by Tamsin Baker
Throat-clearing to my left dragged my gaze away from Tiff—yes, she was Tiff to me. One day soon, she’d beg me to call her that, and more.
“Brenda.” The thrum-thrum of the old woman’s pulse drew my gaze to her neck, to the life-force racing through her veins. I had that effect on women. Now, yesteryear, since three-hundred plus years and counting. But this woman didn’t heat my blood, didn’t raise my libido. Only one woman had ever held that kind of power over me before today. I’d thought her the match the ancient ones promised. The match to end my restless centuries of yearning and give my unsatisfied soul peace.
I’d been wrong.
And for the two-hundred years since, I’d all but given up on ever finding my match. But now . . . Tiff posed a challenge. And perhaps the promise of more.
I was always up for a challenge. The tight stretch of denim against my cock afforded more than enough evidence of the fact. I let my hand drop, allowing my helmet to shelter my reaction from the other woman’s view.
I smiled. “I hear you’re an expert when it comes to running this lab. We’re going to make a great team.”
The woman all but swooned.
It wasn’t Brenda who made my grin widen or adrenalin race through my blood. It was Tiff and the knowledge of what she represented. The Prophesy would soon be complete and my existence would be forever transformed.
Chapter 3
Tiffany
One week.
The longest week in the history of horny women. Ever.
Gideon. That name sent both shivers and shudders through my body in one foul and fabulous sweep. Even Sammy had given me no joy, and worse still, no orgasm. A first.
Every time I closed my eyes and let myself go, the face staring down at me was his. Eyes of the devil, hot and hungry. Eyes that would eat me up if only I let them. And that was just his eyes. Don’t get me started on that mouth.
Sinuous heat hit my core. If I hadn’t been sitting at my bench staring vacantly at a line of yet to be swabbed petri dishes, I’d have slithered to the floor in a simpering, pathetic puddle.
I’d relegated Sammy to the back of my underwear drawer until I could separate his mechanical powers from the magnetic powers of he-who-shall-not-be-named.
Damn.
The man wasn’t leaving my thoughts—or my dreams—anytime soon. Something had to be done. Maybe an exorcism? Sure he wasn’t a ghost, but by hell, he was a demon.
All week, seven long, limitless days of the man. Wherever I moved, there was Gideon. Wherever I turned, his eyes latched to mine, gobbling me up as if they had a tongue and teeth and taste buds of their own.
In the break room, he’d snuck up and reached around me for a cup, the deep rumble of his voice shivering up my spine. In our weekly planning meeting, he’d nabbed the seat beside me before I could find a better option. Even Mannie, with his garlic breath and overpowering sweaty socks, would have been preferable. The stench I could block out, the sense of Gideon’s body wasn’t so easy. Even in the specimen freezer, the least sexiest of places, he’d edged past to grab the Staph epidermidis and I’d nearly combusted with heat.
I was still combusting.
I couldn’t concentrate, and my empty, unprepared petri dishes bore testament to that.
There had to be a way out of his spell and back into the real world. One where I didn’t lust after the type of man with power enough to destroy the life I’d rebuilt post-Richard.
A familiar clamp wrapped round my chest and squeezed. I’d left that life behind, but that didn’t mean it had left me.
“So, I was just wondering . . .” Cool breath fanned my hair and I couldn’t suppress the shiver all the way to the tips of my tightly curled toes.
Richard and all his darkness faded into light.
Gideon didn’t finish. He leaned in, his cool body sparking heat in my blood, his magnetism pulling at my lady parts until they ached for release, damn them.
Nine days since I’d orgasmed—yes, I’d counted—and he damn near had me coming from the mere feel of his presence. I was losing my mind, and all sense of myself. Because, God help me, I wanted to jump the bastard and have him every which way on the spotless lab floor.
I wanted messy sex. Untamed sex. Hard and heavy sex, until I couldn’t stand straight or think straight or even fuck straight.
He needed to go before my mind was forever lost. That meant I needed to turn and hear him out. One week, and I knew him well enough to know that only then would he leave.
I braced and swiveled in my chair.
Fuck.
He was so frigging close, barely a flea’s dick separated us.
I leaned back and let my gaze slowly ride up his body, trying desperately not to give in to his pull. When it finally locked with those eyes—more green than gold today—I made sure nothing but boredom filled my expression.
I quirked a brow. “You were wondering . . .”
“Mmmm.”
“Anything in particular, or were you just exercising your vocal cords?”
“Funny, Tiff.”
Funny, my ass.
Of course, I didn’t say it, much as the words pricked my lips and I longed to put his smart, denim-clad ass in its place. He was determined to wind me up. And blast the man, now I needed a new nickname. One he couldn’t ruin, like he’d ruined Tiff. One syllable, and it flowed from his tongue like thick, sinuous honey. Honey that would drizzle down my body till his talented tongue laved every drop of it up.
Fuckola.
This was the worst time for that particular fantasy to hit.
I swallowed, and leaned back as far as my chair and the counter behind me allowed.
Yep, another nickname. Problem was, not much you could do with Tiffany. Fanny? That ship was never sailing, no matter how much his using Tiff pissed me off.
“Does your presence here have a point?” My glare was designed to make him feel every icicle-laced dagger. “You’re interrupting my flow.”
His glance at my still untouched petri dishes said it all. Lucky for him, he didn’t comment. My knee was in convenient striking distance of his crown jewels and I wasn’t afraid to use it.
“Brenda is off tomorrow, but I have five antibiotics to sterility test. I wondered if you’re free to assist.”
Fuck, no.
Only I couldn’t say that. Fucking workplace etiquette.
“I have a report due by five tomorrow. I doubt I’ll have time.”
Much better.
“No problem.” His lips slipped into a grin that reached all the way between my thighs, and squeezed. “Scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.”
Was he trying to kill me? Because no matter how I reworked those words, they sounded anything but work-related.
This conversation was way past over. I swiveled round and reached for a petri dish.
He swiveled me back, his hand reaching across to stop said dish from skittering to the floor. His arm brushed my breast and neurons shot my nipples straight from erect to mountainous. “I need your help, Tiff. And I’m willing to reciprocate the offer.”
Double entendres flowed way too easily from his tongue. Or was it my mind?
I straightened my thoughts, gave them a stern warning and refocused on work. Gideon’s wasn’t an unreasonable request, really. I’d helped Joel out plenty before he moved cities and transferred to company headquarters. It was the reason I’d stepped so easily into his shoes after he was gone.
Only Gideon wasn’t Joel, and the sterility room was the size of a slightly large closet. Sure, we’d be suited up. But we’d be alone and boxed into close proximity for the better part of two hours. Shoulder to shoulder, working side by side. Did I mention alone?
“C’mon Tiff, I really need you for this. Unless there’s something else stopping you?”
His last words were a challenge. I felt it, in his tone, in the prick of his gaze. Silence filled with his unuttered words—you can’t handle the heat.
No way would he get the bette
r of me. I’d help, I’d be professional, and I’d be damned immune to his magnetism.
I grabbed the vial of E.coli and shook. “What time do you need me?”
I barely listened as he answered. My mind had turned to defensive action.
Sammy was coming out of hiding tonight, because damn everything, I wasn’t going into that room with Gideon still unsatisfied.
Chapter 4
Gideon
I’d designed the whole “scratch my back” scenario to make Tiff uncomfortable. And, success—it seemed to be working. But no way could her discomfort match the dig of my fly against my cock.
Backfire.
Even though the sterility suit—more like a surgeon’s scrubs than a hazmat get-up—covered all but her eyes, I could still see her dilated pupils behind the protective goggles, could still catch the heady aroma of vanilla and spice, could still feel the heat of her body as if it were plastered hard against mine.
I’d waited two-hundred-plus years, you’d think I could hold out a little longer. My cock had other ideas.
Five samples, and only the last remained. Her hands were steady as a surgeon’s, her eyes directed anywhere but my way.
“Earth to Gideon.”
My gaze snapped up to meet hers and missed. She seemed to find great interest in the wall left of my head.
She raised the open Tetracycline tube for me to swab the end. “You’re a million miles away.”
She couldn’t be more wrong. I was right here, with her, mentally doing things that wouldn’t keep the tiny sterility room sterile for long.
I swallowed that thought and swabbed. “Yep. On a beach in Bermuda.” Her stifled laugh showed the ice was thawing. Slowly. Just way too slow for my liking.
“That’s your dream vacation?” I could hear the smile in her voice. It warmed me like Bermuda never had.
A side glance revealed her gaze had now fixed on my hand, but that smile meant I was making progress. And progress, any kind, was good. “I’m not sure it constitutes a dream, but the island has sea, sand and surf—isn’t that everyone’s idea of a vacation?” I opened the first of five petri dishes and zig-zagged the swab lightly across its surface. “What’s yours?”
I held my breath, waiting to see if she’d bite. Just over one week since we’d met, and she was still a staunchly closed book. Deliberately so. No idle chit-chat or personal anecdotes. Just work.
“Skiing in Switzerland.”
I didn’t have to hide my smile. The suit did it for me. “You like the cold?”
“I like the snow. I wouldn’t complain if it was warmer, though.”
“There are days in the Austrian Alps where temperatures can range somewhere in the forties and there’s a perfect blanket of freshly fallen snow.”
“You’ve skied in Austria?”
I nodded. “Many times. France and Switzerland, too.”
This time she looked at me. Not a limb or an ear. Or even a wall. Me. “What was it like?”
If my blood hadn’t run cold, I would have warmed from that look. “The slopes in Europe aren’t like the slopes here. They’re rugged and wild, and virtually never-ending. Some, you start skiing and an hour later you’re not yet at the bottom. Of course, it takes an age to walk back up again.”
“You walked? Why not ride the gondola?”
Damn.
I’d forgotten myself. Something that never happened, not since the early days. I was practiced in the art of deception. Three hundred years of secrets did that to a man. And for my kind, we had more reason than most to bury those secrets deep beneath a veneer of normalcy. One slip, and a stake through our unbeating heart would mark the end.
No coupling, no soul, no true life. My heart would never know what it is to beat.
One day Tiff would know who I was. Now wasn’t the time.
“Sometimes we walk, when we ski off-piste. You get the best runs that way, but the good stuff always comes at a price.”
Always.
I took a clean swab and she raised the tube for the last time, oblivious to my blunder. “It’s a dream of mine. To ski the Val d’Isère, like my mother did at my age.”
Her voice broke, and she replaced the cap this time with more force than she’d used before. “That’s it, then.” A chill edged her words, the warmth and candor of moments ago gone.
I cut the tip off the cotton bud and dropped it into the vial in her hand. She replaced the lid and averted her eyes once again. “Clean-up time, then I’ll leave you to it.” Subtext, sharing time over.
Just when we’d begun to connect.
Her remark hung between us, frosty, final.
She busied herself with clearing the samples, stacking the swabbed petri dishes in the two-way cupboard. I packed away the trash and passed it to her, before grabbing the gauze and alcohol to begin cleaning, starting with the low ceiling above the built-in counter. Despite her squared shoulders and unswerving determination to stay as far from me as a box-sized room allowed, we worked well together. As if we’d done so a million times before.
We were in sync, just as destiny dictated.
Ethanol vapor filled the room, and I knew she’d be feeling the effects. She exited the room and I cleaned the last of the floor, backing out into the tiny dressing room on my hands and knees before closing the door. I flicked the switch for the sterility room’s UV lights.
Tiff stood in the far corner, as far from me as a room measuring three feet by three feet allowed. She’d already removed her hood and had both arms twisted halfway round her back in some weird contortionist move to unfasten the zipper.
I stood back and watched, removing my own gloves, hood and goggles. “Need a hand?”
She barely paused, huffing out her answer. “Nope. I’m good.”
I dropped onto the narrow wooden bench and watched a little more. No way was she getting that zipper down without help. The suits were designed with nothing less than impracticality in mind. I wasn’t even trying to undo mine.
I leaned back, stretched my legs out to the opposite wall and grinned. “When you’re done, I’ll need a hand with mine.” I waved her back, even though she seemed determined to ignore me. “No rush.”
A few more failed attempts, then she huffed again and dropped her hands. “Fine! You do it.”
“Sure.” I stood and moved towards her. “Since you asked so nicely.”
One frosty glare my way, then she turned, lifting golden-glowing curls to expose the delicate curve of her neck. I leaned in, inhaling her sweet scent and the delights that thrummed beneath. My fingertips brushed her soft white skin as I tugged at the zipper tab. She stiffened.
I could smell her fear, the accelerated rush of her blood, the arousal surging between her thighs. Slowly, softly, I tugged the tab down and inhaled, deep.
My nostrils flared. My cock swelled. My fangs descended, sliding over my bottom lip.
The suit gaped open to reveal a pale blue tee and leggings. Thin. Tight. Tempting. I could feel her heat, her quivering skin. Her need, surging out and calling to mine.
I ducked and ran my tongue across her throbbing pulse. Testing. Tasting. She shuddered. Leaned back. Tilted her head and gave me the permission I needed for more.
I needed her. Now. But our destiny couldn’t be rushed. The Prophesy was ancient and finicky, and only those who adhered closely to its dictates could be saved.
I pressed my throbbing cock into her luscious ass and her hand reached back, cupping and squeezing. I groaned, dropping my forehead into her shoulder, praying for fortitude to gods who’d all but failed me in the past.
If I’d had a heart, it would have thrummed with renewed vigor and life.
After two hundred years of hell, I’d finally found heaven.
Chapter 5
Tiffany
I wanted it all. His mouth on my throat, his tongue on my breasts, his cock buried deep inside me until we were so tightly joined we couldn’t tell one another apart.
It had been too long.
>
Hah! Who was I kidding? I’d never felt this . . . this heat. This fire. This so goddam, fucking good.
I reached back and squeezed the butt that had taunted me since the day his denim-clad ass entered our lab. He pressed his cock deeper between my butt cheeks, groaning into my neck. The vibrations slipped under my skin and rode a lusty trail all the way to my wet, throbbing pussy.
There was too much fabric between us. The zipper was only halfway down my back and I struggled to slip the sleeves off my arms.
A clatter from outside the room snapped through the haze drenching my brain.
Fuck!
I snatched my hands back.
“Stop!”
His hand stalled, but he didn’t remove it from where it curved at my waist. “Stop what?”
I wanted to step away, to leave his tantalizing touch behind—cool, yet it burned. But even without the restrictions of our tiny enclosure, my shaking legs refused to function. “That thing you’re doing.”
‘Unzipping you?”
He was, but it had nothing to do with the suit. I was unraveling so fast, my head was spinning.
“I don’t like it.” The words tumbled from my mouth even while my body still thrummed with everything I’d wanted him to do. Still wanted, truth be damned. Only I didn’t want it. Him. I couldn’t. Not if I was to retain the scraps of sanity and safety I’d built up over the past three years.
“That’s not what your body’s saying.” His fingertips brushed the hair from my neck and skimmed the racing pulse at my throat. “Here.”
Cool breath ruffled my hair as his fingers slid downward, beneath the suit, beneath my tee, and slowly, sluggishly circled my breast. “Or here.”
His tongue taunted and tasted the racing pulse at my throat as his fingers skimmed out over my ribs, lower. Lower. Lower. Until his large, expert hand cupped my pulsing mound and squeezed. “Or here.”
I forgot to breathe. Forgot how.
I almost leaned back, almost forgot myself once again.
Another clatter brought me to my senses.
“No!” I wrenched my body away. As far as I could in the square box of a room. “I don’t do this.”
