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“Interesting,” she said. “I like the sound of that.”

  Keeping him around for the night could be comforting in more ways than one.

  * * * * *

  Holly pressed her hand to her stomach, amazed by the fact that she was still hungry even after the chaos of the night. Scooping pasta into a pot to warm, she turned on the burner. Her mind replayed the police visit. With the recent crime waves in the city, they were being cautious about downplaying potential risks. They had encouraged her to be on the lookout for strangers and definitely not to walk home alone. By the time they left, she was more apprehensive, not less. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She couldn’t shake the weird vibe that something beyond a simple break-in had been planned.

  That someone had come for her.

  She could hear Mason working on the window just outside the kitchen. She looked heavenward and said a silent thank you. What if he hadn’t been with her?

  One thought led to another and, for about the millionth time, she wondered why she felt so drawn to him, a complete stranger. As if she had willed him to appear with her thoughts, he walked in the back door, brushing his feet on her kitchen floor mat. “Done,” he said and sniffed the air. “Smells good. I’m starved.”

  “Ten minutes and we can eat,” she told him with a small smile. “The bathroom is in the hall if you need to clean up or,” she pointed behind her, “you’re welcome to use the kitchen sink.”

  He walked into the kitchen. “I’ll just use the kitchen sink.” She could hear him moving around, the water coming on, the soap bottle making a sound. After a few seconds, he said, “I hate that the police weren’t more comforting.”

  Holly cut slices of garlic bread and laid them out on a cookie sheet. “I’d rather them be honest than comforting.”

  She turned to find him shaking the excess water from his hands. He turned off the faucet before grabbing a towel. As he dried his hands he studied her, leaning his hip against the cabinet. “You’ve had a rough day.”

  She laughed only half with humor. “And it seems I’ve dragged you along for the ride.” She turned the broiler on. “The bread will only take a couple of minutes. I’m sorry but I don’t have wine or beer or anything to offer you.”

  Shrugging he said, “I don’t drink anyway. How about tea or juice?”

  She leaned against the cabinet facing him. “You don’t drink, as in ever, not even socially?”

  He seemed to tense. “That’s right. Is that a problem for you?”

  She made a face. “Why would it be?”

  He delivered the words nonchalantly but they felt like a test. One that wasn’t necessary. “Some people think it’s strange.”

  She laughed bitterly and turned away from him, opening a cabinet and pulling down several glasses. “Not me. I don’t drink either.”

  His gaze was fixed on her. She felt it. Probing. She turned, the refrigerator her destination. But his eyes stopped her. He pinned her in a questioning stare.

  A bit defensively, she said, “What?”

  “I’d like it if you told me why you are suddenly tense.” The words were a gentle prod and they spun a soft web of comfort.

  Her lashes fluttered to her cheeks. Being outspoken about general topics was one thing. She rarely shared her personal history or emotions with anyone.

  She had always been an immensely private person.

  Oddly, she didn’t mind sharing her history with Mason. She even felt it necessary. “My parents were killed by a drunk driver.” Slowly she looked up at him. “I don’t talk about it.” She paused a split second and then added, “To anyone. Ever.”

  He was silent a moment, his dark eyes holding hers. And his look was understanding. Even knowing in some deep way. “But you told me.”

  She nodded, her eyes now fixed on his. “Yes,” she whispered. “I told you.”

  His eyes seemed to almost wrap her in warmth. “I’m honored.”

  Her teeth found their way to her bottom lip. For once in her life, words failed her. Silence lingering between them, their gazes locked together. She sensed their shared confusion.

  Neither understood what was happening between them.

  The timer on the oven buzzed. Her gaze jerked toward the sound. “The bread,” she said, just because it was better than saying nothing. Of course, he knew it was the bread.

  He gave her an understanding smile as she glanced back at him. “I’ll fill the glasses.”

  A few minutes later, they sat at her rather small glass table. Mason took a bite and sighed with pleasure. “Awesome. I never had neighbors like yours.”

  She laughed. “There’s plenty, so feel free to get seconds. Don’t expect this kind of fare from me without the neighbor’s help. I microwave or open cans only. My parents were both scientists, not domestic at all.”

  “I’m not here for your cooking,” he said and immediately looked down at his plate as if he didn’t want to elaborate.

  She knew an opening when it was handed to her. “What are you here for?”

  He took a drink of his tea as if he was buying time to think of a response. In fact, Holly was quite certain he was. When he sat the glass down though, he didn’t hesitate to make eye contact.

  He kept his eyes carefully shielded, though his tone was raw and sexual. “You,” he said simply. “I’m here because of you and all you are.” A beat. “Not what you aren’t.”

  What did that mean? “You don’t know who or what I am. Unless, of course, you mean on a completely physical level.” There, she said it. Inwardly fretting, she waited for a response.

  He sat down his fork. “There is that, of course.” His voice held a soft hint of admiration in his eyes. As if he approved of her straightforwardness.

  “You already know I’m attracted to you, as I believe you are to me. But there is more going on here than mere physical attraction.” There was subtle challenge in his voice as if he dared her to deny the obvious. He even let several heartbeats pass to allow her time to object.

  When she didn’t speak, he continued, “I know more about you than most do and I only just met you.” His eyes seemed to darken. “Just as you do of me.” He let the words sink in a moment. “Why?” he asked, with a lift to his brow. “I can’t answer that any more than I imagine you can.”

  She swallowed nervously, his words ringing true while still defying reason. “I’m not sure how to respond,” she said, after several long moments of deliberation.

  “You don’t have to,” he offered. “I’d like to know more about you. You cured that chimp, which was nothing short of amazing. Your work is obviously critical to the world of medicine.”

  He picked up his fork and began to eat again as if he was trying to lighten the mood, which had somehow become heavy.

  She followed his lead. “I know how to fix most of the challenges previously encountered with genetic replacement therapy but the government won’t let me prove it on humans.” She sat her fork back down, suddenly not hungry.

  “This obviously upsets you,” he commented eyeing her closely.

  She nodded. “It does bother me. I’ve dedicated my life to healing. It’s hard to know people are dying and I have a cure I can’t offer them. To make matters worse, the government is trying to get me to help make super soldiers by dangling opportunities to test humans again. The man you saw bothering me, he was from the government.”

  “And you’re not interested,” he stated.

  “I’m not about to help make war. I save lives, not take them,” she said firmly.

  “Soldiers save lives, too. They just do it in a different way.”

  “By killing,” she said with harsh disapproval.

  “By defending our nation and, yes, sometimes that means taking a life. Our country has the freedoms it does because of men who fought and protected our rights.” He paused a beat. “You would never have been able to study medicine or science as a female had wars not been fought many years ago.”

  She grimaced. “But times change,”
she argued. “There is no reason to use physical force to make the world a good place to live.”

  “I disagree,” he said softly. “To prevent war, others must know you can defend yourself. The weak are victims. Our last war was in 2003, a mere twelve years ago. Clearly we are not so far away from times when battle saved our freedoms.”

  She glowered at him. “I should dislike you. People with your opinions are usually not my close friends.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you, Holly? Do you dislike me now that you know my views are different?”

  She countered him. “I could ask you the same about myself.”

  He laughed and shook his head, pushing his plate to the side and leaning forward, resting his arms on the table. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to dislike anything about you. In fact, I find I quite like debating with you.”

  Holly let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. She liked disagreeing with Mason almost as much as she liked agreeing with him. It was really starting to rattle her, this crazy feeling of connection to him.

  But it didn’t change the fact that she wanted him. Like she had never wanted before.

  Purposely she changed the subject. Afraid he might read her thoughts. Why, she wasn’t sure. She just was. It was an odd feeling but not near as disturbing as it should have been. She pointed to his empty plate. “You want more?”

  “No,” he said, giving her a knowing look, “but thanks.” He stood up and started to pick up the used dishes on the table.

  Holly followed. “I can do this,” she said reaching for the plates he held.

  He let her but then said, “I’ll help.” His tone was insistent. The look in his eyes said he wouldn’t be dissuaded.

  Holly was immensely aware of his gaze following her as she moved. Suddenly her spacious kitchen seemed small. And she wanted it to be smaller. For him to be near. To touch her.

  She set the dirty dishes in the sink, her back to him. She was suddenly thrumming with desire. With pure, hot need. She wasn’t surprised to feel his hands settle on her waist. Just relieved, and excited.

  Her heart flip-flopped with a hint of nervousness and anticipation.

  She felt the hardness of Mason’s body pressing against hers, deliciously warm, as it trapped her against the counter.

  He nuzzled her ear, his breath tickling her lobe, tantalizing her senses. “You smell so damn good,” he murmured.

  Her hands clutched at the edge of the counter as her neck rotated to give him better access. “So do you,” she said honestly. “So good.”

  He made a low sound in his throat and she could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against her thighs. “Tell me to stop,” he ordered as he kissed her neck, feathering light kisses on the sensitive area.

  “I…can’t.” It was a mere whisper of a reply. She was already reaching for his mouth, her hand on his cheek as she turned to him.

  She wanted this.

  She wanted him.

  The minute her lips brushed his he rotated her around to fully face him. Then, he was kissing her passionately, hungrily, as if he could never get enough. His tongue delved into her mouth, teasing and tangling with her own, and she didn’t shy away from taking as much as he offered.

  She had waited thirty-two years to be kissed like this and she wanted every bit of his amazing, unique flavor. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she rose up on tiptoe and pressed her body against his.

  Her breasts tingled as they molded against his chest and her hands longed to explore the ripples of steel that her body was molded against.

  She had wanted this earlier. She needed it now. Her hand slid under his shirt, loving the feel of hard muscle beneath her soft palm. Hungrily, she touched him. But no more so than he did her. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip and his hand slid up the back of her shirt.

  Her bra popped loose and she eagerly reached down and tugged her shirt over her head, tossing the bra aside. His eyes dropped and, for a long moment, he went still.

  She took a deep breath, willing herself to be bold, and reached for his hand. Pressing it to her breast, she felt her insides tremble with the impact of his touch. He made a low sound in his throat and then he was kissing her neck, filling both hands with her breasts.

  Her head fell between her shoulders, giving him better access, while allowing her to enjoy what he did to her. His lips traveled down her neck and his fingers teased and tweaked her nipples. The harder he pinched, the more she moaned. She couldn’t help it.

  And the lower his mouth got, the more she wanted it on her nipples. Her hands went to his head as his tongue lapped at the side of one of her breasts and then trailed upwards…

  “Mason,” she moaned, wanted his mouth on her nipple.

  He stopped moving. Her head tilted upwards. She sensed something was wrong. Slowly, he lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes full of turbulence. There was also so much smoldering passion it made her suck in a breath.

  She slid her hands to frame his face. “I want you,” she told him, feeling as if he needed to hear the words.

  Her breathing was heavy, or was it his? He seemed to be trying to gauge her response or perhaps his own; she didn’t know or care, she just wanted him to kiss her again. Another quick movement and he lifted her with ease, placing her on the counter, gently nudging her legs apart as he settled between them. The sweet pressure of his arousal nestled so intimately made her moan.

  Pulling her close, he kissed her again, no less passionately, maybe even more so, though she wasn’t sure that was even possible, because the first kiss had been amazing. Her head swirled, her body heated, wetness—a true testament of how much she desired him—pooled between her legs.

  Yes, her body screamed in her mind. This is what I have been waiting for all my life.

  Then, abruptly she found herself on her feet almost shivering from the loss of Mason’s touch though it was far from cold in the room. She blinked, trying to clear the lust-induced fog.

  “Mason?” she asked, confused.

  He leaned against the refrigerator. “I’m sorry,” he said, torment clearly etched in his tone. “No way should that have happened.”

  “But I wanted it,” she said, not wanting him to think she was offended. “I still do,” she whispered.

  He opened his mouth to speak, scrubbed his hand across his jaw and shut it again. Then, “I have to go. Lock the door behind me.”

  And then she heard the front door slam.

  He was gone.

  She was alone.

  Left in complete, utter sexual frustration, feeling rejected and more empty than she had since losing her parents.

  * * * * *

  Mason sat in his truck, staring at Holly’s house. It was going to be a long night. Since his transformation, he didn’t need much sleep. A necessary skill in battle and certainly a handy one on this occasion, allowing him to ensure Holly’s safety while she slept.

  Silently, he willed himself to stay away from her. Turning the key in the ignition, the motor hummed to life. He backed out of the driveway and scanned the area for a discreet place to park. He’d go back to Holly’s place unnoticed and on foot.

  Thinking of her so close, nestled in her bed, probably half-dressed, knowing he couldn’t hold her and touch her, was going to be hell.

  The new day couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter Four

  The glowing, green light on his truck clock read five-forty-five in the morning.

  Mason sat in his truck, watching in disbelief as Holly moved through the dark parking lot of the university toward the lab. The woman was crazy to think she was safe in a deserted parking lot.

  He wondered if she made a habit of going in to work this early. Or maybe she had been as tied in knots as he had after their little encounter. Maybe she hadn’t been able to sleep.

  He watched her disappear into the building, letting out a silent sigh of relief when he saw the lab lights through the window.

  Th
e sound of an engine drew Mason’s attention. Sterling had pulled his Mustang into the parking lot. Seconds later, he slid into the passenger side of Mason’s truck. In hand, he juggled a bag and two giant drinks.

  “Food,” Sterling said, setting the bag down between them and handing Mason a drink.

  “Thanks, man, I’m starved. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how fast my metabolism works. It feels like I have to constantly eat.”

  “Yeah,” Sterling said. “Same here.”

  Mason pulled a wrapped breakfast sandwich out of the bag, ripped it open and took a bite. He and Sterling each downed a sandwich in silence. By the time they each reached for number two, Mason was ready to talk. “Walsh led the Arions straight to Holly. If they didn’t already know what she’s capable of, they’ll make a point of finding out now.”