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"How are you feeling?" His voice rumbled, reverberating in his chest. If she placed her hand against his chest, would she hear his voice through her hand? She remembered something about shock waves, and how they traveled through air and earth at different speeds. Would his voice through her hand match the voice she heard? Or would it be like a badly dubbed Japanese movie?
She smiled, and reached out a hand toward him. Or tried to, anyway. Her hand didn't seem to be obeying the orders of her brain. It flopped a little, but didn't come close to the graceful arc she'd envisioned. She tried again.
He slid his chair closer and enfolded her hand in his own. The warmth of his palms spread up her arm, and she curled her fingers around his.
"Doctor Laurence said you might be disoriented for a little while. And you may feel weak. But the operation was a success."
A success? Then why did she hurt so much? He must mean it was a success for Gillian. Gillian. Why wasn't Desmond at his daughter's bedside?
"Gillian," she croaked. Her mouth felt like it was lined in cotton, and her throat felt cracked and dry. Never mind the question. "Water."
Desmond let go of her hand to pour her a cup of water from the ewer on the bedstand. Perching on the ed
ge of her bed, he put an arm around her shoulders and lifted her to a sitting position. With his arm a warm weight around her shoulders, he picked up the cup and guided it to her lips.
She reached up and rested her hands against his. Her muscles obeyed her directions now. But she didn't take the cup from him, she merely pressed his hand to tip it. The cool water poured into her parched throat, and she gulped it greedily. He tried to lower his hand, but she held tight, refusing to let him go.
When she'd drained the cup, she kept her hands around his. He radiated gentle warmth, soaking into her hands, her arms. Her shoulders and neck warmed beneath his touch. She wanted to absorb all of his heat, and melt her pain away.
He lifted the cup from her lips, and this time she let her hands drop away. But when he turned to place the cup on the bedstand, she stopped him before he could slip his arm from around her shoulders.
"No. Don't go just yet."
"Very well. But let me find a more comfortable way to sit." He swung his legs up onto the bed, leaned back against the headboard, and curled his arm more securely around her shoulders. She rested her head against this new and preferred pillow.
"Now, will you tell me what's going on? Why am I in the hospital?"
"You came in for the operation to donate bone marrow for Gillian."
"I know all that." She dismissed his answer with a wave. "I remember arguing with Nurse Peters over my coffee, and asking you to get my notes. Did you get them?"
"Yes. They're on the table. And then?"
"Thank you. Anyway, then Doctor Laurence said he was giving me a little something for the pain. Next thing I know, I'm out cold."
"It seems the good doctor erred on the side of comfort, and overmedicated you. You slept all afternoon and straight through the night."
"Huh. I don't think he's a very good doctor, then."
He refused to comment, instead changing the subject.
"You asked about Gillian," he reminded her. "Her part of the procedure was much easier, a simple injection. Once they were sure she wasn't going to react to it, they sent her home."
"How come you aren't home with her?" She liked having Desmond warm and close beside her, but under the circumstances, he probably shouldn't be here. She inhaled the earthy tang of his cologne, and studied the hint of shadow along his jaw. No, he definitely shouldn't be here. She hoped he wouldn't leave.
He chuckled, a rich rumble that tickled her ear and vibrated through her from their connection.
"Mrs. Waters decided to celebrate by baking chocolate chip cookies with Gillian. They haven't forgotten the disaster I created the last time I tried to help bake, and banished me as far from the cookies as they could." He turned to her, his lips inches from her face. She wished he'd close the distance between them, and claim her mouth with his own. The memory of their explosive earlier kiss filled her thoughts, blocking out everything else.
Desmond's voice recalled her to the present. "I can never thank you enough for what you've done."
Reliving that kiss would be thanks enough. She lifted her gaze from his lips, to find him staring into her eyes. As if he'd read her thoughts, he dropped his gaze to her lips. If she didn't stop him, he would kiss her. Her world seemed to pause, and everything hung in the balance.
Nothing could come of deepening their relationship. He wouldn't leave his Institute. And she had her career. They'd probably never even see each other again. But as she'd told him, no one could ever really know the future. And as long as there was a possibility for a future between them, her choice was clear. She parted her lips in invitation.
He leaned over her, his hand at her waist, and bent his head. When he touched his lips to hers, an electric thrill coursed through her.
She leaned into him and returned his kisses, flames licking her senses. He tasted of shadow and mystery, a tantalizing familiarity she almost recognized. She opened her mouth, hungry for a deeper kiss, but he pulled away.
