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Stella

Siren Song, Maine

S tella stood in the archway between the dining room and the sun porch and observed Ren through the glass.

He was sitting on the back deck, suspended above the cliff overhang, drinking a mug of coffee and reading something on his tablet.

He wore a loose-fitting white T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and trainers.

A white hand towel hung around his neck. He’d been for a run.

Stella worked out because it was a job requirement, but given the choice, she would be sprawled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a glass of wine, knee-deep in a terrible reality show. Ren clearly opted for a fitter lifestyle—yet another reason they were incompatible.

She could stare at Ren Jameson all day. Something about his duality was hypnotic.

Whatever he was reading had his full attention.

He pulled off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, then replaced them and resumed his study.

His thick bicep strained the sleeve of the T-shirt as he lifted the mug to his lips.

From the stray lock of hair dangling over his eyes to his square jaw and the tiny cleft in his chin, there was nothing about Ren’s face that Stella didn’t love.

He was this intoxicating mix of kindness and ferocity.

Even now, as he sat with his legs outstretched and ankles crossed, there was an air of vigilance about him.

A quality he confirmed when he suddenly looked right at her.

Refusing to be embarrassed by her ogling, Stella strode forward and poked her head through the opening of the sliding glass doors. “You sure it’s safe?”

“I called the engineer at the firm that built it. The guy said you could park a car on it.”

Stella gingerly placed her foot on the cedar. “All right, then.”

Once she was confident in the deck’s integrity, Stella walked to the far end and took in the view. It was spectacular.

Stella appreciated the beauty of the scene from the safety of the house, but something about being out on this deck, suspended in midair, intensified the view.

Dark clouds blocked the sun just above the roiling Atlantic, and she could tell it was raining in the distance.

Closer to shore, waves crashed and shattered on the jagged rocks of the cliffs.

And then there was the sound.

Stella moved to her right, following the low, gentle whistle on the wind.

“What is that?”

“The Siren Song.”

“Like in mythology?” she asked.

“In the Odyssey, Homer writes of a spot on the shore where the Sirens dwell. When a ship approaches, the Sirens lure the sailors with their song.” Ren moved closer and closer as he continued speaking until his body was flush with hers.

“Enchanted, the men steer the ship toward them, and the vessel is dashed on the rocks. The ship sinks, and the sailors die.”

“Oh,” she rasped.

His voice was dark and thick as he leaned forward and murmured in her ear, “It’s the original warning to never trust a woman.” Then he returned to his chair.

Stella spun to face him. “You know what? Fuck you, Ren. I had a job to do, and I did it. You are part of a project that has been compromised and has put national security at risk. I was tasked with observing and investigating people with access to that research—of which you are one. I never encouraged you. I never flirted with you. I never led you on. You pursued me, and I followed the instructions of my handler to date you. No, that’s not true.

I dated you because I wanted to, because I liked you.

You were kind and thoughtful and a gentleman.

I’m sorry if your fragile ego was bruised, but I won’t apologize for doing my job.

” Stella paused and caught her breath. “If I’d known what a jackass you’d turn out to be, I never would have bothered getting romantically involved in the first place. ”

With that, Stella marched through the house and out the front door.

REN

R en stood on the deck as the wind whipped his hair, and spits of rain dotted his glasses. He felt like a first-class jerk. Everything Stella had said had been correct.

Only now did he realize the irony.

He hadn’t been drawn to Sofria Kirk; something deep within him had sensed the iceberg beneath the water, this volcanic, sensual woman so different from the part she played.

Because whatever attraction he had felt for Stella’s bookish cover identity was amplified ten thousand times as he stood there listening to Stella rant.

With the rocky cliffs behind her and the storm forming in the distance, Stella became the Siren he had so feared. Passionate and beautiful, she accurately and painfully defended her actions. She was a vengeful goddess, and Ren wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss away her anger—and his past.

The past that was the source of his bitterness and mistrust.

Stella had misled him, yes, but he was the one who sought to make a professional relationship personal. The deception would have hardly mattered if he’d never pursued Sofria Kirk. Stella defended her actions, and she was right to do it.

Stella Keen was magnificent.

Ren needed to make this right. He needed to tell Stella the truth.