Chapter 5

John stared at the computer screen, a stream of letters in code hiding genetic secrets within. He flicked the mouse across the screen and minimized the window, his eyes sore from strain. The scientist rubbed his temples as he tried to focus on the data but failed. He couldn't get the kiss out of his mind. Even now he could feel her hot breath steaming down his throat and suffusing his brain with eager promise.

John stood up and paced the room, his mind a cacophony of emotions. It wasn't possible, he kept telling himself over and over again. Things like that don't happen. But the taste of her kiss still burned on his lips, melting his brain at a fevered pitch. Never before had he felt anything remotely close to that scintillating moment. He threw himself into his work the next morning and the ensuing week but to no avail, he was hooked, addicted, obsessed with the memory as it played over and over in his mind.

John huffed in an explosive breath and shut down the computer. He checked his watch. His workday was over with, all the other researchers having long since headed home. John headed for the elevator and paused at the brass panel. His hand hovered over the two buttons for a moment and his thumb decided to send him up instead of down to the garage. John angrily questioned what he was doing. Stupid impulsiveness. He was always in control of himself, prided himself on it. But the last few days his world was spinning crazily out of his grip.

The gray metal doors pinged open and John upbraided himself for the umpteenth time what the hell was wrong with him. Uncomfortable with its strangulating hold, John whipped off his tie and balled it up in his pocket. His feet guided him autonomously to the polished wood door that now loomed before him. He knocked and waited. Silence greeted him and a breath that he didn't know that he was holding exploded from his lungs. Well, he tried. John turned around and jumped out of his skin.

"Hello, Mr. Arrons."

John took a moment to collect his scattered thoughts as a pair of emerald eyes focused intently on him, a mixture of anger and sadness roiled beneath the surface. "Hello, um, Mrs. Sanders," John finally managed to squeak out. He squirmed beneath her gaze then managed to compose himself; he straightened his posture and bearing as if donning a suit of armor. In the breadth of a moment he was ready for battle. However, when he regained his composure his real feelings dissembled, not because of the penetrating stare that his boss was firing at him but because he felt it wasn't the right way to approach what he had finally decided to do. He took a deep breath and sloughed off his hastily erected shell. "Samantha."

Her eyebrow quirked at the personal address and a shadow of an emotion other than malice flitted across her eyes. "What do you want John?"

"I... I wanted to apologize for my, how shall we say, hasty exit," John began. "Um, could we find a place to sit?"

Samantha snorted and magicked the door open with a set of keys, and gestured for him to enter. John took a brief glance of her office as he stepped in and sat before her desk. The room was fashionably appointed, with tasteful paintings hanging from the walls and a fichus standing in a corner. Her shelves were lined with several folders of corporate accounts in dated order and various miscellaneous books. John fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat as his boss planted herself in the large leather chair at her desk.

"So, apologize," she fired at him as her eyes bore into him in that penetrating glare he was beginning to grow accustomed to. Her red lacquered fingers steepled before her as she waited for him to squeeze out a pathetic answer.

"You shouldn't have kissed me," John said as he watched the woman jerk in surprise. "I keep my distance for a reason." John raised his gloved hand. "The same reason that I wear these. I'm dangerous, Samantha."

A confused expression drew across her face. "I don't understand."

John took a deep breath. He was very tempted to tell her everything but he didn't know how she would take it. "I'm sorry but I can't explain any further."

"You can't? Or you won't?" The irritation was plain on her face.

"Both," John replied sadly. "You probably wouldn't even believe me if I told you anyways."

"I deserve a better reason than that."

"True," he conceded dryly. "But that's as far as I'm willing to say."

"If that's the case then I think we had best go our separate ways," Samantha said, her tone was hurt and angry. John opened his mouth to defend himself but she raised her hand and stopped him. "I believe this is the part where you leave, Mr. Arrons. Don't worry. This will not affect you in the workplace. I'm just glad that we have our sides sorted out before things progressed any further. Good night, Mr. Arrons."

Dismissed, John quickly left the office as Samantha shifted her attention back to her work on the computer. He could not, would not, take his gloves off and change things between him and Samantha. After their date last week he had come to respect her too much for that. John made his way to the parking garage below and slapped his helmet on when he made it to his bike. He sped off to Allesio's for dinner and found Erica wiping down the bar, her prim smile sitting on her face as always.

His friend was about to speak the usual friendly greeting but stopped herself when she noticed John's upset demeanor. "Hey, John. Is something wrong? You look a little down." John didn't answer as he slumped into a barstool. "Let me guess, woman problems."

"Yea," John answered. "Scotch on the rocks, please."

Startled by his request, Erica retrieved the drink for him nonetheless. "You want to talk about it?"

John said nothing and tilted back the thick glass, the fiery liquid burning smoothly down his throat. Erica wouldn't understand. Not without him divulging his secret, his curse. Silently he played back their discussion, thinking over and over again what he could have said instead to... he wasn't sure for what results. John saw it coming, was prepared for Samantha's ire. Yet, why did it hurt so much? It was only a first date. They hardly knew each other. Really, just acquaintances, strangers. But there was something, something indescribable that touched him. John shook his head to rattle out his thoughts and noticed that his glass was empty and Erica was still standing there. "Just keep it coming, please," John said quietly as he contemplated his predicament. Erica quirked an eyebrow but said nothing as she poured another finger in his glass.

The mosaic memory of at least a hundred women over the past year and the wild nights and languid, sex-filled days that followed them flitted through his recollection. All were willing participants, he never demanded anything from them; he just greased the wheels so to speak to speed up the seduction. But there had been one exception. Cassandra had been different. John took another sip from his glass. Again empty. He looked up at Erica and she filled it for him.

John looked at his glass as he continued his reminisces. What was he thinking about? Ah, yes, Cassandra. Now she was a real firecracker, that one. Raven black hair spilled over her shoulders and reached down her back. She had light brown eyes, almost a creamy texture in them that you could lose yourself in. Like many of the other women that he had bedded she had a tasteful body. She was short, only about 5'1" or so, but her posture attained from years in dance class made her seem taller. That reminded him of her legs. They were long and slender that led upwards to a firm round backside. John smiled as he remembered how much she loved him licking her derriere. Cassandra was a sensual woman, vibrant, seductive, and somehow innocent.