Something In The Water...

“Exactly. The summer people love it.”

“The source might be a bug called Romeo. Also called generis misealius,” he said. And then he plunged into an account of the history of the virus. He was more pleased than he should have been when she didn’t glaze as he spoke about the difficulties of tracing viruses.

“You’re serious?”

“Absolutely.” He continued, his voice quickening with excitement as he spoke about the possibility of solving the town’s long-standing mystery. At least until he mentioned the World Health Organization.

“They can’t come here!” she said, dismayed. “This is ridiculous. Really Dr. Houston—”

“Rex,” he corrected.

“This is all local myth. It really is.”

“A possibility,” he agreed, moving nearer to where she stood by the window. “You’re related to Matilda Teasdale, right?”

She lifted her gaze from the spring, her crystal eyes looking wary and startled once more. “You know about that?”

He glanced toward the file on the bed. “Your dossier.”

Now she looked mortified. “My…”

He frowned. Suddenly, she became even more interesting, if that was possible. “What could a woman like you have to hide?”

She shot him a long look. “A woman like me?”

He fought the urge to touch her—and lost. He knew better because just one touch would be enough to electrify his whole body and there would be no point to it, except to leave him craving more. Lifting a finger anyway, he glanced it off her cheek. “Proper.”

That seemed to please her. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” He knew his eyes were disrobing her.

Her expression shuttered. “You don’t even know me.”

He wanted to, at least for tonight, and he felt the urge, like a call to something wild and undeniable. “You could let me get to know you.”

Her eyes darted away. “I don’t think we’ll have time for that.”

“Really?” he returned mildly.

She wanted to back away—he was sure of it; he could feel it in his bones—yet she didn’t. “The dossier doesn’t say much about you, specifically,” he found himself admitting. Surprised at the huskiness of his own voice, he went on, “But it does talk about the history of the house. Everyone seems to think Matilda and the women who’ve inhabited the place since are witches.” His eyes locked into hers. “Are you?”

“You’re a doctor. A scientist. You should know better.”

“So, you think my framework of knowledge is limited to microbes and cells?”

Her lips suddenly twitched, as if the banter was threatening to make her smile against her will. “That was my hope.”

It was a risk, but he inched closer, near enough to catch a whiff of her perfume. “The way you seem to affect me, you’re testing my deepest convictions.”

“A man should always keep his convictions.”

He kept his voice steady and bemused, even though she was doing wild things to his blood. “Why?”

“It shows character.”

Chuckling, he shrugged. “An overrated virtue.”

The scent of her perfume was soft, faint and floral, but he could smell something else beneath it that stirred him. He could sense so much in this woman. Old wounds that ran deep. A river of pain, maybe. But he wanted to ask her a thousand questions, starting with how it felt to grow up in a place that was apparently considered to be the local haunted house.

Taking a deep breath, she blew out an audible sigh. “To be honest,” she murmured. “I don’t want the CDC here.” She frowned. “Really, it’s nothing personal.”

“It’s always personal.”

“I don’t know if it was in your…uh, dossier.”

“It’s not a dossier. Just so you know, the CDC doesn’t really keep files on citizens. It’s America, and we do have civil rights, you know.”

“I work for a Pittsburgh TV station,” she began. “And next week, during the Harvest Festival, a cameraman’s coming from Charleston, to help me tape a feature spot. It’s a big chance for me. I don’t want anything blowing it. I definitely don’t want the World Health Organization coming into town during the shoot, much less the military.”

He was impressed. “The plot thickens.”

“Meaning?”

“I thought you were home for a family vacation.”

“That, too.”

But she had ambition.

“And in addition to keeping you off my turf,” she continued, “I need to find a missing recipe book. It’s old, treasured by my family. It contains all Matilda’s recipes, was written by her own hand. People have tried to steal it for years, as my grandmother suggested downstairs, but now, someone’s broken into the safe, and taken it.” She paused. “So you see,” she finished, “I don’t have time for flirtation.”

His heart missed another beat. “Flirtation wasn’t really what I had in mind.”

“No?”

He slowly shook his head. Primal heat flared inside him. Barely able to believe he was doing it—he was usually a little more suave—he glanced pointedly toward the bed. “Flirtation,” he murmured, raising a finger to touch her cheek once more. “It does seem like a waste of time.”

She blinked, as if she couldn’t quite believe the conversation they were having, then answering desire sparked in her eyes and she said the very last thing he expected. “Then let’s not waste any more of it.”

Scarcely believing his ears, Rex leaned across the scant remaining foot between them, circled an arm around her waist and drew her against himself, almost gasping as they made contact. She had a strong body. Probably, she worked out, and the muscles and bones felt equally hard, and yet she yielded to him, too, with a female softness. He arched to her, and as his mouth covered hers, she lifted her hands to his shoulders.

His tongue pushed apart her lips, and belatedly, he realized his kiss was too hard, too demanding. He didn’t even know her. They’d met only moments before. Maybe Romeo was in the water, after all. Maybe he’d become infected as he’d splashed in the chlorinated pool. Why had he gone swimming? Usually, he was much more rigorous at a possibly infected site. But it had seemed so hot, and the proprietors hadn’t been around, and…

Jessica would kill him if she knew.

But right now, he didn’t even care. His hands tightened around Ariel’s back, urging her closer, as her tongue moved against his, feeling silken, hot and delicious. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, then he felt them on his bare back, moving toward the elastic band of his trunks.

He wanted to remove her jacket again. And as he imagined using his teeth to unbutton the flimsy silk blouse, and his tongue to lick inside the lace of the bra, blood engorged him.