Slowly, Justin lowers his head so his mouth is only inches from mine. “I want you to refuse me.”
“Okay.” I melt into him, boneless. “No,” I breathe on a sigh.
“Terrible,” he murmurs.
“Is it?” I murmur back.
His lips are the softest brush against mine. “You need more practice.”
My body thrums with longing. “I do?”
“Yes,” he says huskily.
Those eyes of his are too knowing. A shiver feathers its way across my skin.
“Justin,” I whisper.
Something in my tone seems to get to him because he abruptly lets go of me and steps back, shoving a trembling hand through his hair, fighting for control.
“That’s enough practice for today,” he says, his voice rough.
“Yes, uh, definitely enough.” I adjust my shirt self-consciously. I can’t look at him.
After a moment, Justin says, “At least our display will put an end to any more harassment from Skeletor. He’ll keep his hands to himself and you’ll concentrate on the job you’ve been sent in to do.”
A hollow feeling washes over me. Is this why he kissed me? For the job? I have to hand it to him, he’s always so brutally practical. Hoping he won’t detect the hurt in my voice, I say, “It’s going to be awkward tomorrow with Glen.”
“Yeah, his pride’s been poked. He might load you with more grunt chores, drop a few sarcastic comments your way, skinny coward that he is. You can handle it.”
I scuff my feet. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He gently tilts my chin up. “If Stickman steps over the line in any way, you tell me. You got it?”
I nod, smiling a little. “His name is Glen.”
Scowling, Justin drops his hand. “He came on to you, so I get to call him whatever I want.” His gaze takes in the sprawl of SolomiChem’s parking lot, its wide front steps and impressive glass facade. “I’ll meet you here after work as often as I can to play up the boyfriend angle.”
I clear the awkwardness from my throat. “You don’t have to kiss me every time. Glen will get the message by your presence alone.”
A gleam lights up Justin’s eyes. “Just so we’re clear, TT, I’m the kind of boyfriend who kisses his girls. Bones will guess that about me. We’ll do what we need to.” Before I can reply, he lightly takes my elbow. “There are matters we need to discuss and we can’t do it here. Follow me to my place.”
51
JUSTIN
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I head home, controlling the bike’s speed, mindful of the fact Heather is following me. My mind drifts to our kiss, to the heat that swept through me at the unexpected feel of her in my arms. She fit perfectly. It unnerves me how quickly I forgot the kiss was for show. I picked up she was inexperienced and nervous, but that uncertainty must have lasted all of ten seconds before she stopped thinking and started reacting.
I felt a man’s triumph afterward at the stunned look on her face, the wonder in her eyes. A triumph that’s not without self-censure. Better apply some brakes here, I tell myself. I don’t want to put dreams in her eyes and plans in her head.
I shift into a more comfortable position on the bike, fighting the fatigue dragging at me. With back-to-back gym appointments on Saturday and Sunday, I had a busy weekend. The best part about it, though, was watching Werner’s Science and Health University cope with the fallout from Thursday’s raid. On Friday, I released a statement, along with incriminating photographs and an edited five-minute video, to above ground sympathizers who then distributed it all to various media outlets. It’s an AFD publicity coup and a PR shambles for the university.
I found out from my informant—as I predicted, hailed a hero for rescuing a colleague from the terror of a broom closet—that the university, as well as the sponsors of the experiment, are scrambling to justify the nicotine studies. The tracheotomy beagles were moved to a hidden location on campus, but sympathy for the beagles isrunning high and the sponsors are under pressure to cancel the experiment and release the dogs to an animal welfare charity.
Surprisingly, the majority of the press coverage is in AFD’s favor, with reporters calling us animal activists who are daring, committed, and uncompromising. The fact that we were careful not to hurt anyone during the raid counts in our favor.
I finally met with Kane Sunday night, where I endured a twenty-minute dressing down. I forced myself to accept Kane’s tongue-lashing with a contrite expression, knowing I have to shoulder some heat for overstepping the line. The penitent approach worked and Kane eventually ran out of steam.
