by Jule McBride
He sighed. Where were these thoughts coming from, anyway? They didn’t belong to him. They were too poetic. But he felt strangely out of control and compelled to go back into the house and demand more from her than he had a right to.
Was this what he deserved? Wouldn’t any man understand that you couldn’t just scratch an itch? Everything came with a price, especially sex. Give him science any day, he thought. It was neat and rational. Easy to quantify. Nature always followed rules, regulations and laws the human heart could never hope to understand.
In less than a day, Ariel had gotten inside him like the worst kind of bug, and there was just no cure. Like her, he wanted to undo his past right now, in which case he never would have heard her name. Yeah, he could have lived his whole life without feeling the level of passion to which she’d introduced him. His throat constricted as his eyes flickered over the hill, down the mountainside, toward the dock.
The emotions weren’t only about the sex. Maybe that was the worst thing. He liked her chutzpah. The loyalty she felt for her family, despite her anger at them. That she didn’t rip apart a woman like Joanie, despite the fact that the woman deserved it. But Ariel was nice. Unfortunately, all her best qualities were the exact same ones Rex hated at the moment. His muscles tensed as he studied the front door. Inside, the guests whom he’d enjoyed meeting last night were crowding into the dainty tearoom, with its lace tablecloths and polished silver, serving themselves waffles made with fresh blueberries. Despite the fact that some had burned, the scent had assaulted his nostrils as he’d walked out the door.
Now his stomach rumbled. Was he really going to drive away from here without any promise for the future? Should he go back inside and talk to her? If reasoning didn’t work, he knew he could savage her mouth. He could haul her close, making something wild ignite. Within minutes, she’d be opening the liquid cream of her thighs….
Thinking about loving her made explosions burst inside him. Without doubt, he could swirl down into the musky darkness of her scent and never come up for air again. Given the way she’d looked at him when he’d left, she wasn’t finished with what they’d started, no more than he was.
Or was she? Maybe that was just his own desires talking. Right now, he didn’t care much about the goals that had brought her to town. He wanted her to forget about the show she needed to tape, just as he wanted to forget the bug he’d been sent to find.
What most mattered to him now was how she’d slipped between his fingers. She’d sifted right through, like sand from the banks below.
Stepping between the seats, he tucked the cell under his chin, sandwiching it between his ear and shoulder. Lifting a lab coat from a shelf, he slipped it over his shirt, then he reached into the pocket protector for a pen. As he clicked the cap, he grabbed a clipboard and the thick folder Jessica had given him, then he headed for the white tumblers in the back.
“One thing’s for certain,” he muttered. “Romeo’s not infecting this place.” After all, Ariel had just ditched him cold. That was his proof. Too bad the lab carried the scent of her. He wondered how the smell could remain, since she’d only driven the vehicle a few moments the previous day; then he realized the scent was on his skin.
He still couldn’t believe she’d driven away in the mobile lab yesterday, acting as if she owned a vehicle for which the government had paid millions. If he’d pointed out that criminal courts would prosecute her for theft, she’d only have told him that her tax dollars, not the government, had bought the vehicle. She’d have a point, too. And what better use for it than escaping Studs Underwood? From what Rex knew of the man and his wife, pushing either one into the spring was the least they deserved.
The phone clicked on again. “You still there, sexy Rexy?”
“Yep.”
“I’m still trying to locate her. She’s in the building.”
“I’m still here.”
As the music began to play again, he flicked the off buttons to the tumblers. The soft sloshing sound of the washers ceased. It would take the contents a good half hour to cool. Then he’d open the lids and see what was inside. By heart, he knew every bacterium and virus that would mushroom, blooming in the hot, dark confines. Shaking his head in mute frustration, he tried not to be too angry with Jessica for sending him here.
Oh, the place was beautiful, all right, hills covered with thick greenery and bright flowers; crystal waters peeking through trees. But within two hours, he’d be finished logging the results of all the water samples and he could drive away. By nightfall, he’d be kicking back on the balcony of his apartment, drinking a beer and trying to forget Ariel. By morning, with any luck, he’d be headed for someplace more hospitable, like the Ivory Coast.
Meanwhile, he unlatched a Formica tabletop attached to the vehicle’s side and pulled it downward. Behind the makeshift table was a neatly hidden door, which he now opened. Voilà. A tray containing a mounted microscope slid out. Returning to a space next to the washing tumblers, he unfastened two seat belts that secured a chair to the wall, so it wouldn’t roll along its built-in track while the lab was in motion. He rolled it in front of the tabletop.
There. Instant lab. And he was glad he was in it, too. Better than still in a room with Ariel clad in nothing but a bedspread, her skin reeking with the kind of sex that hooked right into him, begging him to drag her down to the floor and plunder. He shook his head. To get her off his mind, he’d need a trip to some truly compromised little backwater village, preferably one overrun by the kind of bug that could kill a man in under twenty-four hours. Rats infected with the bubonic plague would do. He needed the kind of rush that came with ripping a spacesuit in bio-level four while handling diseases that would eat a man alive if they touched his skin. Maybe that would keep his mind off her.
Shifting the phone to the other ear, he wished Jessica would pick up. He’d tell her there was no bug here. Then he’d remind her that she owed him one and say he was calling in the favor now. Sighing, he glanced at his watch. Only five minutes had passed. The washers had to cool for at least a half hour, minimum.
The phone clicked on. “Still looking.”
“I’ll try back,” he said, seating himself. Ringing off, he tossed the cell next to the microscope and opened the briefing file he’d read on the plane. His eyes sharpened as he read the story once more. An under-equipped lab in South America had discovered what they’d called the love bug after extensively testing the inhabitants of a small village called Szuzi. Usually industrious, the natives hunted, fished and grew produce, mostly palms and yams. But out of the blue, they’d ceased to come to the common markets.
Fearing the worst, nearby villagers, with whom they’d traded regularly, had suspected a plague had wiped out Szuzi. Or that flooding had washed away the mud huts, as often happened, since Szuzi was located on an inlet fed by a hot spring. Judging from the photos in the file, it was paradise on earth. Like Bliss, he thought, glancing through the windshield again, taking in the stone stairs visible in the mountainside’s sheer drop….
Then he turned his attention to the file again, wondering what had happened. Members of a research team had emerged after a week’s work with tall tales of how uninhibited the natives had become, and they’d isolated a virus they felt to be responsible. The samples had been lost on the way out of the rain forest, and all that now remained were some badly drawn sketches. Given the prominence of some of the researchers, that seemed odd. Was it possible they’d fallen under Romeo’s spell, as well…?
The phone’s ringing drew him out of a deep reverie, and he checked his watch. More than a half hour had passed. Hell, where had he gone? The zone, he thought. That far-off place his mind escaped to when he was working. Or where he’d stored the memories of last night, which now seemed almost like a dream. He clicked the phone on, rose, and headed for the tumblers, opening the lid of the first. Within minutes, he’d have the proof that nothing viral had mushroomed in the heat. “Yeah,” he muttered, suddenly realizing he hadn
’t yet said anything. “Houston speaking.”
“I heard you called.”
It was Jessica. “Just putting in a call to make sure you’re booking my flight to somewhere more interesting.”
“Demanding, are we?”
“For this,” he said, “you owe me.”
“Find anything?”
He could almost feel the old, smooth, silvered wood of the dock beneath his feet, and see how the moon and starlight had played on Ariel’s skin. Had he been there with a woman he didn’t even know, embracing her more intimately than he ever had anyone?
“Found plenty,” he said, forcing his attention on work again. “Just not a bug.” Shifting the phone from ear to ear once more, he added, “I’m just looking at the first slide.”
Taking it from the immersible rack, he slid it under the microscope. And stared. His breath caught.
“What have you got, Rex?”
He wanted to lie. He wanted out of Bliss in the worst kind of way, but professional ethics made that impossible. “It’s not the virus, Jessica,” he whispered. “But it’s trace.” Just a hint of material, the casing of the virus. He glanced at the picture drawn in Szuzi and his pulse quickened. “It looks like something similar to the South American bug.”
His mind started clicking. Bliss had a long history of periods when the town had gone silent, usually only a week or two, starting in 1790. While Szuzi’s written history was hardly as sophisticated as in the States, their oral tradition easily vied with American textbooks for accuracy, and they’d lost time, too.
“Judging by this sample,” he said, looking into the microscope. “The bug’s not live. No one’s being currently infected.”
“You’re sure?”
He shook his head. “Not so far. But I have to go through all the samples.” Then he’d look for the connection between Szuzi and Bliss. Bugs of any kind always had to travel. Still holding the phone, he stared harder into the lens, studying the dark, looping chains of the organism—or what was left of it, after it had died. “Judging from the molecular setup, I don’t think it destroys the cells it enters.” When many viruses invaded, their own genetic material took over the cell, and after they died, only a dry husk was left.
“Look at the rest of those samples,” Jessica said. “Call me as soon as you find something that’s still alive.”
If he did. “Will do,” he said, already reaching for another slide, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. If he found a live, traveling virus, the World Health Organization would be here by nightfall. If he found substantial evidence the population was infected, the military would arrive and quarantine the entire population. He grimaced, hating to think of Ariel’s career being affected in any negative way.
But whatever the outcome, it meant he couldn’t leave Bliss.
REX HESITATED, THEN KNOCKED on Ariel’s door, his heart skipping a beat when her husky voice sounded. “Who is it?”
“Rex.”
There was a long pause. “Come in.”
She didn’t sound particularly happy to hear it was him, and when he swung open the door and entered, he realized she didn’t look all that thrilled, either. The first thing he noticed was the notes for her human-interest story spread over the bed, as if she’d set to work the second he’d left. Unwanted annoyance coursed through him, even though he knew she’d meant to plan her story throughout the week, talking to people, targeting those she most wanted to show on camera. Still…hadn’t their night meant anything to her?
Maybe it had, he realized, because her crystal eyes were red-rimmed, the irises swimming. The covers were mussed, the piled pillows marked with indentions as if she’d flung herself into bed and wept. Her long hair was usually so straight that she could have ironed it, but now it was crimped, curly looking, and disheveled beyond hope.
No, he wasn’t flattering himself, or soothing a wounded ego, he decided, as she hopped from bed, smoothing down a lightweight dress. She’d really been crying. But over him? Just as his heart missed beats, he felt blood pooling when he saw the yellow dress she was wearing. It was so lemony it could have made his lips pucker. Warm sunlight streamed from behind her, illuminating curves of legs and an outline of panties. A long silk ribbon to the halter top of the dress bodice hung in front, over a bare shoulder, and the end looked like a curl of blond hair; it brushed the tip of her right breast. He wanted to cross the room, lower his mouth to a bud, sponging her through cloth until she was as wet as a river.
Without thinking, he closed the door, then wished he hadn’t. “I…don’t want to let in the cool air,” he found himself saying, the explanation sounding ridiculous, since he didn’t really care about the air-conditioning, only about being alone with her. But now the room seemed stifling, despite a breeze from open windows that made the white curtains ruffle. She turned abruptly toward the windows as if to be closer to the rustling air.
Rex followed, feeling drawn. Ariel Anderson engendered a craving, like an addiction. The pungent, heady scent of August leaves and flowers didn’t help; it melded with scents of sex. His eyes skated down, over the swell of her breasts and belly, and his throat tightened.
Her voice was infuriatingly indecipherable. “I thought you left.”
She’d said it as if she didn’t care, but the puffy eyes claimed differently, just fueling his sense of the way things between them ought to be. “I came to tell you I need to stay a few days.”
She turned toward him. “You…”
Bands were swirling around his chest, just the way silk ties had bound his wrists the previous night. He tried but failed to push aside memories of how she’d pranced around him, strapping him to the bed. He’d never felt that level of pure sexual frustration. “Found trace in the water,” he managed to explain.
A blond eyebrow arched. “Trace?”
“Evidence that the bug’s been in the water. Not live,” he clarified. “But I found virus casings. Just remnants. Particles.” Feeling like he was rambling, he continued filling her in. “I need to take more samples. See if I find anything live. Do some interviews with the community, and then look for a connection between Bliss and Szuzi, the infected village in South America.” He shook his head. “There could be antibodies in some of the blood samples. I might be able to tell if anyone’s been infected in the past.”
Ariel’s eyes widened. He could see traces of salty tears on her cheeks and wanted to lick them off. “Do you think people here are infected?”
“Maybe.”
Her eyes lifted, locked to his and held, and then it hit him like a freight train. The two of them might be infected. They’d joked about it, sure. But now that he’d found trace evidence…Why hadn’t he been more careful?
“I’m going to be here a few days. I’ll…” Stay out of your way. The words were a lie. His mind hazed when he thought about touching her, sliding his hand along the long length of her arm. Even now, he could feel the crashing pulse at her wrist. “I’ll have to draw a blood sample from you.”
“Just me?”
He shook his head. The way he felt, the first tube he intended to draw was his own. “Everybody’s. And I’ve got to contact Studs Underwood.” He paused, his eyes sharpening, as if to assure her that he’d rather not. “We need to hold a town meeting, to let everyone know we’re running tests, but that the bug’s not lethal. Otherwise, we’ll keep things quiet. Bliss doesn’t have its own news station, so…”
“You don’t want coverage?”
Despite her concern, her eyes were flicking over him, making him aware that he was still wearing the lab coat he’d pulled on over his jeans. He wanted to take it off. He shook his head. “Not now. And I’ll be careful not to cause any hysteria. If there is an infected area, though, and people travel…”
“I see,” she murmured, her eyes returning to the window and the staggering view they’d enjoyed last night—the now cloudless blue sky shimmering above a lacy canopy of green leaves.
Frustration was making him antsy. Again
st his better judgement, he reached, almost gasping when his fingers touched the smooth skin above her elbow. Startled, she turned more fully toward him. A jolt shot into his fingertips and they instinctively tightened, curving around her arm, his thumb settling on a vein in the hollow where soon he’d be drawing her blood, to find out if…
They were infected.
“See what?” he asked, his voice gruff. He could see the rapidly beating pulse in her neck that deserved nothing less than the attentions of his mouth.
Silence had fallen. It was full of tension. The breeze lifted the skirt of her dress, and his hand flexed, tugged. When she stopped short of his chest, he felt a rush of annoyance. Angling his head down, he moved to cover her mouth, intending to kiss it until it was stung and swollen. But she turned and his lips brushed her cheek instead. He registered the smoothness, tasted the salt.
“Dammit, Ariel, you were crying,” he murmured.
“No,” she denied.
He circled a hand around her neck, tilting her head and bringing her eyes to his. “Liar.”
She edged backward, but with the window behind her, there was nowhere to go, and he used that for leverage, sighing in relief as their bodies collided. “You wanted me to go,” he found himself muttering. “Because all you care about is your reputation.” He paused. “And your story.”
Oh, he’d taken it all in. He hated the people who’d hurt her, too. But it was the past. “You want your relatives to think you’re a good girl,” he continued. “The whole town to understand what that bastard of a sheriff did to you—”
When those heart-stopping eyes implored him, he realized she could have pushed him over with a feather. “Do you blame me?”
“No,” he said, his fingers softening, strumming at the pulse point, glad it announced excitement she’d rather hide. “Yes,” he then muttered, changing his mind, his voice husky with accusation. “You care too much what people think.”