"

Isobel blinked, surprised by his gruff question. "Being here? Helping you?"

Marco shook his head. "Seeing it. The burns. You looked...uncomfortable."

Understanding soothed her nerves. He wasn't angry. He was insecure. "No. Not really," she admitted. "I was more...worried that you were upset with me for walking in. But the burns don't bother me. I've seen worse, to be honest."

He held there a moment, then nodded and stepped forward into the opened car door, then brought his eyes to meet hers.

Sharp silver blue.

Even after months avoiding the sun his skin was still warm and tawny caramel. A shade darker then his hair. Hair barely got a glimpse of before he was stuffing it under a cap or a hood. She wanted to peel it away. All of it. Every layer and barrier between them to see him.

Really see him.

Let me in, something inside of her ached to say. To confess. Please let me in.

"You said you'd seen worse," Marco said once she'd slid into the driver's seat and slotted the key in the ignition. "What did you see?"

Isobel hesitated, turned the key. "My father. After his accident. He'd broken a lot of bones. Had major surgery on his spine. When I saw him—a nurse was bathing him in his bed with a sponge. His dressings were off and it was like...Frankenstein. Like he's been pieced back together." Tears laced her voice and she blinked her eyes clear of the memory. God, it still made her nauseous. To know how he'd survived such terrifying odds.

Marco's hand closed over hers on the steering wheel. "Sorry. Didn't mean to pry."

"It's okay. I was on my way to see him when I got the call to get you. I was hoping that I might be able to make it after dropping you off, but now I think there won't be enough time. Traffic."

"No." Marco clicked on his seat belt. "Let's go."

"What?" she looked to him, a little stunned.

"You made plans to visit him, and I won't have you miss it. Not on my account."

"But..." Isobel shook her head. "I don't want to inconvenience you. It's a long drive. And...wouldn't you prefer—"

"To be cooped up in an empty house for another long day of trash TV and vegan munchies? Shut up and drive, Bel," Marco interrupted with a wink, kicking back his seat. "Wake me when we get there."

#

Enriched Wellness Center was repurposed mansion in the middle of King City, surrounded by lush greenery. She heard the nicker of horses in the distance. Part of the facilities rehab program involved equestrian riding, or tending to the animals.

Now she did cry.

As she did every time she came to this place. She'd been so angry at first, with her father and Shayne, but once she'd come and saw it all with her own eyes—she couldn't deny the simple truth. This really was the best place for him.

Marco pressed a hand to her bag, rubbed gently. "You alright?"

Isobel nodded, fingers tight on the handles of the tote bag. "Yeah. Just allergies." Smiling, she strode to the wide spread of stairs leading to the front door and went inside. Even the reception area was staged like a grand foyer in a hotel. Lots of plush seating, elegant crystal chandeliers and wall sconces, a lit modern hearth to the right facing the mahogany nurses station where two women and a man were seated. Dressed in casual clothes instead of hospital scrubs.

She knew them all by name now.

"Isobel, lovely to see you dear." Lydia Oxford, a middle-aged woman with sharp black hair and kind blue eyes rose from the desk and embraced her in a fast hug. "It's been a little while since your last visit."

"Yes, I know."

"And who is this strapping young man?" Lydia beamed, her pale pink sweater enhancing the rose of her cheeks.

Isobel jolted on her toes, only now remembering that Marco had followed her inside. He stood at her left, his hood pulled down but the ties drawn tight at the throat.

"Hi," he said, thrusting out a hand. "Arthur Curry."

"Lovely to meet you, Arthur. Our Isobel doesn't often bring friends with her. Angus will be tickled, I'd expect."

"Where is Da?"

"Just finishing his aqua therapy. You can wait for him in his room, if you like."

"Thanks." While Lydia tottered off, Isobel turned to Marco. "Do you want to come up?"

He jerked a shoulder. "Sure. If you're okay with it."

She smiled. "Lydia wasn't kidding when she said my Da will get a kick out of this. Just...well, humor him if he starts to grill you. He's kinda protective and just assumes every guy is after his little girl."

Marco mimed a salute. "Don't blame him. It's a dad's responsibility to protect his children." His jaw stiffened around the words and she thought she saw a flash of pain in his eyes, but soon as his lashes lowered it was gone. So fast she doubted she'd seen it at all.

She led the way, flowing through the corridors and up the stately stairs to the second level with ease. She might've only come a handful of times, but she was already so familiar with these walls and residents that she smiled and greeted everyone along the way by name.

Her father's room was shared with another gentleman, George Burns who barely said more than a grunt on a good day. Isobel had tried to crack him with each visit. Bringing something different for him to see if she could weasel out a grin or a grimace.

George sat in bed. His thick white brows pulled low over narrow eyes. His nose buried in a book. He frowned when they'd entered.

"Hi George." She waved.

George's brows lowered, further. Almost swallowing up his eyes.

"I brought something for you," she said. And withdrew a book from the tote. "Yeats." She set it down on the foot of his bed. He looked to the book. Grumbled as he got to his feet and shuffled past in striped pajamas and fuzzy socks. He stopped at the foot of the bed, looked to the book she'd put down. And plucked it up to before leaving the room.

Triumphant—Isobel thrust a grinning fist into the air.

Marco flashed a bemused smiled. "What was that all about?"

"Victory," she answered, wiggling in a little celebratory dance. "Sweet, glorious victory."

Marco snorted, but his smile grew brighter. "If you say so."

"Laugh all you want, Arthur Curry. What's with the name, by the way?" she asked as he crossed to the window and leaned against the sill. The curtains were drawn and this side of the estate overlooked the paddock. The horses were out, some cantering in a circle with riders on their backs, others were tied to the posts and being loving brushed or watered, or led by a tether to walk through the fields.

Marco cut his eyes to her as she settled next to him. "Take it you're not familiar with comics."

She shook an apologetic head.

"Aquaman," he said, tapping his shoulder to indicate the gauze and tilapia skin hidden beneath his sweater. "I figured if your dad is Frankenstein then I'd certainly classify as Aquaman with all this fish skin I'm wearing."

A bright laugh burst from her and she caught it with cupped hands over her mouth. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh."

"Don't be," he said through a chuckle. "Kinda like it. Better to feel like a superhero instead of a freak."

Before she could answer, a voice cleared at the door. And her heart seized with joy. "Da." She turned to the door as he entered, arms wide and she rushed into them.

He was walking with ease. Standing straighter. Taller. And the gleam in his eye was all joy instead of veiled pain. Two months her and her father had been transformed.

What would he be like in eighteen months?

"There's my best girl," he said, kissing the top of her head. "And who's this you've brought with you?"

"This is Shayne's brother," Isobel said, arm looped around her father's waist. "He's staying with me for the next little while."

Marco turned from the window. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Morgan."

"Is that right?" Angus kicked up chin and sized Marco up in a steely glare. "I know your sister well enough, but I don't believe we've ever had the pleasure of your company before."

"No, sir."

Angus stuck out a hand and Marco shook it deftly. But Isobel could see her flash of white in her father's knuckles as he squeezed, and she rolled her eyes.

Men.

"So you're staying under my roof, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I suppose you'll forgive me if I make sure that your intentions are honorable."

"Da!' Isobel gasped. "It's not like that. He's..." she lowered her voice, "a prince."

"And still a man," Angus tossed back. "Wouldn't be doing my duty as a father if I didn't treat him the same as any other, would I?"

Isobel buried her face in her hands and Marco laughed in agreement.

"No, sir you wouldn't. I'm just in Toronto for treatment. Isobel was kind enough to put me up to avoid the press."

"Vultures, the lot of them," Angus sighed. "What happened to you and your folks was a tragedy, boy-o. My sympathies to you."

"Appreciate that, sir. Thank you."

"Da," Isobel whispered and gave him a knowing look. The last thing she wanted to do was to bring up the accident. "I brought some things for you. All of your favorites, of course."

Grinning, Angus rubbed his hands. "Oh, my girl knows how to take care of her old man. How'd I get so lucky?"

"Just luck of the draw, I guess." Isobel kissed his cheek noisily before setting the tote on the bed. "But before we get into the junk, what do you say to lunch and then you can tell me everything you've been up to."

His lips pressed into a giddy smile. "To the pub?"

"Is there anywhere else?"

"Can I have a pint?"

Isobel razzed her lips. "One. Since we have a guest joining us."

Angus barked a laugh. "Well, boy-o, if my Bels is gonna be this accommodating on your account, I hope she brings you around again."

Isobel swatted his arm. "Da!"

"Can't blame a man for trying," Angus winked. "Alright, lady and gent, lets get this show on the road."

#

The afternoon of pints and laughter bled into an evening of parting hugs as she said goodbye to her father and the staff of EWC. Outside the breeze was sharp and crisp, carrying the damp musk of fall.

"Give me the keys," Marco said, reaching for Isobel's purse as she shuffled to the car.

"What? Why?"

"You're exhausted." he closed in, his hand on the straps. "Hand them over."

"Can you even drive, your highness?" she teased, drawing out the title with a horrible attempt at a British accent. "Did you ever learn?"

"From the best in the business," he tossed back, refusing to let go. Isobel between him and the side of her car. The sun sunk low and turned the sky to burnt cider and indigo. The moon shone, a yellow wedge near the treeline.

His hood was still off and the breeze ruffled burnt gold waves. It had grown long. Rakish. Framing his powerful face. God his face. She loved looking at it.

Each facet and angle.

Did the man have a flaw? She couldn't see one.

"Bel?"

"Hm?"

"You're staring."

Crap! "Sorry." She tugged her eyes away, and in her fluster, relinquished her purse. His hand dove inside and found the keys before she found the sense to argue.

"Get in," he pressed the button, unlocking the doors. Grudgingly, she did. And clicked on the seat belt while Marco adjusted the seat, mirrors and steering wheel. "I knew you were tiny, but I'd swear a child had been driving in this seat."

"Funny." Isobel swatted his knee. "Thank you," she added as he pushed the car into reverse.

"For what?" Marco asked, eyes pinned to the rear-view mirror to gauge the distance between the back fender and the picket fence.

"For coming with me. For not asking me to leave ages ago--even when he droned on about footballer stats. For understanding."

His eyes flickered to her for a moment as he adjusted the gear into drive. "It was the least I could do. I haven't been the best...guest," he added. "I know that. Consider this my apology."

"You could've just said sorry. Would've been easier." 

"An apology should never be easy," he said. "If it's to have meaning." 

A flutter winged in her chest. "Well...apology accepted."

The car rumbled down the gravel path and he clicked on the high beams to compensate for the lack of street lighting on the empty country road. "Push the seat back and get some rest. You're dead on your feet, Bel."

"I'm fine," she around a yawn. Her eyes struggling to stay open.

"It's okay, you know," Marco said gently. "You don't always have to be fine. You can let someone else do the work and just enjoy the peace."

Isobel smirked. Sighed. "I wish," she whispered.

And didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until Marco's voice rolled over her. Low and smokey. "Bel. We're here."

A hand slide across her, unfastening the belt. She barely registered what he'd said before he hauled her from the seat—and into his arms. Exhaustion spun in her head, a thick, fuzzy blanket, and she fought to clear her senses. Find her feet.

"I can walk," she mumbled. "Your bandages."

"Shut up, Bel," he said. A rumble in his chest. "Just hold on."

He moved without hesitation. Like she was featherlight. His stride smooth and easy. Marco unlocked the door in a single turn of the keys and made his way up the stairs and down the hall. Setting her down on the edge of the bed, he held her steady.

"I said I could walk," she said, struggling to breathe. Marco stooped before her, his hands pressed to the bed on either side of her. The room was dark, thank god, or else he might've seen the rise of heat in her cheeks.

The gleam of desire. Roused by the immediate and inexplicable urge to drag him down onto the bed with her. Maybe being half asleep—the way everything still flowed and felt like part of a dream was making her bold, but the way he'd held her in his arms. The power in his body as he carried inside. The smell of his skin. The soft brush of his hair and breath.

God...

All she'd have to do was reach out, grab a fistful of his sweater and tug. And then she'd know. Finally know the shape of that mouth—what it felt like. Tasted like.

Would he resist, or would he yield?

Only one way to find out.

Do it.

Marco cleared his throat. A low kind of rumble that was somehow still sexy. "Goodnight, Bel."

She watched him rise. Linger a second longer before turning to leave. The door shut behind him. Sealing her in the dark.

Isobel flopped to the side, buried her face in the pillow and groaned. 

**AN**

'Scuse me, while I put out the flames. I'm on fire and loving it. WOW. I adore these two together. I can't tell you how excited I was to start Book Two just because FINALLY getting to put Marco and Isobel on the page together *swoon*

I loved HOW MANY OF YOU picked up on the veeeeeeeeeeeeeery subtle breadcrumbs I put in Book One about Isobel having a crush on Marco. Honestly, blew my mind how perceptive you guys were. 

Hopefully these two are living up to your expectations. Writing this scene made me so happy because Marco was finally softening his kevlar shell a bit so we're seeing a glimpse of the guy who captured our girl's heart. 

I hope you enjoyed today's update. Let me know what was your fave part (either in this scene or overall for Book Two!)

More will come soon, as promised :)