TEMPTED BY HER BOSS (2 page)

‘Darn it,’ she muttered. ‘This stuff will play havoc with my hair.’

He tipped his head back, sloshing water over his face and shampooing his head fiercely. He knew the protocols here. He’d been involved in reviewing them for the last five years. He’d just never expected to have to use them in this set of circumstances.

He started work on his shoulders and arms, rubbing the antibacterial soap over all his body. ‘What’s your name?’ he shouted under the blasting water.

He’d never been naked with a woman whose name he didn’t know.

Her head turned and she glowered at him over her shoulder. ‘Grace. Grace Barclay.’

He smiled. So that was her name. In a building with one thousand five hundred employees he couldn’t possibly know everyone’s name. He held his hand out towards her—it was time for official introductions. ‘Pleased to meet you, Grace. I’m Donovan Reid.’

She scowled and glared at his hand, making no attempt to take it. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I know who you are. I’ve been here for more than seven months.’ The water was running over her face and she tilted her head to take it out of the direct stream. ‘It would be nice if you could take the trouble to remember your colleagues’ names.’ She turned her back to him again and started scrubbing her skin.

Feisty. He liked it.

Her long brown hair fell halfway down her back, water streaming down it. He pushed it to one side. ‘Let me do your back.’ It made sense. She couldn’t reach those parts herself and the decontamination protocol was clear. There was no room for shyness at this point in a crisis.

His hand touched her shoulder and he felt her sharp intake of breath under his touch. He started moving his hands, circulating the soap. Her skin was lightly tanned, with white bits in all the right places. And smooth. There was nothing like being naked in the shower with a woman you barely knew. It kind of cut through all the crap.

His hand felt something else and she flinched. He blinked. Steam was circulating around them. What was that bump in her skin?

It didn’t really matter. But the doctor in him—or the man in him—was curious enough to look.

So he did. This time it was his turn to suck in a breath. His fingers moved over the mark—over the scar on her skin. This was no neat surgical scar, this was a rough-edged, deep penetrating wound. A stab wound.

Why would a girl like Grace Barclay have a stab wound? She spun round in the shower. His eyes went automatically to her breasts. He couldn’t help it. They were right in front of him. Crying out to be touched. Bigger than he’d noticed, matching the rest of her soft curves.

She could see exactly where he was looking. She folded her arms across her breasts and turned back round.

Caught. Like a kid with his hand in the candy jar. This was getting more interesting by the minute.

* * *

Grace was in shock. Naked in a shower with Donovan Reid shock. She couldn’t stop her slightly snarky responses. It was as if her automatic defence mechanisms had dropped into place. She couldn’t actually believe this was happening.

Because this wasn’t real. This
couldn’t
be real.

Any fantasies about Donovan Reid having his hands on her body in a shower hadn’t been anything like this. Not even close.

No. In those scenarios he’d had her pinned up against a nice glass door with lots of raspberry-smelling bubbles winding their way between their two bodies.

It hadn’t resembled anything like this. And for a dream this was pretty awful.

Surely her imagination knew better than to give her a horrible work-related incident?

The hands streaking up and down her back didn’t feel sensual, didn’t feel gentle. The hands massaging her hair weren’t doing it with loving care. They had a purpose. A function.

She cringed as his hands touched her neck and she squeezed her eyes shut. Mr Washboard Abs had a prime view of her big backside and occasionally dimpled thighs right now. Bet none of his Amazonian girlfriends looked like this in the shower. As if they’d just had a battle between a cupcake and a candy bar.

Then they moved. His fingers. And she could almost hear his intake of breath over the pummelling water stream. She couldn’t help the natural flinch of her shoulder, pulling her scar away from his fingers. It was inbuilt into her. The permanent reminder of that hideous night.

It didn’t matter that this was far removed from that situation. Just the touch of his fingers next to her skin sent her spinning back there. Back to a dark night and an unlit parking lot. The unknown assailant and the struggle for the bag that had been on her shoulder. Why hadn’t he just cut the strap? Why did he have to stab her?

Her heart fluttered in her chest. Just what she needed. A run of SVT in the shower with Donovan Reid. Any minute now she’d hit the floor and there would a whole different emergency going on.

She breathed slowly. Controlled breaths. In through her nose and out through her mouth in a long steady stream. The rapid heart rhythm—super ventricular tachycardia—had only occurred a few times since her attack and was always stress induced. Her two fingers reached up to the side of her neck and massaged gently for a few seconds. It didn’t take long.

Her heart rate settled, her breathing eased. The tight feeling in her throat released.

Phew. She kept her eyes closed for a few seconds. She had her back to Donovan so he couldn’t see her and wouldn’t have noticed her manoeuvre.

But he had noticed her scar.

And now she was even more conscious of his touch. Conscious of the fact that the man she dreamed about was inches away from her in a shower. If she leaned back, just a little, she would lean right into his...

Her eyes started open as she felt her body drift backwards. No! She cringed. What must he think of her anyway? First introductions and she’d snapped at him. There was something kind of brutal about a man revealing he’d no idea what your name was. Particularly when you were naked right next to him. Kind of made you realise exactly where you were on his importance scale. Right where you thought—lower than the belly of a snake.

There was no way she was going to be moony eyed around Donovan Reid. She had to remain short, sharp and professional. Just maybe not
quite
so snappy.

It was the shock of the situation. That was all.

Her palms were tingling. Reacting to the feel of his hands on her back, shoulders and neck. If they reached a little lower...

No. Stop it. Anyway, two could play at that game. She was quite sure the protocol hadn’t said anything about scrubbing each other’s backs. But it did seem practical.

For the first time since she’d got in the shower a smile played around the edges of her lips As she pictured her hands all over Donovan Reid’s body. What was it the girls had agreed to earlier? Fight dirty? The thought raced across her mind and quickly back out again.

She’d never do that. She just couldn’t even contemplate it. Even with her active imagination. Deep down, that just wasn’t her.

She wanted to win her place on his team fair and square. She’d probably have to be interviewed along with another ten members of staff. But she could do that.

No matter how much he was making her skin tingle, or how much her imagination went into overdrive. Donovan Reid was always professional at work. The last thing he’d be doing right now was having any erotic thoughts about her. Up until a few minutes ago he hadn’t even known she existed.

No. Donovan would be contemplating whatever substance the mystery powder was. Just like she should be doing.

Guilt flooded her. Where was her professional responsibility? What about her colleagues out there? It wasn’t just her that had been potentially exposed—it had been all of them. Her fingers clawed into her hair, scrubbing for all they were worth. What was the powder? Was it really something dangerous? Could it be an act of terrorism?

The DPA worked worldwide, often leading to some difficult conversations on a global level about their findings. Governments could often take offence when suggestions were made about their contribution to a disease outbreak. Her brain was going into overdrive. The DPA was a US institution. Everyone knew about the work that they did. Maybe someone had decided to make an example of them and hit them with one of the diseases they fought against.

She shuddered. She couldn’t help it. The seriousness of the situation was really coming home to her now.

‘Grace, are you okay?’ The voice came from behind her. Donovan had leaned forward, his head almost resting on her shoulder. The concern on his face made her catch her breath.

If she had to be exposed to something nasty, at least she had one of the best in her corner. No matter what he looked like, as a doctor he was brilliant.

She was in safe hands. Figuratively and literally.

* * *

‘Turn around,’ she said briskly to him. He snapped to attention, meeting her glare. There was no point in trying to pretend he hadn’t been staring.

‘What?’

She spun her index figures in circles. ‘Turn around, so I can do
your
back.’ Of course. She’d spoken to him as if he was an idiot. Which at this point he was.

Her eyes were fixed firmly on his. He could almost see the determination in her glare that she wouldn’t make the same mistake he just had and look in places she shouldn’t. That sent an immediate rush of blood through his system and he pivoted on his heels quickly.

No. This was work. This was an emergency situation. His body might be reacting with a rush of hormones but his brain wouldn’t let him go there.

Her hands scrubbed his back a little more roughly than required. He so wanted to lighten the moment, so wanted to quip,
Wanna go lower?
But Grace Barclay wouldn’t find it funny.

He started scrubbing his face to try and take his mind off the fact there was a very gorgeous, very curvaceous, naked brunette inches away from him. All his fantasies about a woman in the shower with him hadn’t started like this.

What could they just have been exposed to?

His brain flooded with possibilities. Anthrax, botulism, cholera, smallpox, bubonic plague. The list was pretty long. All high-priority agents that could be used in a bioterrorism attack. Easily spread and transmitted from person to person, with high death rates and the potential for spreading panic.

Some of his colleagues called him Worst-Case Don. And it was true. He always imagined the worst-case scenario in any situation. It was his mantra.
Plan for the worst, hope for the best
. It was what any doctor working at the DPA should do.

He looked back over to the wall. Steam was clouding the clock’s face so he strode across the tiled floor and wiped it clean with a towel.

‘Time’s up, Grace,’ he called, reaching for the switch to the showers. But she hadn’t heard. The showers around here didn’t halt automatically. No, they had some weird anomaly that meant for the final few seconds they turned icy cold. Everyone around here knew about it.

Half the fun of new recruits was letting them find out for themselves.

He picked up a towel and started rough-drying his legs, smiling as he heard the yelp behind him.

‘Yaoow!’

There was the padding of wet feet behind him and the noise of someone whipping a towel from the top of the pile on the bench.

‘You did that deliberately!’

He looked over his shoulder, vaguely aware that right now Grace Barclay had a prime time view of his bare backside. ‘I did not. I shouted to warn you. You obviously didn’t hear above the noise from the showers.’

‘Obviously.’ The word dripped with sarcasm.

He wrapped a towel around his waist. The immediate crisis was over; it was time to start handling a whole new one. He turned to face her.

Grace was holding the towel directly in front of her bare body. She hadn’t even had time to wrap it around herself. If someone came in the door behind her they would get an unholy view of Grace Barclay.

He pointed to the scrubs in the corner. ‘Get dressed. Someone should be along to let us know if the isolation room is ready.’

He pulled a set of navy scrubs over his head. Already the room seemed too small. Donovan didn’t do well in small spaces. Maybe it was the steam? Clouding his vision and taking up space. If the air-con had been working, this would have been gone in seconds.

There was a knock at the door. Through the glass he could see the outline of a hazmat suit. A face appeared at the door.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Frank, from the lab. He already spent most of his day in one of these suits. They’d probably just unplugged him, fastened him to an oxygen cylinder and sent him upstairs.

He signalled a thumbs-up. ‘Ready, Grace?’ She’d wound her hair in a wet knot at the nape of her neck and was wearing a pale green set of scrubs.

There. That was better. That was the sight he was used to—a colleague in a set of scrubs. Now he didn’t need to worry about his eyes wandering to places they shouldn’t.

She gave the slightest of nods. He paused for a second. He might be known as a brilliant doctor with an encyclopaedic knowledge, but his people skills were sometimes lacking. Should he have sat her down and given her a pep talk? She looked a little pale. Her hand was pressed against the wall as if to stop her body swaying.

But there was no time for pep talks. Donovan needed to be surrounded by colleagues who conducted themselves in a professional manner. There were things to do. Tests to be ordered. Clean-up precautions to be taken. Risk assessments made on the exposure of others. Chances were he’d be stuck in an isolation room with Grace for hours—maybe days. There’d be plenty of time for pep talks later.

Her gaze met his. ‘Let’s go.’ Was she trying to convince herself or him?

He didn’t really have time to think about it, and if Grace Barclay was a potential member of his team she was going to have to be ready for anything.

He pulled open the door and gestured towards spacesuited Frank. ‘Then let’s go.’

* * *

Ninety minutes later Grace had been X-rayed and her bloods were being analysed in the lab. She was still in shock.