The Judas Contact (Boomers Book 1) (20 page)

“Of course.” No hesitation, no reservation. “Do you want to stretch out back here? The others will take care of the van with our things.”

She shook her head slowly, not letting go of his hand. For the wary animal, trust was difficult to give. Even more difficult to believe, and it required regular proof, a constant stream of reassurance that her trust was not only deserved, but also reciprocated. “I want to ride with you, where I can hold your hand.”

A ripple of shock, and what might have been pleasure, raced across his face. He seemed almost shy as he helped her out of the van, giving her time to fix her shirt first. He opened the passenger door and his gloved hand rested lightly against her back as she climbed inside. Dawn was just an hour away, but the team working on putting the other van back together paused to look at them. She could feel their stares in the sudden silence.

Let them speculate. She gave Garrett’s arm a squeeze and buckled in, wincing only as the strap rested across her injury. Through the windshield, she met Rory’s knowing gaze across the stream of headlights. Turning her thumb up she winked and Rory’s grin, although touched by worry, grew.

It was lunchtime when they reached the house. Her body and back were stiff from the ride, but she left Garrett to offload whatever he needed and made a beeline for the laboratory. It didn’t surprise her to find him on the stairs as she geared up. She didn’t think she needed the hazmat suit, but approval eased the apprehension on Garrett’s face.

She drew two vials of blood before sliding her arm into the suit and zipping it up. Gloved and helmeted, she carried the samples into the clean room and engaged the safety locks. Garrett’s blood and spinal fluid samples were still locked in the refrigerator. She set up the slides and loaded them into the Smart Cycler.

With absolute precision, she began the recordings and the cycler at the same time. Documenting every step might not be necessary, but it offered comfort to her own anxiety. Outside the clean room, Garrett stared lasers at the machinery. She switched gloves and took out his blood sample and her own. She also retrieved what was left of Rory’s.

“Two tests.” She told him through the microphone in the helmet.

“Okay.”

“First, we’re going to use Rory’s sample and mix it with your blood. I want to see what would be a ‘normal’ or base line reaction. We’re going to start with one ounce of each. Rory’s first.” She extracted the sample from the vial and added it to the Petri dish inside the hood on the work table. It was overkill to use so many layers of protection, but Garrett’s white-knuckled grip on the window sill worried her.

“Okay, now we add one ounce of yours.” She might need fresher samples. These had been stored, but if it was as toxic as he suggested...

 She kneed on the power switch to get the micro-scanner to bring the interior of the hood up onto a wall monitor. With a dropper, she began adding drops of Garrett’s blood.

Nothing happened immediately. The two blood samples mingled together. She finished adding Garrett’s and switched to the microscope view, bumping up the magnification. Several of the red blood cells showed damage. She bit her lip and forced herself to be patient. The damaged cells began to pop, one at a time, breaking down. But not all of them.

Only about half were visually apparent. She knocked up the magnification again. More cells began to shred. Some maintained their shape and the rest frayed, reminding her of what happened in sickle cell anemia patients.

The dish bubbled and she leaned back from the scope to look at the monitor. White vapor rose from the sample, the churning bubbles frothed and trembled. Under the scope, the cells shattered, and it wasn’t long before only a handful of solid form cells remained. She’d bet money they were Garrett’s.

She glanced across the clean room to the window. Garrett’s arm braced against the glass, his face expressionless but watchful. She gave him a small smile. “Okay, we have a baseline. My blood next.”

Taking the time to switch work hoods, she began the sanitizer process on the first. It would kill everything organic inside the hood, ending the potential threat from the blood. It took a few minutes to switch the monitors and bring up the clean Petri dish. As with the first experiment, she added the sample from herself first and extracted an ounce of Garrett’s. She blew up the magnification and identified her cells clearly with the screen before adding his.

Sucking in a breath, she waited. It took less than a minute for Rory’s blood to react. As the clock ticked down to sixty seconds and continued on around, she let out the breath she’d held.

Two minutes.

Three minutes.

The blood cells remained stable. The Petri dish didn’t froth. No steam rose.

Five minutes.

Twisting, she glanced back at Garrett. He stood rigid, his beautiful green eyes hard and pinned to the screen.

At ten minutes, she stepped back and looked at him. “They aren’t reacting. At all. The red blood cells are showing no degradation.”

“Wait another five.” The order came out stiff and awkward.

She nodded, folding her arms in front of her chest and watching the monitor.

At fifteen, he wanted another five.

At twenty, she locked down the work hood, trapping any pathogens inside of it and began to strip off her gear.

“Wait.” Garrett yelled through the com system and she gave him a bland look.

“No reaction. Rory’s blood literally boiled in under a minute. There’s no reaction between your blood and mine. It’s not attacking my cells.” They still had to wait on the DNA match and, as much as it might fly in the face of science, she’d bet her career that it would come back compatible.

She hung the suit up and pushed it into the decontamination chamber ahead of her. She ran the quick cycle, lifting her arms to turn in a circle. Garrett was at the door when it opened.

“That doesn’t prove anything conclusively.” He sounded almost defensive.

“No. It doesn’t. But it does prove that your body and mine are not incompatible. Couple that with the chip’s report and the fact that I
have
touched you, I think we’re in the green zone where this hypothesis is concerned.” She took a step forward and Garrett stilled. “But I know one other way to be absolutely sure.”

“We wait for the DNA test.” He nodded once.

“Nope.” She stepped right up to him and slid her hand up to cup the back of his neck. He was so tall, she had to stand on her tiptoes to do it and not pull the stitches at her side. Garrett’s eyes went wide as he stared down at her. His hair was softer than she’d imagined. It tickled her fingers. She gave him a little tug. He didn’t move at first, and she thought he might resist, but when he leaned down, she smiled.

“We shouldn’t, Ilsa.” Denial whispered from his lips, and she pressed one finger to them. They were hard, warm, and softer than his hair.

“If you don’t want to kiss me, all you have to say is no.”

He was so close his breath feathered across her lips and the sensation arced through her. Her nipples tightened, her womb clenched, and her sex dampened. Every nerve ending screamed at her to get on with it, but she waited to let him get used to the idea.

“Yes or no, Garrett?” She licked her lips, fighting the urge to beg him for a yes.

He hesitated but then his arms came around her, bracing her bottom and he lifted. She found herself breast to chest and face to face with him. She latched her legs to his hips, trying to balance her weight but, if it bothered him, he showed no signs of it.

“Yes.”

She barely heard the word as his mouth slanted across hers. The contact sizzled through her, and she was riding a wave of unexpected hunger as his tongue invaded her mouth. She’d teased him with the promise of a kiss, but he scorched her senses. Her mind shivered and frayed like the red blood cells that had shredded in the dish. The hot scent of him filled her nostrils. She fisted her hands into his hair, holding on for dear life as her body went soft and liquid with unrepentant desire.

The world narrowed down to the woman in his arms. Every delicious, tentative stroke of her tongue jolted through him like lightning. Her fingernails scraped along his scalp. While not painful, it was almost too much. He feasted on her mouth, enjoying every delicate sigh and demanding groan. Ilsa wasn’t a quiet kisser, nor was she an especially shy one. She shared control with him, nibbling, licking and biting at his lips until his mind seemed filled with only a buzzing awareness.

He let her go slowly and pulled his head up so he could breathe. His cock strained against the zipper of his pants—hard, thick, and threatening to blow. Smoothing his still-gloved hand over her hair, he glanced at the monitor in the clean room. The Petri dish remained as it had been, quiet and without reaction.

Did he dare let himself believe it was possible?

Her fingers stroked down his cheek, tracing his face. The alien sensations accompanying it rolled like a riot through his system. It was impossible to string two coherent thoughts together but he had to try. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

The admission cost him, since it had been a very long time and no one had ever touched him.

Ilsa tilted her head, eyelids half lowered and lips swollen.
Swollen from kissing me.
Pride punched through the uncertainty. Her tumble of blonde hair fell in loose strands from the ponytail she used to confine it. As if by their own volition, his hands reached up to pull the band out, unwinding it from her hair until tangled gold locks fell free.

“We can go slow, but I think you can.” She rubbed against him, bumping the erection in his pants. Pleasure and pain twined together and he groaned. She laughed softly. “This is what arousal feels like—out of control and tense, and filled with the possibility of what ifs.”

He frowned. “This happens for you a lot?” He couldn’t resent it. Hell, he couldn’t be that surprised by the thought. She was an incredibly lovely woman, tall, curvaceous, and brilliant. He’d noticed how attractive she was the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

The crinkle between her eyes deepened and a smile toyed with the corners of her mouth. She shook her head slowly. “No, it doesn’t
happen
for me a lot. In fact, I think I can count the number of lovers I’ve ever had on one hand.”

She rubbed her palms against his shirt. The slow, circular motions added friction to the assault on his senses. Odd how it relaxed and invigorated him at the same time. “How long has it been, Garrett? Really?”

Tremors quaked through him. Her hands came up to his neck, fingers working in massage against the corded tension in his muscles. He hissed out a breath at the softness of her skin against his. It was like warm silk, only silk didn’t send quivers through his nervous system.

“I haven’t had a lover in years. But she never touched me.” His damn voice trembled. “No one does.”

“I plan to touch every inch of you, then. But we’ll go slow. We’ll take—”

He caught her mouth in another kiss, cutting off her practical logic. He adored her mind. It was like a crystal clear lake in the midst of winter. Crisp, sharp, and refreshing. She didn’t shy away from him—in fact, she never had. Even when he’d turned his temper on her, she stood up to him, defusing his fury with her practicality. When the creature took her, he’d experienced fear.

Real fear.

He would love her even if she couldn’t touch him. The thought splashed through him and he broke from the kiss, forehead resting against hers. He loved her.

“I want to touch you.” Raw need threaded through the words. He wanted to do more than touch. He wanted to stroke her, caress her, watch her as she came apart and then he wanted to do it again.

“Okay.” She grinned, a heart-stopping, soul-stomping, mind-searing smile. It lit him up like the New York power grid. No hesitation or doubt filtered through that word. He studied her hazel eyes and saw trust in them.

Mindful of the injury on her side, he swung her up into his arms and strode toward the stairs. He paused to glance back at the monitor in the room.

Still no reaction.

His blood must not appreciate being in the same dish with hers, because he sure as hell had a reaction where she was concerned.

“I can walk, you know.” She combed her fingers through his hair. He liked the light tugging sensations mingling with the gentle caress of her fingernails on his scalp and the prickling trail of pleasure they left.

“You don’t have to. I like holding you.” And he did. He loved the weight of her in his arms. She was sturdy, yet light and warm—damn, she was so warm. Heat rolled off of her in shimmering waves that buffeted his body. He wore too many clothes to really appreciate it, but he didn’t mind that, either.

Her soft laugh drew his gaze as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, grateful the rest of the team wasn’t back and wouldn’t be back for hours yet. Hours alone with her. Hours without interruption or issues or problems to be solved.

Hours to drown in her.

He was a lucky man.

“You went away.” She feathered the whisper against his ear. Her tongue stroked the whorls and his mind blanked. He tightened his grip, lest he dropped her, but couldn’t suppress the shudder rippling through his body from those light caresses.

“Trying not to rush. This is all new to me.” And he didn’t know where his silken ties were. If he could bind her up, then she couldn’t move and he could take his time. But would she let him do that? Did he even want to do that? He tied them up to keep them from touching him. His cock jerked at the image of her silken palm shaping around him, pulling him, squeezing him and he sucked in a deeper breath.

He had to get control or he would come right in his pants.

“We have all the time in the world.” Her teeth nibbled at his earlobe and, when she drew it against her lips and sucked, he stumbled. “And who says we have to do it just once?”

God.
Garrett wanted to be inside her. They were at the door to his room and she rubbed against him as she twisted the handle to let them in. His room was dark, the deep browns and lighter tans a far cry from the institutional gray that he’d grown up in, but not so bright they offered false cheer.