He bent again, licked the tips of her breasts. Suckled them as he strove to pleasure her until she whispered his name, seemingly
begging him for more.
He lengthened the stroke of his hips, gritting his teeth against his desire to just bury himself deep and disappear inside
her. Teething her tight nipple, he felt the first little tremor in her body that warned she was near the edge. But he also
felt her resistance to allow her release.
Raising his head, he paused and stared down at her. Trembled as she lifted her hand and laid it over his heart before stroking
the back of it across his chest.
“Jesse?” she asked, as if believing something was wrong.
Only everything was too right, he thought.
“Come with me, Liliana,” he said, wanting to share everything about this moment together.
She brought her hand back to the center of his chest, laid her palm flat over his heart and said, “Yes, Jesse.”
Lord help him, but he was lost, he thought, as he drove up into her and then retreated, building their passion until they
were both shaking and a fine sheen of sweat covered their bodies. A wave of release started in his center and spread outward,
like ripples on a pond, spilling over onto Liliana.
Liliana sensed it. Knew that it would be just a moment more and embraced that moment, lifting her hips up into his. Throwing
her head back as the pulse at the center of her sent sensation rocketing throughout her body.
She cried out his name, and he buried his head against the side of her neck and whispered hers. Stroked his
hips deep and then held them still, although his body all around her came alive with his climax. As he groaned and trembled
above her.
Liliana laid her hands on his shoulders, urged him down. Embraced him and soothed with her touch.
He rolled with her, bringing her to rest on him. Cradling the small of her back to keep her close as he whispered against
the side of her face, “I’m too heavy for you.”
She lay there, half dressed and fully satisfied. Complete as never before and yet more confused than ever before. It was too
soon for love, she thought, and yet in that moment, with him buried deep within her and surrounding her with his body, she
had never been more content.
A loud noise from downstairs shattered the moment, stolen as it was.
She glanced down at Jesse, offered a smile. “Maybe we should dress?”
Reluctantly he agreed, but not before digging his hand into her hair and urging her down for another long kiss.
The noise came again downstairs, breaking them apart.
Jesse eased from her, rose, and helped her up. As she gathered her clothes, he tugged on her hand and led her to the bathroom.
Whipping a hand towel off a rack, he handed it to her.
“In case you want to clean up,” he said, then surprised her by tenderly brushing his fingers along her cheek before leaving
her alone.
That simple touch nearly undid her again, the gesture was so pure and uncensored. Liliana gripped the towel tightly and leaned
against the door, her body trembling. She could hear him outside, moving about, and then, shortly thereafter, Bruno making
some kind of comment.
Jesse’s response was muffled. She held her breath, expectant about what might happen next, but the sound that followed was
of a door closing.
Releasing her pent-up breath, she went to the sink and ran the towel beneath the water. She washed, dressed, and dragged her
hands through her hair to try and restore some semblance of order.
Satisfied that she might pass muster if Bruno returned, she exited into Jesse’s bedroom and found him sitting at the sofa
close to the French doors.
She approached him, and as his hungry gaze fixed on her once more, she splayed her hand across her midsection to control the
nervous and needy twist of the muscles.
“What did Bruno want?” she asked.
“Whittaker called. Wanted to know if you were here,” he said and rose, gallantly holding his hand out to the space beside
him on the sofa.
She nodded, sat down, and laid her hands on her thighs. Rubbed them there nervously as she waited for him to make the next
move.
Already unsure of what had happened between them and what it meant. Where it would lead them.
“Are you okay?” he asked, sensing the tension in her.
“I don’t know. Am I?” she answered honestly.
W
hittaker paced before the assorted cages, pleased with what he was seeing. The patients seemed more responsive. Even the patient
who had been nearly catatonic a few days before was alert, although still abed. His breathing was labored, and as Whittaker
reached through and touched his skin, he marveled at the hardness of it and the muscle beneath.
Hard like bone. Maybe as hard as Bradford would become if his condition progressed and none of their treatments were effective.
As he strode past the patients with Shaw’s gene combo, some of them changed color before his eyes. Fear or flight response
still, he thought, hoping that they might be able to master control over the color change much like Shaw had.
Edwards and Morales had indicated to him that on at least two occasions Caterina had been able to blend into her environs
using the skin camouflage. They had also sold another patient—or rather, it was better to say their genetically modified organism—for
a hefty sum, and the GMO had performed perfectly.
Unfortunately that other GMO was now useless bits and pieces in an army morgue after her buyers had detonated
the bomb-laden vest she had worn inside the Iraqi Green Zone.
The success of that particular mission had made the product Edwards and Morales had developed quite desirable in certain circles
and brought it to his attention.
His black-ops group was well known in those venues, and having access to the GMOs in addition to the availability of it for
his men was worth every penny he had invested.
Or should he say every million he had invested?
He walked back to where Edwards and Morales were standing beside Howard. His man was at ease, hands held before him. Body
erect and mind alert in case action was needed.
The perfect soldier, still.
The perfect candidate for modification.
“The inhibitor seems to be working well,” Whittaker said as he came to stand before them.
Morales nodded. “Combined with the plasmapheresis, we’ve satisfactorily contained the replication in most of the patients.”
“It’ll take some time, however, to produce enough of the inhibitor to provide the patients with another round of treatments,”
Edwards indicated.
“How much time?” Whittaker prompted, wondering if in the meantime he would have to secure yet another batch from the annoying
Dr. Carrera.
“Possibly too long,” Morales admitted.
“Thank you, Doctor. I’m grateful for your truthfulness,” he said. Knowing the limits allowed him to know how much longer he
had to deal with Bradford and Carrera, who were increasingly trying his patience.
“But it will take even longer to develop something to
deal with situations similar to Bradford’s,” Morales also confessed.
Whittaker glanced at Howard, who had been standing resolutely by the two scientists during the discussion. “You understand
the consequences? Until we can find a way to control Bradford’s replication—”
“I’ll get stronger. Denser,” Howard intoned, voice devoid of emotion.
And more able to control Bradford,
Whittaker thought. Howard had not liked being overpowered by the other man earlier that night.
“It may take some time for the changes to occur. In Bradford it took several weeks for the foreign gene fragments to become
sufficiently incorporated into his native DNA to make any impact,” Edwards explained.
Weeks to implement, but in months the results would be amazing, Whittaker thought, recalling the force of Bradford’s blow.
Almost absentmindedly he ran his hands across his ribs, which still ached from the contact. It had been like being hit with
a battering ram.
With a team of such men, there wouldn’t be a mission they couldn’t complete. All they had to do was get the changes under
control.
“I understand, Dr. Edwards,” Howard replied and methodically began removing his suit jacket and shirt.
Edwards gestured to the stainless steel table just a few feet away. “You’ll have to remove your pants and briefs, as well.”
With a slight incline of his head to note his assent, Howard stripped until he was naked, tidily folding his clothes along
the way into a neat pile he placed on a chair beside the table.
Morales picked up a long, corkscrew-like probe from the surgical tray holding an assortment of gleaming steel instruments.
“If you would be so kind as to lie facedown on the table,” Morales said to Howard, who immediately complied, lying on his
stomach but with his face turned toward Whittaker.
Stoic, as the two doctors converged on him.
Edwards jabbed a needle into an area close to the smooth dimple in Howard’s back. After he did so, he grabbed a scalpel from
the surgical tray and made a small incision.
Morales approached with a test tube bearing something green and glowing. He handed it to Edwards, who sucked up a syringe
full of the liquid.
Whittaker pointed to the test tube. “Is that it?”
Edwards affirmed it with a nod. “These are the DNA strands we’ve isolated and tagged with green fluorescent proteins. The
proteins will help us gauge how well the genes are recombining with the DNA in Mr. Howard’s bone marrow.”
Morales inserted the corkscrew probe into the incision and pressed inward.
Barely a flinch traveled across Howard’s face as Morales bored into bone. A second later Edwards was inserting the tip of
the syringe into the incision and pressing inward, finding the channel between the probe and bone. Depressing the plunger
to plant the GFP-laden DNA.
As soon as the syringe was emptied, both scientists retracted their instruments and closed the incision.
“Is that all?” Howard asked.
“What do you mean?” Edwards questioned as Howard rolled over onto his back and leaned on one elbow.
“If you put it somewhere else, will the change happen faster?”
An uneasy smile crept across Edwards’s face, but Morales’s showed no similar concern. “The long bones are excellent spots
for bone marrow production.”
Howard glanced toward him, as if asking permission, not that Whittaker would deny him. What did he care if Howard wanted to
fuck up his body for the good of the cause?
“I’m game,” Howard replied and leaned back down onto the table.
“Femur?” Morales said, arching a brow and peering at his partner.
Once again a moment of discomfort flared across Edwards’s face, but then, with a nod, he reached behind him and prepared for
the new procedure.
“Excellent,” Whittaker said. The faster Howard developed, the sooner he could get rid of complications like Bradford and Carrera.
J
esse turned and his knee grazed her leg. He raised his hand and brushed aside her hair. Her brown-eyed gaze flickered to his
face as her hands rubbed once, then twice, across the fabric of her pants.
Everything about her communicated her nervousness, and he understood. He suspected Liliana wasn’t the kind to just jump into
bed with a man, much less a man who was also her patient.
And a man who was lying to her via the sin of omission.
Guilt wrenched his gut into a knot tighter than that of his earlier desire. Seeking to alleviate that guilt and her anxiety,
he dug his hand beneath the thick wealth of her hair and encircled her neck with his hand. Gently, he stroked his thumb along
the sensitive skin at her throat.
“It was very special for me,” he said, the tones of his voice low and intimate. Even more so when he leaned a bit closer and
repeated, “Very special.”
Beneath his thumb came a jumpy swallow. “It was special for me, as well.”
“Then let’s not second-guess why it happened and be grateful that it did,” he replied, wanting for the discomfort
of the moment after to be gone and replaced by the earlier connection that had driven them to making love.
Making love,
he thought, suddenly certain that it had been that and not just sex.
Special,
he thought again, and for good measure, he bent and kissed her. Hesitantly. Tenderly. The kiss undemanding and caring.
Tension fled her body with the kiss. He eased his hand from her neck as he withdrew from the homecoming of her lips. If he
lingered there too long, he might find himself picking her up and taking her back to the bed.
Instead Jesse leaned back on the arm of the sofa, dragging her against him to lie down along his length. Rubbing her back
gently, he said, “You had a long day. You must be tired.”
“A little,” she confessed, her earlier anxiety slowly leaving her body.
“Being a doctor can be tough. Long hours. Lots of work,” he said.
“I can handle it,” she said, a note of defensiveness arising in her voice.
“I’m sure you can,” he replied, and he cradled her chin and gently urged her face upward. “You’re a very strong woman.”
Before she had gotten to know him, Liliana might have said that he was putting the moves on her. Now she had little doubt
about his sincerity or about his own strength of character.
“So are you. Strong, and not just physically.”
He released a sigh as uncertainty flared across his face. “I wish I had been stronger. More reasonable. Then maybe I wouldn’t
be in this mess.”
She understood, and yet…
“But then we wouldn’t have met.”
He brought his lips close to hers and whispered, “And that would have been the greater sin.”
He kissed her, and that simple touch of lip to lip conveyed so much more than words could have alone. Love. Despair. Need.
Promise. The kiss was filled with all that was and all that could be.
When they broke apart, Jesse said, “One day this will all seem unreal. Things will be back to normal. You’ll be back at the
hospital.”