Deadly Contact

Resigned to his fate, he walked back to the couch and sat down. It would be okay. They could laugh, blame their kisses on alcohol and go back to the way things were. Safe. Easy. It was the right thing to do, he knew, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Now that he knew how she felt in his arms, what she tasted like, it would be hard to go back to being just friends.

I’ll do it, though, he thought with a sigh, stretching out his legs in an attempt to find a comfortable position. Better to have Kelly as a friend than not at all.

* * *

Kelly stared at her reflection in the mirror, amazed that her heart hadn’t pounded right out of her chest. What was she doing? James was her friend—was she really about to have sex with her friend? Yes, the man was gorgeous, with his dark brown hair, bedroom eyes and strong, square jaw, but he was her friend. It had been so long since she’d been friends with a man that she didn’t want to risk jeopardizing their relationship just so she could scratch an itch.

But...he had kissed her. Technically, she supposed she had started it. She hadn’t meant to take things that far—she’d just wanted to feel his lips against hers, and if he’d pulled away she could have blamed it on the alcohol. She’d been shocked by his reaction, to say the least.

She blushed as she recalled where her hands had been, how she’d reacted when she’d felt his response to her. It had been so long since she’d felt desirable and beautiful, and the attention of this attractive man had gone straight to her head. Even more amazing was the effect she seemed to have on him, as well. She ran her hand down to her belly, rubbing the spot where he had pressed firmly against her. He wants me, she marveled, a shiver dancing over her skin at the thought.

She drew her hand up, running the palm over her ribs. Her injuries had long since healed, but the ghost of the pain was never far away. All it took was a look, an accidental touch or a whiff of cologne and she was back to that awful night, broken and bleeding and oh-so-scared.

She frowned at her reflection, not liking the direction of her thoughts. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on something pleasant, stuffing the memories and insecurities back into the box where they belonged.

“James is not Gary,” she said softly. “He won’t hurt me.”

Neither did Gary at first.

She shook her head at the errant thought, firmly dismissing it. No. James was not Gary. James was a decent man, her friend—nothing like Gary. She had to start trusting people again, and James was a good place to start.

Her mind was made up, but despite her resolve, she couldn’t ignore the tight ball of nervous energy in her stomach. She pressed her hand there, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. Her lips curved up in anticipation as she imagined kissing him again, running her hands over his chest and lower....

After one last look in the mirror, she walked out of the bathroom and into the living room. He stood when she entered and offered her a seat on the couch, then resumed his place as she settled onto the cushion.

He was warm, and this close she could smell the spicy citrus of his cologne. She inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to press her nose into his neck to get closer to the source. She’d always loved his smell, and soon it would be all over her. Goose bumps broke out on her skin at the thought, and she rubbed her arms absently.

“Are you cold?”

She shook her head. “No. Just thinking.”

“Thinking gives you goose bumps?” he asked, smiling.

“Some thoughts do.”

He swallowed with an audible gulp, and she felt her lips twitch as she fought to contain a grin.

“Kelly, are you sure?” His voice was husky and deep and danced along her skin like a touch.

This was it. This was her chance to back down. She could say No, I was just kidding, and they’d laugh it off and go back to being friends. And she’d go back to feeling damaged and alone.

No. Not this time. Gary was gone, and she wasn’t going to let him affect her anymore.

“I’m sure,” she said, leaning forward to press her lips to his.

He was still for an endless moment, as if giving her one more chance to change her mind. Then he pulled her to him with a groan, deepening the kiss as he ran one hand down her back in a caress.

It was several minutes, or maybe hours, later when he rose, pulling her to her feet and tucking her hand into the fold of his elbow. They walked down the hall, past the bathroom and into a large bedroom. Her gaze tracked around the room, her eyes landing on the huge, mission-style bed that took up the center space; the spread and pillows were in shades of dark brown and hunter-green. A matching bedside table, corner chair and dresser completed the room. It was neat and composed, a perfect reflection of James.

He led her to the bed, then pressed her gently down as he kissed her. She was so caught up in the delicious sensation of his mouth against hers that it wasn’t until she felt the warmth of his hands on her bare shoulders that she realized he had undone the buttons of her blouse and was sliding it off her body.

She pulled away from the kiss, breathing hard. He moved closer, but she put a hand on his chest to forestall him. “Wait. There’s something you should know.” It was now or never—she needed to tell him. Her mouth dried up at the thought, but he deserved to know.

He sat back, looking at her with an indulgent expression. “What’s that?” he asked, leaning in to press small kisses along her collarbone. She helpfully lifted her chin to provide him with easier access, shivering as his lips feathered across her skin.

I was attacked by my boyfriend. She wanted so badly to say it, but the words stuck in her throat. How would he react once he knew? She couldn’t handle it if he pushed her away, not right now. She was so tired of feeling damaged.

Chickening out, she said, “It’s been a long time for me, and...”

“And?” he asked, trailing his tongue up the side of her neck.

“And I’m probably a little rusty,” she finished, gripping his shoulders with a moan as he found a sweet spot.

He pulled away to look down at her, a smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. “Would you believe it’s been a while for me, too?”

Her gaze traveled over his strong jaw, broad shoulders and trim waist. “No,” she drawled. “I have a hard time believing that.”

A flush rose on his cheeks and he flung himself down next to her, lying on his back with his head pillowed on his hands. “It’s true,” he said, looking up at her, sincerity in his eyes and voice. “I haven’t slept with anyone in about a year.”

“Really? You look like a guy who would have no trouble finding a willing lady.” She lay down next to him and propped her head on one hand, facing him.

“Not so much,” he replied. “Besides, I’ve been so crazy with work, I just haven’t really had time for a relationship.”

“I can understand that,” she said, and he laughed.

“I know you can,” he said, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re just as big of a workaholic as I am.”

“Guilty as charged.”

He reached for her, and she moved willingly until they were pressed flush together. “I’m off duty now,” he whispered, using his teeth to slide her bra strap off her shoulder.

She gasped, her fingers moving to his hair. “So am I,” she said, ending on a moan when his hand found her breast.

“What a coincidence,” he said, rolling her onto her back and rising over her. “Now, no more talking, Doctor.”

She reached up to his shirt, making quick work of the buttons and pushing it off him. The feel of his bare chest against hers sent sparks of tingling warmth shooting through her limbs, and she fumbled to get her bra off, wanting nothing between them.

He stood for a moment to shuck off his pants, and she took the opportunity to wiggle out of hers. She reached for him as he came back, but he gently moved her hands above her head. “It’s my turn now. You can have a go later.”

“Promise?” she whispered as his hands and mouth did delightfully wicked things to her body.

He made a sound of assent, not bothering to pause in his ministrations. He worked his way back up to her mouth, ending with a smacking kiss. “Yes. Just lie back and enjoy yourself.”

She did.

* * *

The tree branches outside James’s bedroom window cast moving shadows across the ceiling in the pale gray light of approaching dawn. Kelly watched them flicker and move in the wind, swaying back and forth in a hypnotizing dance that was oddly soothing.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been awake—long enough for the sky to fade from inky-black to smoky-pearl—but James slept soundly by her side. His breathing was deep and rhythmic as he slept the sleep of the satisfied, and she smiled knowing she’d been a part of that.

Last night had been wonderful. James was a considerate and skilled lover, and her skin still tingled in remembrance of his touches. She turned her head to look at him; his outline was fuzzy in the dim light. He slept on his stomach, arms stretched out, his face relaxed and so beautiful. Despite her presence in his bed, he’d had no problem dropping off to sleep. She envied him that, his trust in her, his surrender in her presence. She had been like that once, too, until Gary had changed everything.

No, she thought firmly. I will not let him ruin this moment for me.

Too late, though. As usual, the thought of her ex-boyfriend made her heart beat a little faster, and her stomach tightened. She focused on her breathing in an effort to keep from drowning in panic. In...out...over and over, she counted her inhalations until the fluttering in her chest subsided and she felt somewhat normal again.

James stirred, turning and stretching out a hand in her direction. She moved away carefully, not wanting his touch right now but not wanting to wake him, either. His hand landed on the mattress next to her and curled gently before relaxing again. His skin was dark against the pale sheets, the color of it warming as the light improved.

Such beautiful hands, she mused, tracing the long, graceful fingers with her eyes. Strong and capable but still elegant, with dark hair trailing from his forearm to dust across the back. Would they ever fist in anger or be used to hurt? She didn’t think so, but she’d been wrong before.

Gary’s hands were much different. Wide-palmed with thick, blunt-ended fingers, she’d always thought his hands were the ultimate example of practicality. Still, they had brought her pleasure, at least at first. Eventually, sex with Gary had become more like a race to the finish, a contest she had rarely won. He’d never put her pleasure before his own, never watched her fall apart with warm, focused eyes and a smile of male satisfaction. Never held her close and stroked her gently, whispering dark, seductive words in her ear as she came back down to earth.

She knew now that Gary had never truly cared about her. He had been her first, though, and she’d been too naive and unsure to really stand up for herself. You control your orgasms, babe, not me, he’d pointed out. I can’t make you come—only you can do that. Maybe he was right. After all, hadn’t she read the headlines of women’s magazines in the grocery store checkout line? Take Charge of Your Sex Life! Lose Your Inhibitions and Take Back Your Pleasure! There had to be some truth to that. She just needed to work harder, that was all.

Still, she couldn’t deny there was a little voice inside her head that said, This isn’t how it should be.

She’d tried to rationalize that voice away, with varying degrees of success. Passionate, no-holds-barred love affairs made for great movies, but how often did that happen in real life? Never, as far as she could tell. So she convinced herself that things were all right, that real adult relationships weren’t perfect and this was about as good as it was going to get.

But then the abuse started.

He’d never left visible bruises—he was too smart for that. No, he preferred to target her elsewhere. A pinch here, a sharp poke there. It had begun slowly, small events that could be explained away. I’m so sorry, baby. I just don’t know my own strength, he’d say after a particularly forceful slap on her bottom. Or You’re just too sensitive. Maybe you should see your doctor, make sure you don’t have a clotting problem or something after she’d pointed out the bruise left behind from one of his pinches. He always had an excuse at the ready, always turned it back around on her. He was so convincing that she had started to think the problem was her, not him.

After months of these “love taps,” he’d graduated to outright hitting. The first time, he’d slapped her face during an argument over holiday plans. The shock of it had kept her frozen in place, and he’d taken advantage of it by pulling her close. I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry, he’d soothed, running a hand down her back. I’m just really stressed at work, and I don’t know what came over me. It won’t happen again.

It had escalated quickly. A few weeks later, Gary had come home drunk and randy. Exhausted, she’d begged off, which had sent him into a rage. Two broken ribs and multiple bruises later, she’d gotten a restraining order and cut him completely out of her life.

That had been almost a year ago. For the first several months, she’d looked over her shoulder constantly, always expecting Gary to turn up and hurt her again. It was only after meeting James that she’d begun to relax a little. He was a strong, calm presence, and he made her feel secure. He’d offered friendship, with no pressure or expectation of something more.

Until now.

The shadows on the ceiling blurred as she blinked back tears. She couldn’t do this. Sleeping with James had been a mistake. He would want more from her than she could give now that they had taken this step. She wasn’t ready for that—given her history with men, she didn’t think she was capable of having a normal relationship, whatever that was.

She had to leave now, before he woke up. She didn’t want to tell him face-to-face, because then he’d ask questions and want an explanation, one that she wasn’t able to give. A lump of shame formed in her throat at the thought of telling him about her past. She’d told only one other person about Gary, and her friend’s look of pity and disgust was burned in her memory. She did not want to see that expression on James’s face.

Moving cautiously, she eased out of the bed and began to gather her clothes. It was still early; the birds had only just begun to greet the new day with sporadic chirps. James would probably sleep in after last night’s activities, but she still tried to be as quiet as possible as she moved around the room. After spotting her socks over by the doorway, she retrieved them and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed to put her shoes on.

She felt a twinge of guilt as she tied her shoes, but she ruthlessly pushed it down. Leaving was the best thing she could do, both for her and for James. She was damaged goods, and he deserved better. In fact, he’d probably thank her for this later. No one wanted to be saddled with an emotionally unavailable woman with trust issues. Better to make a clean break now, before things got complicated.

Her heart couldn’t take another blow.

* * *

James woke in stages, rubbing his eyes against the pale pink light of dawn that flooded his bedroom. His jaw cracked in a yawn as he stretched, reaching across the bed to pull Kelly into his arms so he could bury his nose in her hair.

His hands came up empty.

Awake now, he sat up in the rumpled bed to find her sitting on the edge, tying her shoes.

“Kelly?” Her name came out as a croak, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Everything okay?”

He reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened at the contact, so he withdrew, alarmed at her reaction. What was wrong? Had he hurt her last night? He quickly reviewed his memories of their encounter, but came up blank. She had been an eager participant, and he had made sure she was satisfied before seeing to his own pleasure. Surely she would have told him if he had done something wrong?

His stomach dropped as another thought dawned. Did she regret sleeping with him?

She finished tying her shoes and sat for a moment, not looking at him. The silence between them grew heavy as he took in her appearance—hair pulled back, fully dressed, shoes on. She was leaving, and he was certain she would have left without a word had he not woken up in time to catch her.

She stood, turning to face him with a heavy sigh. “James, I was just—”

“Leaving. Yes, I can see that.” Not wanting to have this conversation while naked and lying down, he grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around his hips as he stood. “Any reason you were sneaking out?”

She looked down, her cheeks flushing a pretty rose. “I wasn’t sneaking out. I was just leaving quietly.”

“Uh-huh.” He ran his hand through his hair, wincing inwardly as he felt the bed-head spikes. Putting his awkward appearance firmly out of his mind, he summoned his best interrogation voice. “Why are you leaving?”

She was silent for several seconds, then spoke in a near whisper. “I just think it’s best if I go.”

He took a step forward but stopped as she took a small step back. “Kelly,” he said gently, “I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry if I’ve said or done anything to give you that impression.”

She looked down at the floor again, chewing her lower lip.

“Last night was special to me,” he continued, slowly moving to stand in front of her. He reached out and tilted her chin up with a finger, and his gut twisted when he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. She was clearly upset, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he’d done.

“James, please,” she pleaded in a choked voice. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

He frowned down at her in confusion. “What’s going on here? I thought we had a great time last night.”

She nodded, dashing away tears with the back of her hand. “We did. Last night was—it was amazing. I just have to go now.” She moved to walk past him, but he grabbed her arms to keep her in place. She didn’t resist his hold, but she wouldn’t look at him, directing her gaze at his belly button.

“Kelly, what is this about? Have I done something?” Exasperation crept into his voice as she shook her head mutely. “Then why are you running away? Do you regret sleeping with me? Because if that’s the problem, we can go back to being just friends.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips before she shook her head again. “I don’t regret it,” she said softly. “Please understand that I need to go. It’s nothing you did.” She met his eyes then, holding his gaze as she repeated her assurance. “You were wonderful. But I can’t stay, and please don’t ask me why.”

He held her a moment longer, searching her face for a sign or any expression or gesture that would explain her desire to leave so suddenly. She bore his gaze with a neutral expression, as if simply waiting for him to give up his scrutiny. Seeing that she wasn’t going to tell him anything, he released her with a sigh.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you this morning, but you clearly don’t trust me enough to tell me.”

She bit her lip at that, and he knew his words had hit home. He studied her for another moment, hoping she’d fill the silence and tell him her reasons for running away, but she remained quiet.

He stepped back, giving her space to move. She waited until he sat on the edge of the bed before walking to the doorway. She paused at the threshold, and a flutter of hope flared to life in his chest. Had she changed her mind?

“I’m sorry, James,” she said, her voice wavering. “You’re a great guy, and—” Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard before continuing, “And you deserve better than me.”

Then she was gone, leaving him staring after her in silent confusion.

Chapter 2

September

Professor George Collins strode through the parking garage toward his car, whistling cheerfully as he fished for his keys. He was looking forward to the promise of the weekend, ready to spend some quality time with his wife. Ruth’s oncologist had given them the good news about her remission on Monday, and they were going to a B and B in Annapolis to celebrate. The doctor’s words had lifted a weight off his shoulders, and for the first time in months, George felt as if he could breathe again.

He stopped next to his car, fingers still searching for the keys. Damn things must have slipped to the bottom of the bag again. He really should just keep them in his pocket so—

“Evening, Professor.”

He froze at the smooth voice behind him. Fear skittered across his skin like ants on parade, and his bag fell from his shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud. His mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed convulsively a few times as he turned to face the man he had hoped to never see again.

His visitor cut a dashing figure in black slacks and a tan overcoat, a newspaper folded under his arm. His blond curls were perfectly tousled, and his wire-rimmed glasses lent him an academic air. No one would give this man a second look, much less think of him as evil. George, however, had come to think of him as the devil.

And it seemed the devil had come to collect.

“I thought we had a deal,” the man said calmly.

George forced himself to make eye contact. “What do you mean?”

“Did you see the headline this morning, Professor?”

George shook his head mutely in response, not trusting his voice a second time. He knew the man already thought him weak, and his quavering voice would only add to that impression.

The man unfolded the newspaper with a snap as he stepped forward. George resisted the urge to step back, instead fixing his gaze on the print in front of him.

Food Poisoning at Local Restaurant Kills One, Sickens Ten.

He looked up to find the man staring down at him, blue eyes blazing. “I don’t see the problem—it clearly worked.”

The man let out a sigh. “Not well enough. You told us it would sicken hundreds, not just ten people. Furthermore, the mortality rate is unacceptable.”

“Wait just a minute,” George began, the affront to his professional pride getting the better of his fear. “How can you say this is my fault? Maybe you guys didn’t distribute it properly or store it correctly. I told you after I supplied you with the bug that it was your show. It’s not my fault if you didn’t follow my instructions.”

The man took another step forward, forcing George back against his car. His bravado drained from his body like air from a balloon as the man leaned over him.

“We followed your instructions to the letter, Professor,” he hissed, his breath warm on George’s cheek. “We did everything you said, and yet it did not work.”

“But it did,” George protested weakly. “People got sick.”

He jumped as a gloved fist landed next to his head.

“As I said, not enough people were affected. We cannot use this as a weapon if it will be thought of as a natural outbreak.” The man pulled back slightly and reached into his coat.

George let out a sob as his knees gave out, and he fell to the ground. Gulping for air, he tried to focus on Ruth, but he couldn’t conjure up her face. All he could think was that he was going to die here, in the parking garage, shot by the devil.

The man rolled his eyes and withdrew his hand, holding out a business card. “I knew we shouldn’t have used you,” he muttered, reaching down and pulling George roughly to his feet. George leaned back against the car, not trusting his legs to hold him. He silently agreed with the man—he was not cut out for this. He had agreed to provide the bacteria in exchange for money to pay for Ruth’s treatments, but as soon as he had made the deal, he’d regretted it.

“Here’s how it’s going to work, Professor. You’re going to give us another sample. I want you to call this number when it’s ready for pickup.” He pressed the card into George’s sweaty hand and continued, “You’re also going to come with us, so that there are no mistakes this time.”