0373401965 (R)

by Lara Lacombe

  It wasn’t unusual for some people to exhibit immunity to a given pathogen. Thanks to genetics, luck or a combination of the two, some people never contracted an illness, no matter how often they were exposed. Was Paul such an individual? And if so, would he be willing to undergo tests and provide them with samples? If they could study his blood, perhaps they could isolate and identify antibodies or other factors that protected him.

  Avery’s heart rate picked up at the thought—could they be close to a treatment or even a cure for this scourge? Not so fast, she reminded herself. She couldn’t afford to let her excitement get the best of her. This was a promising lead, to be sure, but she was a long way from the end of her investigation. Still, she was glad to have a new direction to explore.

  I have to tell Grant. The thought popped into her head like it was the most natural thing in the world, and with it came a pang of longing. Once upon a time, talking to Grant had been as easy as breathing. He’d been her best friend, her confidant, sometimes even the voice of reason when she wanted to do something crazy. It had taken her years to get out of the habit of thinking of him whenever something exciting happened in her life—it was only natural that seeing him would remind her of that closeness.

  Avery pushed aside the nagging sense of nostalgia along with her notes, and instead focused on the growing list of things she needed to tackle tomorrow. Finish the interviews, track down Paul Coleson, check in with the lab tech and see if she had made any progress with the patient samples... She reached over to flip off the light sitting on the bedside table, but before she could reach the lamp there was a soft knock on her door.

  The unexpected sound made her freeze, her hand still outstretched. Was she hearing things? The knock sounded again, a little louder this time. No, there was definitely someone at the door.

  She climbed out of bed, frowning slightly. It was late—who would want to talk to her now? Maybe it was the lab tech, Jennifer. She’d been working hard all day, and perhaps she had made some progress she wanted to discuss.

  Avery opened the door and her greeting died on her lips. It wasn’t Jennifer who stood on the threshold. It was Grant.

  He wore a long-sleeved black shirt that clung to him like a second skin, outlining his broad shoulders and muscled arms to perfection. Thin cotton pants rode low on his hips and skimmed his thighs, leaving very little to the imagination. The years had been kind to him, and she felt her cheeks warm as her gaze drifted over his body.

  “Hey,” he said quietly. If he noticed her blatant perusal of his muscles, he didn’t show it. “I just wanted to stop by and make sure you had settled in okay. I meant to check on you yesterday, but I didn’t get a chance.”

  “Um.” Her brain screamed at her to respond, but her tongue felt too big for her mouth. Why did he have to look so damn good? He wasn’t even trying!

  He lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. “Avery?”

  “Yeah.” She shook her head. “Yes. I’m fine.” She sucked in a breath and was treated to the scent of warm male skin and clean sweat. “Did you just work out?” It was a ridiculous question, but at least she was stringing words together in a coherent manner again.

  He nodded. “Remind me to show you where the gym is tomorrow. It’s actually in this building.” He shifted a bit, and Avery’s gaze caught on the play of his muscles under the fabric of his shirt.

  “Sounds good.” She crossed her arms over her chest, grateful the thick material of her sweatshirt hid her body’s reaction to seeing Grant like this.

  “So...” His voice trailed off and Avery indulged in a brief, highly inappropriate fantasy. Why, yes, I’d love for you to come inside. I agree, it is hot in here. I think we’re both wearing too many clothes...

  “Do you need anything?” She tuned back in, and his question nearly made her groan. It’s been too long, she thought. The fact that she was fantasizing about Grant only proved it was well past time to end her current dry spell. As soon as she got back to Atlanta, she was going to make time to date again.

  “I’m okay.” Her brain came back online and she straightened. “Actually, I have something to tell you.”

  “Oh?”

  She nodded. “Why don’t you step inside for a minute? I’ll show you my notes.” No sense in having this conversation in the hall.

  Grant walked in and she turned to grab the files still on her bed. She riffled through the pages until she came to the section she wanted him to see. “I think I may have a lead.” She turned and handed the notes to Grant, pointing out the patients’ responses to her questions. “It seems the three men I interviewed today all remember sharing a drink with a man named Paul Coleson right before they got sick. I checked the names of the other patients, and Paul never got sick. He might be naturally immune, which means we’re that much closer to finding a treatment or even a cure for this thing!”

  Grant studied the pages for a second, nodding slowly as he read. Avery suddenly realized how much smaller the room felt with him in it. Warmer, too.

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Maybe she should have waited to discuss this with him tomorrow, when he was wearing something a little less distracting. From this angle, she could see the curve of his buttocks outlined by the thin pants. Her fingers itched to pinch him, the way she had done back when they were dating. Stop it, she chided herself silently. She placed a hand on her stomach, hoping to quell its distracting fluttering. She and Grant had a job to do, and she couldn’t allow her hormones to hijack her focus.

  Even though he smelled even better now that he was standing so close.

  “Do you think the men were infected at the bar?” He glanced up at her now, his hazel eyes intent.

  She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not sure yet—it’s too early to say. But I definitely want to check it out, perhaps take some samples for analysis.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I doubt they’re still serving the same batch of beer, but it’s worth looking into.”

  “Do you know Paul Coleson?”

  Grant shook his head. “I can find him, though. Do you want to talk to him tomorrow, or wait until after you’ve interviewed the remaining three patients?”

  Avery considered the question for a moment. If she talked to the other men first, she could discover if they, too, had shared drinks with him before falling ill. It would be even more compelling evidence that Paul was immunologically special. And really, would it hurt to wait? There weren’t any active cases on the base right now, so the need to develop a potential treatment wasn’t vital. Perhaps it was best to wait, to really build her case before approaching him in the hopes she could ensure his cooperation with a deluge of facts.

  “I think I’ll wait,” she said, nodding to herself as she confirmed her decision. “Talking to the other patients will give me a more complete understanding of the situation, and that will help me identify what questions to ask when I do meet with him.”

  “It’s your show,” Grant said, offering her a small smile that made her stomach flip. She stared up at him, feeling the pull of his gaze like a physical hand on her shoulder, drawing her closer to him.

  “Thanks,” she said softly. Her lips felt dry, so she darted her tongue out to moisten them. Grant’s eyes dipped down to follow the gesture, and his chest expanded as he drew in a breath.

  Standing this close, she could see a flash of heat in the depths of his eyes. Avery felt an answering warmth start low in her belly, a small coal of need that burned brightly and began to expand the longer Grant watched her.

  Her awareness of Grant felt simultaneously familiar and foreign, a strange combination that piqued her curiosity and made her want to get closer. How would he respond if she placed her hand on his chest and pressed her mouth to his? She knew what the boy would have done. How would the man react?

  She never got the chance to find out. Quicker than thought, Grant dropped his head and kissed her, his lips warm and firm against her own.

  Avery
inhaled deeply, the heady, potent scent of Grant’s skin making her head spin. She sank into the comfort of his kiss, her body celebrating the rightness of this moment, this connection. The bad taste of her memories faded as she teased Grant’s tongue with her own, stoking his response as her own desire built.

  A low, rough sound rumbled from his throat, and he threaded his arms around her, pulling her forward until her body was flush against his chest. Her curves flattened against the long, hard planes of his body, the increased contact between them making her already sensitive skin tingle with a pleasurable ache.

  She needed to touch him, needed to feel the heat of his body with her own hands. She scrabbled blindly for the hem of his shirt and yanked it up, then slid her palms along the muscles of his back. He hummed in appreciation as she raked her nails lightly across his skin. Her answering smile was pure feminine satisfaction, and she didn’t bother to try to contain it.

  Grant’s hands roamed across her body, caressing and squeezing and teasing in equal measure. He slipped one hand under the waistband of her sweatpants to cup her bottom, his palm a warm weight against the curve. He pressed, and Avery rose to her tiptoes, moving her hands from his back to thread them through his hair. It was how they had always kissed—Grant anchoring her against his body, her hands gripping the back of his neck in a silent acknowledgment of their shared need. For a split second, Avery lost all sense of time, and the years melted away, taking her back to the days when their relationship was solid and uncomplicated, a foundation she’d planned to build her life on.

  She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, entwined and lost in the feel of each other. It just felt so good to be in his arms again, and a growing part of her wanted to stay there forever. Grant seemed happy to agree. His kisses had lost the frantic edge of need and had shifted into an almost lazy sampling, as if he was settling in for a long getting-to-know-you-again session.

  Languor stole across Avery’s body, making her bones feel liquid. The edges of her body seemed to soften and blur, molding to Grant’s frame. The familiar reaction nearly made her cry—he was the only man who’d had this effect on her, and her inability to find such a connection again had left her feeling broken. Now she knew for sure her body hadn’t failed her. Rather, her heart simply needed Grant to be complete.

  He leaned back and stiffened in her arms, then cursed under his breath. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

  Avery frowned, his reaction unexpected. “What’s wrong?”

  Grant raised his hand to her face and used his thumb to swipe across her cheek. A cool trail followed the gesture, and Avery realized with a sudden jolt that she was crying.

  “Avery...” He trailed off, guilt and remorse stealing over his features. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Again,” he added softly.

  She dashed away the tears and shook her head. “No,” she said, wanting to reassure him but not knowing what to say. “I’m fine.” He eyed her skeptically, so she gave him a small smile. “Really, Grant. I’m okay.”

  “You’re crying.” This was said in a tone that made it clear he considered her tears to be a sign of distress. And normally, they would be. But how could she explain the rush of joy that had filled her when she’d realized she was capable of feeling again? Should she even try?

  In the end, she settled for a white lie. “I don’t know why I started crying. To tell you the truth, seeing you again has made me a little emotional. I guess I’m still trying to work through that.”

  He nodded, his gaze serious. “I know what you mean.” He dipped his head, then glanced back up at her. “I feel the same way,” he said, sounding a little shy.

  “Sounds like we both have some things to think about.” And now that he was no longer kissing her, the voice of doubt in her head was back and screaming for attention. Was she crazy, latching on to him again without any thought for the potential consequences? There was no happy ending for her here, and she’d do well to remember it.

  “At some point, we need to talk.”

  No. The denial was instant and final, a shield thrown up to protect her heart. She did not want to discuss the circumstances of their breakup. It had taken her a long time to move on, and nothing could be gained by looking back. Avery had made her peace with her losses—best to leave the ghosts alone.

  But she could tell by the determined glint in his eyes that Grant was resolved to have the conversation. Knowing she wasn’t going to be able to convince him otherwise, she decided her best defense was evasion. “Can we do it later? It’s pretty late, and I know we both need to rest.”

  He studied her for a moment, and she had the distinct sensation he could see through her words. For a second, she thought he was going to challenge the excuse, but then he nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. Big day tomorrow. For both of us.”

  He stepped back and reached for the handle of the door. “Get some sleep,” he said gently. “I’ll find you in the morning.” It was part farewell, part promise, and Avery’s traitorous heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing him again in a few short hours.

  She nodded. “Sounds good.”

  Grant gave her a final, enigmatic smile and closed the door softly behind him. Avery sank onto the thin mattress of the bed, her breath escaping in one long gust. There was no point in denying it any longer—Grant still held sway over her, body and mind. It was a complication she didn’t need or welcome, but there was no way she could ignore the effect he had on her.

  More important, though, she had to find a way to distract him, to keep him from starting that talk he’d suggested they have. Her libido offered up several propositions in that department, but she ignored the possibility of getting physical with him. If she slept with Grant, it would only further complicate matters. She was just going to have to keep him at arm’s length while she was here—it was the only way to protect her heart.

  *

  Richard rubbed his eyes, hoping to ease the ache in his temples. His head had been pounding all afternoon but he hadn’t been able to take a break. There was too much work to be done. As one of the maintenance workers on-base, he had to make sure the infrastructure was sound and able to withstand the rigors of an Antarctic winter. And since bad weather was only about six weeks away, his to-do list grew longer by the day.

  He took a sip of coffee and winced as the hot liquid slid across the sensitive tissues of his throat. It was another annoying development in his day, likely because he’d spent most of his time outside, checking the anchor points of the rooftop satellite dishes across the base. The air was warm compared to what it would be like in a few weeks, but there was still a definite chill that settled over him and clung to his body like a second skin. Even though he’d been inside for the better part of an hour, he still felt cold—hence the coffee.

  He shuffled down the aisles of the small general store on the base, searching for a bottle of aspirin. Just a couple of pills and a good night’s sleep and he’d be right as rain again.

  “Hey, Rich. How’s it going?”

  He plucked a bottle from the shelf and turned to find Cindy Dalton approaching with a friendly smile. She was one of the scientists doing astronomy research, and he’d recently helped repair one of the sensors her group used in their work. It hadn’t been a terribly difficult job, but his efforts had apparently rescued several weeks’ worth of data, and the team had been so grateful they’d promised to name a star after him. It was one of those moments that made the daily slog worth it and reminded him why he chose to work at the bottom of the world.

  Richard smiled back, genuinely pleased to see her despite his headache. “I’m doing all right, thanks. How are you?”

  Cindy stopped midstride, her eyes widening as she heard his voice. “You don’t sound so good,” she said, her tone full of concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He nodded. “Just a cold,” he assured her. Talking made his throat itch, but he fought the urge to cough, knowing it would only make him sound worse.


  Cindy didn’t seem convinced. She eyed him cautiously, clearly reluctant to come any closer. “Maybe you should go get checked out.” She eyed the bottle of aspirin in his hand. “Dr. Jones did ask everyone to stop by if they felt sick at all.”

  It was true, but Richard was reluctant to go to the base hospital. Even though he knew this was just a normal cold, there was a small, scared part of him that wondered if the mystery disease was back.

  I’m fine, he told himself firmly. It’s just a regular case of the base crud. He got one every year about this time—it was truly nothing to worry about.

  He lifted the bottle and shook it gently, causing the pills inside to rattle. “I think I’ll give this a try tonight,” he said. “If I still feel bad in the morning, I’ll head to the hospital.” The tickle in his throat grew worse and he gave in to the urge to cough, emitting a thick, wet sound that seemed to come from the depths of his lungs. He shook his head, fist pressed against his mouth as he swallowed a gobbet of phlegm. Maybe he should pick up a decongestant, too...

  Cindy took a step back, her hand lifted as if to ward off any germs. “I hope you feel better soon,” she said, practically tripping over her own feet in her haste to get away from him.

  Richard sighed, feeling self-conscious. He really couldn’t blame Cindy for her concern, given the recent events on the base. He should probably get to his room quickly so he didn’t cause anyone else undue alarm.

  He paid for the medication, somehow managing to hold back a cough as he handed over a few bills. The urge was growing stronger, though, his throat demanding the temporary relief it would bring. He grabbed his change and raced outside, succumbing to a fit of coughing that left him feeling light-headed. When it was over, he leaned to the side and spat, clearing his mouth of the slime he’d produced. It left a foul, metallic taste in his mouth, and he took another gulp of coffee in an attempt to wash it away.