Chapter Eight
Melinda woke with the sheets wrapped around her and sweating. Holy fucking on sugar sand, her dream was . . . was . . . fucking great! First sex she’d had in years. Not the usual way it was done, but damn, her body didn’t know any different. To her brain, she had real sex without any soreness or wet spot the next morning. Hell, she should bottle that. Then she realized a male teen’s wet dream was the same thing. That kinda ruined the romantic vibe she had going.
Her phone played “Sweet Home Alabama,” telling her it was time to get up. She rolled and stretched, working out any stiffness—and she’d definitely worked out his stiffness—remaining from sleep. She laughed at herself. How pathetic could she be? Finding satisfaction from a wet dream. Granted, it was a freaking hot as hell with multi-orgasms wet dream, but still.
After a shower, breakfast, and driving to work, she’d returned to her normal boring self. “Hey. Melinda, wait up.” Her face instantly flushed. The man in her dreams, the man who’d eaten her pussy like it was his last meal, was standing beside her. Thank freaking god he couldn’t read her mind. He took a deep breath.
“Something bothering you this morning?” he asked.
She kept her eyes firmly on the glass door entrance to her building. “Nope, woke up feeling pretty good. How about you?”
“I woke up stiff. The hotel’s beds aren’t the best.”
She bet he woke up more than stiff. She’d be willing to work it out again, after locking her lab room’s door. She was going to hell. That’s the only place this could lead to. She laughed and let out a sigh. “Wish I could help you there, Hamel. But outside the brain’s REM state, I’m pretty useless.”
He looked at her like she was crazy, which made her laugh more. “Inside joke, sorry,” she added. “Besides waking up stiff, how did you sleep?”
Hamel rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel like I was rode hard and put away wet.” She almost fell to the floor, she was laughing so hard.
Gasping for breaths, she laid a hand over her chest. “I apologize again, Hamel. It’s just the way you said it was so funny.” She pulled her key from her purse and unlocked the lab.
After stepping over the threshold, she froze. One gasp was all she could take in. No words came to mind. Hamel stopped close behind her. “Holy fuck.”
Most of the lab had been destroyed. Machines and hardware lay busted, scattered on the floor. Cabinet doors hung open with contents scooped out, joining everything else on the floor. Every file with papers or binders was ripped open and tossed, as if someone systematically rifled through them.
The first thing that came to her mind was the defenseless little white mice. Were they here or even alive? She dashed in, pulling away from Hamel’s grip on her arm. His voice registered in her head, but not his words. Whatever he thought could wait a few minutes.
Immediately she saw the cages on the far cabinets were there and didn’t look disturbed. Her heart began to beat again. Focusing on the beloved critters and not where she was walking, her foot caught on something and the sheets of loose paper she stood on slipped on the smooth floor. Well, shit. She was going down.
She braced for a hard impact that didn’t come. One of her squeezed-closed eyes popped open to see why. Large but gentle hands had her around the waist, a very strong arm gliding around to lift and pull her against a hard body.
Her heart beat so hard from the adrenaline, fear for the mice, and the dash to get to them, all she could do was lean against the hot body and listen to the soothing words in her ear. The words told her to calm down. The mice were fine and everything else could be replaced. She was safe as long as she didn’t run off and do something stupid. So much for soothing words.
That brought her out of her fear-induced haze. And made her angry. She’d never run off and do something stupid. Who the hell said that? She fought the arms that held her tightly, but they didn’t let her go. Fine. She twisted around to push away and found herself chest to chest with Hamel.
Her heart jumped. She wasn’t thinking he would be the masculine strength wrapped around her. The Hamel of her dream, sure. But the Oversight guy in a lab coat and pocket protector, no.
His expression was intense on her. Fear and worry shined in his eyes. She felt the same. Who would do this to her lab? Then his hand cupped the back of her head and his thumb brushed her cheek. A rush of electric hot sensation burned through her. This was the first time his skin touched hers.
The top button of his shirt was opened and his rustic smell filled her senses. A fire she’d never felt before lit in her stomach. She swallowed hard. Her knees gave. He scooped her up and set her on the counter. With her head spinning, she couldn’t think straight. What should they do now, besides find a sugar-soft beach and get naked?
A light vibration tickled her arms. A low grumble hummed in her ears. What was that? Hamel’s hands holding her shoulders jerked, jarring her out of her sensual doze. She snapped her eyes to his.
Gold surrounded his hazel irises, making them exotic, fascinating. She wanted to stare into them to discover all the secrets she knew were there. Who was Parish Hamel? And how was she able to dream of his eyes in that same color?