Racing Against the Clock Page 12

  “Are you telling me I’m pretty enough to be a Bond girl?”

  “Oh, most definitely.”

  Hannah surprised herself by laughing at his flirtation. She should be worried and frightened and scared. Instead, all she could think was—he’s got the most gorgeous eyes.

  His pupils widened as he stared at her. Hannah got lost in his stare and momentarily forgot to breath.

  All of the extreme emotions—the yearning, the fear, the guilt, the passion—of the past two days were flung together inside her in a huge, expanding whirlpool of desire. She was swept away, disconnected from her rational brain and all she had left was her hungry, desperate need for this man.

  She was so woefully unprepared. No one had ever coached her on what to do when faced with such stark, hormonal urges.

  “We’ve shaken the baddies, Ravishina,” he whispered, lifting a finger to caress her cheek. “And Benjamin Franklin talked the ferry workers out of reporting me to the port authorities.”

  “You bribed government employees?” She pretended to be aghast.

  “Bribery is such an ugly word. I prefer the term ‘persuaded.’”

  “I’ve got to hand it to you, Mr. Bond, you’re slick, very slick.”

  He bowed low. “Compliment accepted.”

  “You know,” she said, “I’ve seen every Bond movie ever made. I’m a sucker for the gadgets.”

  “Have you?” He seemed surprised. “Me, too.”

  “So you know what happens when the baddies have been properly shaken?”

  “And not stirred?” His mouth quirked in amusement. “Of course I know, but why don’t you tell me anyway.”

  “James and the Bond girl take a much needed break from nonstop danger.”

  “Oh?” He rubbed a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. “And how do they achieve that lofty goal?”

  “In each other’s arms.”

  Her boldness at once titillated and thrilled her. She was almost dizzy from their teasing banter and surprised by her own unexpected wit. It felt dangerously illegal and infinitely compelling.

  “Like this?” he asked and drew her to him.

  “Mmm, there’s usually a little more to it.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Stress reducers for Bond and his girl usually involve a few kisses,” she ventured.

  “I see.” He hooked a finger under her chin and lowered his head. “And are these kisses of the French variety?”

  “Most assuredly.”

  Hannah let herself be swept away in the fantasy. She forgot about Lionel Daycon and the formula. She ignored the gaping passengers, tossed caution to the chilly breeze and indulged in the most luxuriant kiss she had ever experienced.

  Tyler shifted closer.

  She nestled against his broad chest, fully, acutely aware of him. From his crisp white shirt redolent with the scent of spray starch, to the way his beard stubble tickled her chin, she took stock of every nuance, focusing on him in the same intense manner she tackled a chemistry puzzle.

  He was quite a bit taller than her own five foot two and a half inches, long-limbed and long-waisted, so she went up on tiptoes.

  His mouth pressed hers, soft at first, testing, then growing bolder. He tasted just as good as when he had kissed her on the pier outside his beach house, but this time there was something more.

  Heat swirled through her solar plexus. Energy surged through her like Popeye after eating a can of spinach. She could not explain the occurrence but every time Tyler kissed her she grew stronger.

  Hannah could not put a name to it but the experience they had just shared, running from Daycon’s men and leaping onto the departing ferry had stirred their already simmering desire for each other. This kiss was hotter, more urgent, the direct results of heightened fear, excitement and danger. She was alive with sensation and hungry for more.

  Under different circumstances, would Tyler have been attracted to her? Were her perilous troubles what drew him to her? Did he find her neediness compelling? Did he see himself in the role of great protector?

  That notion dampened her ardor despite her renewed vigor and true to her nature, Hannah broke their connection, gently pulling her mouth from his and withdrawing, putting up her guard, stepping back, rescuing her heart.

  Tyler stood looking at her, his eyes murky with passion. “Well,” he murmured, tracing a finger along his lips. “Well.”

  Hannah inched over to the railing and peered down at the water churning beneath the bow of the ferry. She turned and stared out to sea for a long moment, then glanced at the port ahead.

  The harbor lights blinked. Red. Green. Red. Green. Stop. Go. She felt the same quixotic push-pull. Her chest tightened. She had already begun to care for Tyler more than she should.

  “Hannah,” he spoke softly and took her elbow. “We’ll be going ashore soon. It’s best we head back to the car.”

  She nodded, slipped her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the BMW.

  Chapter 8

  They drove throughout the night, avoiding the interstate, opting instead for back country roads. Out here the sky was darker, the stars brighter, the road virtually empty. Tyler took an unusual route, hoping to stay one step ahead of Daycon’s men.

  Try as she might, Hannah could not forget the kiss they had shared on the boat. Every time she would hazard a glance over at him, the memory plagued her. She had played the radio for a while to fill the silence and forced her mind away from the thoughts that kept popping into her head. Dangerous thoughts of what it might be like to make love to this handsome doctor.

  After fiddling with the radio dials, she discovered to her delight that they both shared a love of Country and Western music, though he preferred the golden oldies while she liked the emerging new stars.

  Their conversation drifted along those lines for awhile, then wanting to get to know him even better, Hannah asked, “What made you become a doctor?”

  Tyler shrugged. “The typical reason I suppose. I wanted to help people.”

  “Were your parents in the medical profession?” Most doctors she knew went into the field because it was a family tradition. Just as she had done.

  “Yes. They’re retired now and live in Florida.”

  “Is your family close?” she asked.

  “I suppose you could say we are. We get together for holidays, call each other every two or three weeks.”

  “Brothers or sisters?”

  “One sister. Younger. Joanne is a dietitian. She’s married and lives in New York State with her husband and three kids. I don’t get to see them as much as I’d like. How about you?”

  “Only child,” she admitted. “How come you stayed in Texas when everyone else moved away?”

  “It’s home and when my parents moved, I was in medical school and married to Yvette.”

  “Am I like her?” She dared broach the question she had been itching to ask since Margie Price had told her she resembled Yvette Fresno, even though she dreaded the truth. “Do I remind you of your wife?”

  Tyler glanced over at her. “Physically, there’s some similarity.”

  “That’s why you decided to help me, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe at first it was,” he admitted. “But you’re nothing like her personality-wise. The more I get to know you, the more apparent it becomes. Don’t think I compare you to her, because I don’t.”

  “I’m sure there’s no comparison.”

  “No,” he said. “There’s not.”

  Emotion knotted in Hannah’s throat. Of course she could never fill a dead woman’s shoes. Why would she want to try?

  “Yvette was sunny and outgoing. She had a very accepting nature. Nothing ever bothered her. She wanted a home and kids. Those were her only ambitions.”

  She ducked her head. Yvette was her exact opposite and the kind of woman Hannah had always privately envied. She was serious and introverted. She never accepted anything at face value, always questioning the stat
us quo. She’d lain awake at night worrying about the world and its problems. She had no time for a husband and children. Her ideals were much loftier. She had wanted to cure disease and she had succeeded. But success had come at such a high price.

  Deep inside she feared she would never find a place in the world or with people. She’d withdrawn from the pain of her doubts into her own head, telling herself she actually preferred living in her head to hanging out with others. But now here she was, hoping for something she had no business hoping for.

  “I loved Yvette,” Tyler said. “But she’s gone. I’ve finally comes to terms with it.”

  “It must have been very hard for you.”

  “Unspeakably.”

  “When did you first know you wanted to be a doctor?” she asked, anxious to get off the topic of his late wife and trying to figure out how someone made their career decision independent of parental influences. There had never been any discussion in her family. Her folks had simply assumed she would follow in their footsteps and like the good little girl she’d always been, she had done what was expected.

  She watched while Tyler’s face grew animated in the ghostly illumination of the dashboard light. She studied his firm jaw, admired his strong chin. Her heart caught in her throat as a melty sensation dissolved in her tummy and her pulse flamed through her veins.

  He glanced over at her, giving her a slow, thorough once-over. Shivers skipped down her spine. And when a slight smiled tipped up the corners of his mouth, Hannah found herself moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue. The look in his eyes told her all she needed to know. He felt the sexual tension, too, and was just as afraid to act on it as she was.

  “When I was twelve my grandfather had a heart attack while we were out fishing together,” he said. “I’d learned CPR in Boy Scouts and I started cardiac compressions on him. He survived. I saved his life.”

  His voice cracked. Hannah felt his emotions straight to her marrow. What an unselfish man, she thought, and swiped a stray tear from her eye.

  “That’s a touching story.”

  “It was only later I learned that I couldn’t cure everyone. In fact, the hard truth comes to all physicians sooner or later. Ultimately, you can’t defeat death.”

  “Until my healing touch,” she said softly.

  He inhaled sharply. “It’s an unbelievable concept.”

  “But it happened.”

  Tyler glanced at his hand. “Yes. You could change the world, Hannah. Does that scare you?”

  “I’m terrified.”

  He reached across the seat for her hand. Hannah hung on tightly, wanting to never let go.

  Guilt dogged Tyler. His job was to protect Hannah and through his own foolishness, he could have gotten her killed. He had always been a careful man, choosing to err on the side of caution whenever a difficult choice had to be made. This sudden reckless streak surprised and concerned him.

  I wanted to impress her, he realized. I wanted her to know that I would take care of her.

  But why? Tyler wasn’t ready to examine his motives that closely. Instead, he turned his head to study the woman beside him.

  Hannah dozed in the passenger seat as he headed northwest toward New Mexico. To stay alert, he’d stopped for coffee and while he was at it, filled up with gas at a small roadside convenience store. The car was a little worse for the wear, the vault onto the ferry having created an odd rumbling beneath the carriage. He air-pumped the tires, washed the windows and peeked under the car but saw nothing suspicious dangling.

  Exhausted, Hannah had slept throughout the entire stop. Every so often, a breathy sound, like a contented kitten purring, would emerge from her slightly parted lips. It was, Tyler decided, a very sexy noise.

  The plush bucket seat was tilted as far back as it would go. She lay on her left side, knees curled to her chest, her hands stacked beneath her cheek, her blond hair spilling over the headrest like a halo.

  His gaze traveled over her. Studying her delicate bone structure and childlike sleeping position and listening to that soft feminine snore, Tyler experienced an unusual heaviness in the general region of his heart. Probably indigestion from the greasy donut he had bought at the convenience store, he told himself. At least that’s what he hoped it was. He hated to think it might mean something else.

  He wasn’t ready for it to mean something else.

  You want to make love to her. The thought floated to him from the ether.

  “Don’t be silly,” he muttered out loud, but it was true.

  Back there when he had kissed her on the ferry, he had grown hard with desire. He wondered if she had felt the evidence of his desire and that was why, flustered, she had turned away from him.

  Did she want him or not? Her kisses seemed to suggest that she did but then just as quickly, she had withdrawn.

  She’s got a lot of problems, Tyler. A lot of things on her mind. People are trying to kill her.

  Yes, and the last thing he wanted was to add to her troubles.

  But he still wanted her.

  She looked as innocent as Goldilocks in Papa Bear’s bed, and good enough to eat whole. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this but he was. He should be trying to figure out what to do, how to elude the men hunting them, how to heal her mysterious disease, but he couldn’t seem to think about anything except the way she made him feel.

  Strong. Manly. Virile.

  He hadn’t felt like this in years.

  “Is that what this is all about, Tyler? Saving Hannah in order to assuage your guilt?” he mumbled under his breath.

  Maybe, in the beginning, that might have been true, but not now. Not since he had come to know and care about her. The truth was, he didn’t want to see her hurting or in pain. Even the mere thought of her discomfort sent arrows of unhappiness shooting through him.

  Without meaning to, Tyler reached out a hand to stroke her arm. Her skin was soft as butter. She mumbled in her sleep, stirred, then leaned over and kissed his hand.

  Shocked at the intense tingles resulting from her lips on his hand, Tyler froze. He stared out the windshield, barely aware of where he was headed, his heart jerking like a jumping bean.

  “Nice,” Hannah murmured, eyes closed and patting his hand.

  God, he thought and held his breath. She’s so beautiful.

  She didn’t possess that stunning gorgeousness of a runway model but who in the hell wanted a bag of bones anyway? Hannah was round and firm. Her loveliness was all natural. She had no need for makeup. Her skin was creamy, flawless, her lips a rich salmon color. Her eyelashes were pale but long, her cheekbones a study in perfection.

  In Tyler’s opinion she was a quintessential knockout—smart, sexy, gorgeous and modest to boot. He couldn’t believe she had spent her life buried in a lab, hiding behind Bunsen burners, metric scales and chemical formulas.

  He wanted to kiss her again. Taste her sweet, original flavor. He had kissed a few women in his life and none had tasted like Hannah. She had a full, rich flavor that stirred him the same way a fine, earthy wine might.

  His reserve melted like chocolate in the sun. She had tucked his hand under her chin and every so often she would move her cheek back and forth over his skin.

  Goose bumps fled up his arm. He darted a glance at her and mesmerized, could not seem to look away.

  She had arched her upper body and her chest was elevated. Through the fluffy material of her blue sweater he spied the delineation of her breasts. And her nipples. They were beaded into hard peaks.

  Blood emptied from his head, swamping his groin. He felt the pull of her like a thousand tiny vacuums turned on at once, sucking him into her aura, bathing him in a hot, white glow of intense energy. His body was an inferno, burning for her.

  Tyler gulped and whipped his hand from beneath her cheek. The front and back tires on the right side of the BMW ran off the road, spewing gravel. He wrenched his gaze from Hannah, twisted the wheel to get back in the lane and forced his attention
on the white stripes zipping by the window.

  Hannah never woke.

  The pressure in his lower region was unbelievable. This wasn’t right. He was supposed to be protecting Hannah, not lusting after her.

  But he was only human.

  Faced with a beautiful, sexy woman sleeping beside him, his body had behaved accordingly. It was a natural response. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

  He ached with the need to touch her. He wanted to make love to her. Long, slow and perfect.

  Tyler shook his head. There was no excuse for this wayward fantasy. He had to get himself under control. He was a doctor. A surgeon. An educated man. He would not succumb to physical urges, no matter how normal they might be. Hannah needed him to be strong and dependable, not to paw her in her sleep.

  Clenching his jaw, he vowed to keep his eyes on the road and his hands to himself. No matter what.

  At dawn, unable to drive any farther without at least a few hours of sleep, Tyler pulled into a motel on the other side of Abilene. They ate breakfast at a twenty-four-hour Waffle House across the street, both of them yawning and struggling to stay awake long enough to swallow eggs, waffles and orange juice. At this hour of the morning the place was packed with early-rising farmers and bleary-eyed travelers who had wandered off the main highway.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked her

  She noticed shadows under his eyes. If he appeared that tired, she probably looked ten times worse. “Actually, pretty good.”

  “No weakness or vertigo?”

  “I’m fine, doc. Truly.”

  “I worry.”

  “I know.”

  “Occupational hazard.”

  Self-consciously, Hannah ran a hand through her hair and grinned sheepishly. “As soundly as I was sleeping, I’m surprised I don’t have drool on my face.”

  “You look perfect.”

  Shyly, Hannah turned her head.

  “I would like to get a fresh set of labs on you, though. Check your hemoglobin and hematocrit levels and see exactly where we stand.”

  “How?”