Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“That hasn’t been my name for a decade. Maybe two. So I’m not answering to it.”
“Okay, Cathy.”
His dark stare seemed to bore through her, and although she was the last person to drop out of a game of eye chicken, she did look away first.
“And of course you’re going to do what you want,” she muttered.
“You got that right.” In her peripheral vision, that hand of his extended forward again. “Always.”
“Really?” She cocked a brow at him. “Like this is a deal?”
“Don’t kid yourself. We were in a partnership before, but this is all new territory for you and me.” He tilted in over his lean hips. “Unless you need a reminder, we rushed Vita’s development and the testing we did on those wolves was limited in scope. This is the Wild fucking West and your body is the battleground.”
Her gaze lowered to his chest. The t-shirt of the day was Schoolhouse Rock!, the bill who was going to Capitol Hill chugging up the steps, looking over his shoulder.
“Try not to let me die, Gus,” she said in a weak voice.
“That’s the plan.”
As they shook, she was aware that she didn’t want to let go of the man’s hand. And then he didn’t drop the hold, either.
“You going to tell your fuckboy about all this,” he said in a low voice.
“Who?” she blurted. When she realized who he was talking about, she broke the connection and stepped back. “No, I’m not telling anyone.”
“Not even your parents?”
“They’re dead, so they’re not answering their phones.” She crossed her arms again. “And no, I have no brothers or sisters. It’s just me.”
Gus mirrored her pose and shook his head. “Not anymore. You’re not alone as long as I’m around.”
C.P.’s breath caught. Funny how someone could say something and rip your defenses clean away. Then again, did she have any left when it came to her new oncologist? After the last however many hours when he did everything but give her a Pap smear?
“Thank you,” she said roughly.
“No problem, Cathy. I got you.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Why? Too close to home?” He took a step toward her. “You need to get ready for what’s ahead, and wasting time with me putting on some bullshit act is energy you and I are not going to have to spare.”
Glancing down, she focused on her stilettos. “My feet are killing me.”
“So take off those fucking shoes, woman.”
She kicked one and then the other across the marble floor, and when she was flat on her soles, she looked back up at Gus. He was taller than she remembered—no, that wasn’t right. He’d always been that height. She was the one who was different.
As they stared into each other’s eyes, she was struck by a need she was unfamiliar with. Yes, it was about sex, but there was a lot under the lust. Her mind was in a tortured twist and her emotions were right along with it… but Gus had always gotten her attention, ever since the moment she had first seen him presenting a paper on immunotherapy at a Stanford symposium almost a decade ago.
Back then, he had been a youngster new on the scene with all kinds of iconoclastic ideas. This had made him a target for some… a goal for others. She’d been the latter.
“Can I ask you something,” he said in a deep voice.
“Yes.” And wasn’t that an answer to more than just the question he’d asked.
Gus glanced around, which gave her a good chance to look at his profile again. He was handsome in the conventional sense, but with his hair and his clothes, he was also attractive in an unconventional way. Add to that all his intelligence? He was epic, and she had ignored that fact for so long.
“What are you going to ask me?” she breathed.
“Where do you really live?” When she blinked in confusion, he motioned around. “You haven’t moved into this house.”
“What are you talking about? Or have you somehow failed to notice all the furniture?”
“Furniture doesn’t count. I could have only a folding chair and a futon at my place, and it would still be clear who lives there. This shit?” He pointed out into the bedroom. “It’s a stage set.”
That she had braced herself for a sex question she’d really wanted to answer, only to have him throw something else out there, something that didn’t matter, made her a little pissy. But he kept going before she could cold lab some reply to his residential-address probe.
“I just want you to tell me the truth,” he said. “You created Vita for yourself, didn’t you. You went through your last round of chemo three years ago—right about the time you hired me and this all started at the smaller lab. When we relocated here after the first of this year, I’m guessing that you didn’t bother getting personal about this house because you didn’t know how much time you had. Had you started to feel symptomatic with the AML then?”