Chapter Nineteen
Sunday pushed away from her microscope and shook her head slowly in shock. “It’s amazing. He’s virus-free.”
“Completely?” Claire let out her breath in a rush and leaped forward to take a look for herself. Sure enough, his cells were healthy and undamaged, with no sign of the football-shaped virus anywhere in any of his samples. “Holy shit. He’s cured.”
“But more than that, it’s like he never had the virus at all. Ebiere still has traces of it in her body, but it’s gone from Jean-Luc. His blood, saliva, semen. All clean.” Sunday jumped up and grabbed her iPad. “And have you looked at his arm recently? It’s almost completely healed.”
“What?” Claire snatched the tablet and studied the photo of Jean-Luc’s stitched wound. A wound as deep as that took weeks to heal, but Sunday wasn’t joking. His arm looked as if it had been treated for weeks rather than only a few days. He could probably even have the stitches removed. “How is this…?”
“You tell me. You’re the mad scientist.”
“No. Akeso couldn’t have…” She trailed off. She had been tweaking the formula to aid in healthy cell regeneration after the drug killed the virus. Had that caused his accelerated healing? “I didn’t expect that.”
“Do you know what this means?” Sunday squealed like an excited little girl and bounced on her feet. “You’ve made a super drug! If this works on all viruses, you’ve cured Ebola. Oh my God, HIV!”
Claire held up her hand in a slow down gesture, even though inwardly, she was bouncing as well. “Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t know about potential side effects or—”
“Has he complained of any side effects?”
She looked down at the photo of his arm again, still stunned by what it was telling her. “Only headaches. He said they were bad at first but are weakening the stronger he gets. He’s also restless, but I’m not sure if that’s a side effect or if it’s normal for him. Marcus says he gets twitchy when he’s bored.”
“Well.” Sunday plucked the iPad from her hands and held it away when she tried to take it back. “Go relieve his boredom.”
Claire put her hands on her hips and scowled at her friend. “Sunday…no. It’s not like that.”
“It’s not? Because Abebi told me after she drew his blood this morning you stayed with him while he gave his semen sample.”
Her cheeks heated and she had no way of hiding the color she knew blazed there. Damn her pale skin. “Okay, so there is something. But he needs more time to heal and—”
“Excuses, excuses. He is healed, Claire. You saw his blood work. He’s fine.” She smirked. “In more ways than one. Don’t tell Dayo I said that.”
“Where is Dayo?”
“He took a day to go check on his family. He’s rightfully worried. And you’re changing the subject.” When Claire said nothing in response, she rolled her eyes and set the iPad aside. “Well, at the very least go spring him from the hospital and take him to the mess tent for a decent meal.”
“Okay.” Why was her heart hammering? Excitement. Nervousness. Maybe both? Probably both. Because Sunday was right and there was something between her and Jean-Luc. A spark that had been there from the start, and it thrilled and terrified her. “Okay,” she said again. “That I can do.”
As she walked toward the door, Sunday called, “And think about the other!”
Oh, she’d think about it all right. She’d thought of little else since she’d watched the man masturbate. It had left her feeling voyeuristic, dirty, and so achingly hot. She’d fantasized about touching him more times today than she cared to admit.
And now she could.
But should she? Even if she shouldn’t, would she anyway? Maybe. Sure, there was risk involved, but she had a feeling he’d be worth the potential of a broken heart. So worth it.
Still. She hadn’t worked it all out in her mind yet, and until she did, she had to keep her distance.
As usual, Jean-Luc wasn’t in his bed. She found him sitting with an old man, another of the few survivors, sharing a pineapple and conversing in Ijaw. That he’d learned so much of the language in his short time here was astounding. The man was brilliant, but he hid all that intelligence behind jokes and a playboy facade. Had to wonder why he felt the need.
He noticed her in the doorway and said something to his companion, then got up from his seat. There was more than a bit of devil in his smile as he approached the hanging plastic sheet that separated them. “Thought I scared you away.”
He had, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “I don’t scare easily.”
“I like that about you, cher.” His gazed dropped to her bare hands. “You’re not wearing gloves.”
“I don’t have to anymore.” She pulled open the plastic door and motioned him through. “You can come out. You’re officially virus free.”
He opened his mouth, but for a man with such an innate grasp of languages, it seemed he couldn’t find words. He took one last look over his shoulder, then stepped through the plastic barrier.
“Your arm is almost healed, too,” she told him just to break his unnerving silence. “We can take the stitches out today. Of all the possible side effects, that one hadn’t been anywhere on my list and…”
She trailed off when he lifted his hand and let the pads of his fingers hover just over the curve of her cheek.
“Can I…touch you, ma belle?”
She sucked in a breath, met an all-too-serious-for-him gaze, and nodded. The tips of his fingers settled on her cheek, lightly traced the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck. He breathed out softly—a man awestruck. His hand circled the back of her neck and pulled her in closer. She could feel the heat of his body. Not a fever-heat anymore, but a potent male warmth she’d like to curl up against.
Yes. She’d wanted him to touch her like this from day one, and now that he was, she melted. Her knees wobbled before she locked them tight. As he lowered his head, she lifted her chin in invitation. But, damn him, he paused before their lips touched.
“Are you sure I can’t infect you?”
“Um…” She couldn’t think with his fingers wrapped around the back of her neck, and his thumb lightly caressing her jaw. “Yes, I’m sure. You’re cured.”
He muttered something in a language she didn’t catch and then his mouth covered hers. He walked her backward until her butt hit a table, then trapped her there with his big body. Logic said she should’ve felt confined by him, besieged, but she didn’t. She wrapped her arms around him, pulled him in until her breasts flattened against his chest.
On a groan, he hoisted her up with one arm and dragged her leg around his waist. Yes. This was what she needed. He tasted sweet, like pineapple—such sharp contrast to the needy demand of his kiss. Her head buzzed and wild little bursts of desire electrified her nerve endings and soaked her panties. She squeezed her leg around his hips as a hollow, yearning ache bloomed between her thighs.
She’d never considered herself an especially sexual being, always too engrossed in the intellectual side of things to worry much about the physical. But the way he kissed her, devouring her like she was the best thing he’d ever had in his mouth, like he couldn’t get enough, made her feel like a siren.
No wonder he rarely heard the word “no” when he kissed like this.
The thought brought some sense back and she pressed her hands against his chest. This wasn’t the time or the place. She needed to get her bearings before anyone walked in on them.
Jean-Luc released her mouth and his hand trembled ever so slightly as he dragged it through his hair. The scrubs he wore did little to conceal the bulge of his erection. He muttered something under his breath in French that sounded like, “Fucking curse,” then he added in English, “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
“Don’t be.” She jumped off the table and caught his hand before he could take another step backward. “I enjoyed it. This just isn’t the place.”
“Right. Alors pas. I’ve been frustrated…to say the least…and the cork popped when I touched you.”
Frustrated by her, or frustrated in general?
He’ll use you, too.
Shaking off Marcus’s warning, she touched her lips, loving that they felt bruised and swollen. Why was she dithering? She was a grown woman who knew what she was getting into. She dropped her hand and stepped forward, pressing her lips lightly against his. “There’s been a lot of death around me lately. For one night, I’d like to feel alive. Come to my tent later. It’s the one with the yellow door.”
He looked as if she’d smacked him. Completely stunned. “F’true?”
“Yes.” She held out her hand and after a moment, he took it. “Let’s get you cleaned up and fed first.”