by I. T. Lucas
Turner was like a vault. Which, surprisingly, just whetted her appetite to dig deeper and see what made him tick.
"Why do you refuse conventional treatment?"
He lifted one blond brow. "How do you know I'm not getting treated?"
"That's what you told Kian."
"Not in so many words, but you are correct. I don't want to go through chemotherapy." He smoothed his hand over his bald scalp. "I don't want to lose all this great hair." He smiled, taking her breath away.
Turner's lips were beautiful, they were his best feature after his eyes. When his expression was grave, which was most of the time, they had a cruel bent to them. When he smiled, though, his expression softened and those lips looked good enough to nibble on.
Get a hold of yourself, Bridget. He is a patient, and you're his doctor.
"We wouldn't want that. But seriously. Cancer treatments have advanced significantly over the last decade. It's no longer the death sentence it used to be."
His expression impassive again, he pinned her with those gray eyes of his. "I refuse to live in the shadow of death. To do what I do, I need complete emotional stability and calm. It's not that I fear death, I don't mind a swift departure, but I don't want to live a life that revolves around treatments and words like remission instead of cure."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
"Yes, I do. But I still think you are wrong. Your solution is far more extreme than the treatments you dread. I feel horrible for telling you that, but you're too old for the transition. Besides, it's highly unlikely that you are a Dormant."
"Ouch. Hearing a beautiful young woman telling me I'm too old hurts my feelings."
Obviously, it was untrue. His feelings weren't hurt. Turner was just trying to lighten the mood, for her sake, not his. Bridget appreciated the effort but didn't need it. Still, in case he actually felt something, and was just very good at hiding it, she returned the favor.
"I'm much older than you are. And you look great for what I assume is your age. You keep yourself in excellent shape." Even the suit jacket couldn't hide his muscular chest. Turner was built like a bulldog, all muscle and leashed ferocity.
He smiled again and dipped his head. "Your compliment is much appreciated. May I ask how old you are? I know it's impolite, but I'm curious."
Bridget smirked. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to satisfy your curiosity. A lady never reveals her age."
Chapter 8: Turner
The woman was unsettling, one minute all professional detachment, the next coy and flirtatious.
Refusing to tell him how old she was had dated her more than she had realized, belying her twenty-something appearance. Still, Bridget didn't look like any doctor Turner had ever seen, and it wasn't only about her line-free, youthful face, and her tightly toned figure. Her hair was the color of molten lava and just as wild, her blue eyes shone with intelligence and humor, and her feminine curves were enough to make any male salivate.
Beautiful women usually had little or no effect on Turner. He looked because he was a man and it was an almost instinctive reaction, but he then looked away. Skin-deep beauty meant little to him.
Most people bored him, women as well as men, and he had no patience for pretending otherwise, which meant no female companionship. His only friends, so to speak, were the highly intelligent people he'd handpicked over the years for his staff.
The loneliness didn't bother him. He was entirely satisfied with his own company. Even sex wasn't a strong enough motivator to seek out partners other than the paid kind.
The last time he had been on anything resembling a date was months ago. It was a meaningless hookup that had been far from satisfying and had left a bad taste in his mouth. It confirmed the conclusion he had reached as a young man that he would rather be alone.
Dealing with people in any capacity other than professional was a strain. He wasn't a charmer who knew how to pick up women, and he didn't arm himself with the latest jokes and sports statistics to entertain company. The things he liked to talk about were as effective at prompting others' hasty departure as small talk was for him.
Bridget, however, was not only highly intelligent but one of the most alluring women he had ever encountered, maybe because she wasn't as transparent to him as most people were.
And she was hot.
As much as Turner liked to believe he was all brain and not susceptible to primal urges, apparently they were still there, lying dormant until the right woman triggered their resurgence.
And yet, he could have stifled his immediate and quite disturbing attraction to the doctor if not for the mixed signals she was sending him. Those subtle flirtatious comments confused him. Was she like that with all her patients? Was it her way of making them feel at ease, especially when the prognosis was dire?
Or was she showing real interest in him?
"What does age have to do with the transition?" he asked, to veer away from the dangerous territory his carnal thoughts were leading to.
"In my limited experience, the young transition with ease, and it gets worse with age. Andrew's sister was in her mid-twenties, and it was touch and go with her for a while. Andrew was unconscious for days, and we feared for his life. On the other hand, we had a thirty-year-old woman transition with no major problems. Age is just one factor. I suspect that genetic distance from the source is a factor as well."
"Maybe I'm one of the lucky ones, and I'm close to the source as well. Do you have a test for that?"
Bridget shook her head, her red tresses bouncing around her face. "I've been researching this for years, and I can't find a clue. I wish I could collaborate with others, but unfortunately I have to work on it alone. Genetics is still far from fully understood."
"It's a fascinating subject. There is so much we don't know, and not only about our own bodies. Every subject I learn, I realize how little is really known. Physics, astronomy, oceanography, we've only touched the tip of the iceberg. Even things that are closer to home and should be more straightforward like archeology and history are tinted by biases and lack of accurate measuring techniques and apparatus." Without realizing, Turner allowed himself to go off on a tangent.
But Bridget's eyes didn't glaze over like most people's did when he got carried away, quite the opposite. She seemed eager to hear more. "I agree. What's the deal with dark matter and dark energy? And what about the multiverse theory? And that's just straightforward science. What about the paranormal? Andrew's wife converses with ghosts, and she proved they are real and not a construct of her imagination beyond a shadow of a doubt. And Syssi, who has visions of the future. How does telepathy work? Are there wavelengths and energy fields we haven't discovered yet?" She waved a hand. "I can go on and on, but I don't want to bore you."
Turner grinned. "Bore me? Not a chance. I often ponder the same questions. It's so refreshing to find a kindred spirit. We are a rare breed."
Chapter 9: Bridget
Suppressing a sigh, Bridget leaned back in her chair.
It was just her rotten luck to finally meet a man she found physically attractive and mentally stimulating, but couldn't have.
Turner was not only human but also her patient.
But even if she was willing to overlook those factors in the hopes of him being a Dormant, he was asking her to sign his death warrant.
"I would love to keep on talking, but we should get on with the physical examination." She rose to her feet and waited for Turner to join her.
As they stepped into her examination room, a sense of déjà vu washed over Bridget. Not too long ago, it had been Andrew who had come in for a checkup, and the two of them had ended having sex right there on her examination table.
The circumstances were similar but not the same. Andrew had come to her clinic not because he had wanted her medical opinion, but because he'd wanted to hook up with her. Both of them had known that.
Turner, on the other hand, was there as a patient and not a prospective lover. In fact
, the man was so hard to read that she couldn't tell if he found her attractive or not. He didn't flirt, not even subtly, and he hadn't reacted to any of her gentle hints.
Turner eyed the examination table. "Do I need to undress?"
"Only on top." Unlike with Andrew, she refrained from teasing Turner by asking him to get naked.
Because he was nothing like Andrew.
Andrew had been fun despite the dark shadows that she'd seen in his eyes.
Turner was as fun as a Pitbull.
He was powerful, and intimidating without trying to be. Mainly because of his obvious brilliance, but also physically. She had a feeling he could overpower her, and that was something not many human males could do.
"You can hang your jacket on that hook." She pointed at the door.
"Thank you."
Turning his back to her, he shrugged the jacket off, the light-blue dress shirt he had underneath doing nothing to hide his wide, muscular back from Bridget's roaming eyes. With him facing the door, she could stare with impunity as she waited for him to take the next layer off.
Wow, the guy's body was sculpted like that of a bodybuilder training for a competition. Very impressive for someone his age.
Which was what? She'd forgotten to ask.
Unprofessional.
Turner hung his dress shirt on top of his jacket and turned around, revealing a front that was just as impressive as the back. Other than underwear models, Bridget hadn't seen a human with an eight-pack before.
Still staring at his midriff, she asked, "How old did you say you were?"
"I didn't. I'm forty-six."
"You must be spending a lot of time in the gym."
Turner looked down at his abs. "This is actually the result of martial arts training. A strong core is key."
She lifted her head to look into Turner's gray eyes, which were just as distracting as his abs or more. "Which one do you practice?"
"A variety of them. May Thai, Brazilian Jim-Jitsu, MMA, Krav Maga, to name a few."
"How do you find the time to do all that?"
For some reason, her question made him uncomfortable, and he shrugged, the movement employing his shoulder muscles which were also a work of art. "I don't have a family, and I can't sleep more than six hours a night. The other eighteen are divided between work, training, and studying."
She motioned for him to hop on the examination table, and reached for her stethoscope. "What about having fun?"
He turned to look at her. "I enjoy doing all three activities."
"I meant going out, spending time with friends, dating…"
"No."
"No to all of that?"
"Basically."
Turner was living a very isolated life.
"Breathe in," she said.
He did as she asked, then again and again until she was done.
"I need to see the results of all the tests you took."
"Can't you do them here?"
"I can. But I'd rather avoid exposing you to more radiation."
He nodded.
"I'll take a few blood samples, though."
Turner watched her prepare a syringe and several ampules. "What are you going to check for?"
"Everything that blood work can reveal, which is a lot. Why, do you have a problem with needles?"
He didn't strike her as someone who was afraid of anything, but people were sometimes unpredictable, especially complicated ones like Turner.
"No. But I'm well aware of what blood work can reveal, and I'm very careful about who I allow to have it. Where does it go from here?"
"Nowhere. We have much more to hide than you do."
"True. So none of you ever seek medical treatment outside the clan?"
"We don't get sick. I take care of the occasional injury and spend most of my time on research. Although lately, I've been quite busy with all the transitioning Dormants. We didn't have any for thousands of years, and suddenly we keep finding one after another."
He lifted a brow. "Thanks to Professor Amanda Dokani's research?"
"I wish it was that straightforward. It would have meant that we’d found a way to identify Dormants. Unfortunately, her research discovered only two, and even that I believe was by chance."
He frowned. "So how do you explain it?"
"As a scientist, it's embarrassing for me to admit, but I have to credit fate or some other higher power."
Turner's lips lifted in a smile. "There is a theory that claims we, including everything around us, are a simulation in a game played by aliens."
"That's hilarious."
He shook his head. "This is an actual theory, not a joke."
"The things people come up with," Bridget said as she tied a rubber band around his arm.
"How long will it take to get all the results?" he asked as she drew the second blood sample.
"A few days."
"And then you're going to decide what to tell Kian?"
"I need to get the test results from your doctor first."
"And after that?"
Bridget filled in the last ampule, corked it, and wrote Turner's name on the label.
"Give me two weeks to convince you not to go through it."
"Why?"
She leaned away, giving him some space. "Doctor's orders."
"You need to give me a reason."
"Because I'm selfish."
He seemed genuinely puzzled by her answer. "My transition has nothing to do with you being selfish or not."
"On the contrary. I find you fascinating, Turner, and I want to get to know you better before I agree to your suicide mission." There, she'd said it, breaking every rule in the book.
Then again, this situation wasn't covered in any of her medical ethics texts.
He eyed her suspiciously. "How do you propose to get to know me? Schedule daily sessions? And what do you hope to learn?"
The guy was way too smart not to get her meaning. Was he teasing her?
But he wasn't smiling.
Well, duh. He was not expecting his doctor to proposition him.
"I'm asking you out, Turner. We can go to a nice restaurant and talk, and you can dazzle me with your alien theories and the like. I would love to hear more about it."
The stunned expression on his face was priceless, especially given how rarely the master strategist and spy must have gotten surprised.
It took him a few seconds to switch gears, and then he smiled. "Where do you want to dine?"
"Anywhere you wish as long as they have some vegetarian dishes. I don't eat meat. I'm more interested in the company than in the food."
Still smiling, Turner smoothed his hand over the back of his head. "If we are going on a date, you should call me by my given name, Victor."
"Victor. It suits you."
"When?" he asked.
"I can't tomorrow. Is Wednesday good for you?"
He nodded. "I'll pick you up at six."
Chapter 10: Turner
Sitting at his desk in his office, or the lair as his staff called it, Turner wasn't working; he was reading a silly romance novel that made him question the sanity of humanity's fairer sex.
What a load of crap. One thing was for sure. Even though it was the latest bestseller, he was not going to learn how to make Bridget fall for him by reading it.
With a sigh, he closed the tab on the computer, logged out from the site, and leaned back in his chair.
The doctor who held his future in her hands was into him, an advantage he wasn't going to waste. The thing was, he needed her to want him for more than casual sex. If Bridget developed romantic feelings for him, she might be more inclined to grant him his wish.
It was a calculated risk. As opposed to logic, it was difficult to predict how emotions influenced decision-making.
There was the possibility that she'd refuse to approve his induction because she would not want to risk his premature death. On the other hand, as an immortal, she would want an immortal partner. He wa
s counting on Bridget's pragmatic nature to win over her heart, making her realize that the second option was the only one that made sense.
In either case, he had to win her over first, which was easier said than done.
Turner's track record with women wasn't good. He hardly ever initiated contact because he simply didn't know how. Many found him physically attractive, and he responded to those sending clear signals, or those who were as bold as Bridget and took the initiative.
He rarely saw them again.
On the job, Turner could fake emotions when needed, but he refused to do so in his private life.
Until now.
Too much was riding on Bridget's decision for him to allow his dubious honor to interfere. At least he wouldn't need to fake attraction or interest—she evoked plenty of both. But women wanted more than that, they wanted sweet talk and romance, and he had none of that to give.
The most Turner could feel for another was respect and appreciation. He was incapable of love. The flip side was that he didn't hate either, even though he'd encountered enough scum who deserved it. His emotions didn't burn hot enough, they were only a dim echo of what he imagined others felt.
Bottom line, Turner lacked the necessary skills to make Bridget fall in love with him. His acting skills were up to the task, but he needed a script, and unfortunately, the romance novel had fallen short. Perhaps it was good enough for young, naive girls, but not for a woman like Bridget.
Fortunately, the novel was just a backup plan. Plan A was to have a true master teach him the ways of seduction.
Brian Chung, his social media analyst, and a true modern-day Casanova.
Before hiring him, when Turner had put Brian through his intensive vetting routine, he'd been astonished by the guy's female following. It wasn't just a long chain of hookups either, which was impressive in itself. Numerous ex-lovers were still pining for him, calling him, emailing him, and begging him to take them back.
Brian was handsome, with exotic features contributed by his half Chinese and half German mother, and his half Portuguese and half Korean father. But Turner had a feeling that Brian's success was more about his style and technique than his magnetic sexual appeal.