like. Warm and sweet, she decided. And deliciously sinful. Like Death By Chocolate dessert.
You’re just famished. Knock off the fantasy.
“How are you feeling otherwise?” Tyler fretted. “No nausea, no headaches, no dizziness?”
“I’m fine except I could eat a hippopotamus.”
“How about a hamburger instead?” He chuckled and pulled through a drive-through fast-food joint.
“Is this your idea of healthy eating, Doctor?” she teased, surprised at her own levity. The truth was, she felt good. Damned good. Happy to be alive and, if she dared to confess it, excited. For the first time since fleeing Daycon’s burned-out laboratories, Hannah had hope.
“Normally,” Tyler said, “I recommend healthier fare. But considering what you’ve been through you need the protein and a little fat won’t hurt you, either.”
She was usually conscientious about what she ate, preferring fruits and vegetables to meat and bread but her mouth watered at the thought of a thick, juicy hamburger. Sometimes junk food was exactly what the doctor ordered.
And what a doctor he was! Tall and lean but muscular. With a dark, brooding quality beneath his professional demeanor. A quality that issued a call to her own sense of isolation.
Stop this, Hannah. Stop it right now. No good can come of your sudden infatuation.
She knew better, and yet she could not stop sending him surreptitious glances over the rim of her thick chocolate milk shake.
Within minutes they were traveling south outside of Houston, the comforting smell of mustard and onions filling the car. After she had polished off the hamburger and the milk shake, she wiped her hands on a paper napkin, sighed her pleasure and leaned back against the leather seat.
What elegance. What style. The car perfectly fit the man. She must have drifted off because the next thing she knew, Tyler was pulling the BMW into the driveway of a dark, silent beach house.
There was no light, save for the full moon overhead and the illumination from the headlight beams. Sitting up, Hannah rubbed her eyes and rolled down the window. The scent of salt air mingled with the sound of the ocean lapping against the shore.
“This is it,” he said, coming around to help her out.
Her body had grown stiff during the hour-long drive from the city to the Gulf of Mexico. Stretching, Hannah suppressed a yawn.
Tyler reached to take her arm but she tensed and rejected his extended hand. He shrugged nonchalantly, but evidently she’d wounded his pride. She wanted to tell him it was nothing personal but how could she explain that she didn’t like to be touched? Particularly by strangers.
Growing up without much physical affection had caused her to crave a larger than average personal space. She needed distance. Her parents had taught her it was rude and presumptuous to press herself upon people. As a result, she often felt awkward whenever someone touched her. She didn’t even care to shake hands.
As for kissing, well, that had proven to be a nightmare the few times she’d tried it. Hannah supposed her less than enthusiastic response to swapping spit was the main reason she’d had a string of first dates but never a steady boyfriend.
And yet, some small part of her desperately wanted Dr. Fresno to kiss her.
She knew she was an oddball. Her parents’ negative view of romantic love had colored her outlook. Doctors Eric and Beverly Zachary had been friends and colleagues and little more. They had prided themselves on avoiding the trap of useless emotions in favor of a marriage based on mutual respect. They had even encouraged Hannah to make an emotionless match herself. When they had met Marcus Halpren, they had been hopeful she would choose him as her life mate. He had an IQ of two hundred and ten, and even though Marcus had been interested in her, Hannah had been unable to bring herself to ruin their friendship with a business merger. Although she liked and respected her colleague, she had never been attracted to him. A passionless marriage might have been enough for her parents. It wasn’t enough for her. She’d rather remain single.
In college, her roommates had extolled the joys of sex in vivid detail. Hannah had even attempted the act herself but after one or two groping sessions in the back seat of some guy’s car, she had come to the conclusion that one, sex was noisy, sweaty and not worth the bother and two, she was in the minority in her opinion.
“This way,” Tyler said, leading her up the path to the two-story frame structure built on stilts.
She could see sand dunes beyond, and the ocean shimmering in the distance. It had been such a long time since she’d been to the seaside. The water called to her, pulled at something deep inside her solar plexus. The tide was so elemental, so basic, at once temporary yet enduringly permanent. She was tired of her complex life and had a sudden desperate need for the simple fundamentals.
Food. Water. Love. Not knowing where that last thought came from, Hannah moved toward the ocean.
“Where are you going?”
“Can we take a walk along the beach?” she asked, desperate to clear her head. His proximity was disconcerting. The smell of his woodsy aftershave mingled with the scent of the ocean, creating a powerful draw inside her. A draw she must deny.
Tyler arched his eyebrows at her request. “Sure, if you feel up to it.”
Without waiting for him, she trailed over the shifting sand toward the beckoning waves. She needed to put distance between them, needed to get some perspective on what she was feeling. She’d never been this physically attracted to a man before and she didn’t know how to handle her body’s purely feminine response. Particularly when she could not act on her feelings. The timing couldn’t have been worse.
“Jane,” he said, and it took Hannah a minute to realize he was speaking to her. “I know that’s not your real name, but I don’t know what else to call you.”
Hannah turned and saw him silhouetted in the moonlight, regal as a mythical knight. His handsomeness took her breath. He possessed an elegant self-assurance and a natural patience. In that instant, she almost told him her name but fear for his safety stopped her. The less he knew about her, the better for both of them.
Wistfully, she thought back to her childhood when her first-grade teacher had read the story of Cinderella to the class. Until that time, Hannah had never heard the tale. Her parents, disdainful of fiction in general and fairy tales in particular, had read only nature stories and biographies for entertainment. Of course, like any little girl, she had been enthralled with the notion of Prince Charming. Excited, she had rushed home to tell her mother what she had learned. Her mother had burst her bubble, telling her that fairy tales were utter nonsense written for silly fools. Then she had pulled Hannah out of public school.
The memory lingered. She wondered why her mother had been so opposed to the romantic story. Now, looking at Tyler, Hannah recalled the joy she had experienced upon hearing that story her first and only time.
What was the matter with her? Why was she thinking these crazy romantic notions when her mind should be consumed by thoughts of Virusall?
“Jane will do fine,” she said, and wished she could tell him her real name. She would have loved to hear him whisper “Hannah” in his low, sexy voice.
“I
