“You were right that I needed to get my head on straight before I re-upped. I should’ve listened to you.” His gaze softened, and he brushed a strand of hair off her face. “We were too young. Way too young.”
She smiled, her body relaxing. “I know.” Clearing her throat, she stepped back. “Where do you really live now?”
He chuckled and turned toward the kitchen. “I had a place in Georgetown, but the lease is up, so I just moved everything here for now. Maybe once you cure Scorpius, I’ll actually buy a place. Settle in.” He shrugged broad shoulders and reached for a plate of steaks.
Deacan McDougall in a permanent home? Hard to imagine. She followed him through the kitchen to a dining nook set against floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the lights of D.C. He’d set the table with matching place mats, plates, and linens.
“Sit, Nora,” he said, setting a pan in the center and pulling out her chair.
She sat, and amusement bubbled up upon seeing a tag sticking out from her place mat. “This is lovely,” she murmured, discreetly tucking the tag under the blue woven material. She’d bet her last dollar he’d purchased matching tableware that day, and his cupboards were full of mismatched plates and chipped cups. “Everything looks so put together.”
He leaned over a breakfast bar for salad and rolls before opening the wine and pouring them each a glass. Then he sat, overwhelming the oak chair. “I remembered you liked things to match.”
She chuckled, absurdly touched that he’d made such an effort. They hadn’t succeeded as a couple, but there had been some great times together. “Remember that teeny apartment we had by the base?” One bedroom, living room, tiny kitchen, and minuscule bathroom. Just painting the place had depleted their savings, but she’d wanted it bright and cheery for when he took leave, so she’d worked for a week to make a home.
“Yes,” he said, taking a drink of the wine.
She followed suit, allowing the dark taste to warm her belly. It was time for some truth. “I’m thinking it’s not much of a coincidence you had me extracted on day one of my vacation.”
He reached for the salad to dish it on their plates before adding the steak. “No. We needed to keep the relocation of your team under the radar, even from your employer.”
Tingles flared alive in her abdomen. “Don’t you think the public should be made aware there’s a dangerous bacteria being transmitted?”
His green gaze met hers. “We don’t need to cause a panic at this stage.”
She lifted her head. “People have a right to know. You must understand your obligation to the public.” Her gaze narrowed, and her breath slowed.
“It’s too early for panic, Nora. Trust the government a little.”
She set down her fork, her temper simmering. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.” Deacan cut into his steak.
How could she trust an entity so comfortable keeping secrets? She wiggled on her seat. “Do other governments know about Scorpius?”
“Yes, and that’s a problem. China accused us of creating Scorpius and is insisting we send along samples.”
Nora coughed. “You said no.”
He glanced up, his gaze direct. “Of course, but that just means we need to tighten security.”
Her mind blanked. “Please tell me that once we solve this thing, Scorpius gets destroyed.”
He leaned toward her, his gaze soft, his voice strong. “Probably not. We need to study it and prepare for any mutations, which I’ve heard has already happened. If Scorpius was in one meteorite, it’ll be in another.”
She shook her head. “I won’t let you use any of my research as a weapon.”
He lifted an eyebrow and gave a short grin. “Fair enough. Let’s talk about something that won’t get us into a fight. How about movies and current events?”
She laughed and started to argue about dramas versus comedies versus sports. Dinner passed, and she finally set down her fork. “That was wonderful. Thank you.”
He nodded, his gaze warming. “I know you’ve dated, Nora, but have you found anything close to what we had?”
Panic skittered down her spine, and she shoved back into her chair. “We were kids, Deacan.” What she remembered, what haunted her at night, had to be a dream. A young girl’s romantic rememberings of a time that couldn’t have existed. She took a big gulp of wine. “What we had wasn’t real.”
“It was real, and you know it.” He refilled both their glasses and then captured her gaze. His voice rumbled low and intimate, while his gaze heated. Seated and eating, he was every bit the slumbering lion, satisfied for the moment. Yet there was no doubt he’d be hungry again . . . and not for steak.
A shiver of warmth licked across her nerves. “I’m not sure.”
