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“Her daughter is not a Senseque.”

“That's impossible.”

I looked up and for the first time he looked me straight in the eye.

“The genes of a Senseque are dominant. Diana would have to have a son.”

He fixed me with his gaze, but not for long, because he had a third syringe to assemble, which should have reassured me, as it meant he was distracted for longer, but it didn't.

I decided not to tell him about Bayla. He would want to experiment on her, and I didn't want to bear that guilt on my shoulders. Something was wrong with her, but involving Quentin in it would be more than just risky.

It would probably just destroy another friendship in my life...

As Quentin assembled the fourth syringe, my tongue took on a life of its own.

“What are you up to?”

Quentin didn't look up, and I began to suspect that he was angry with me. After all, I had told him last time that I wouldn't tell him anything about J.

“I need some samples from you,” he began, not putting the last syringe with the others. “First, your blood.” He came toward me... with the syringe. “Unfortunately, I can't take much of it.”

I Want You

Nick Streten

His gaze landed on my belly, which was slightly visible under my blouse.

I swallowed and he immediately looked up, meeting my eyes.

I wished I were quick-witted, wished I could have countered his comment, but the fact that he was being considerate of my pregnancy left me so flustered that I could only stare at him.

“Take it off,” he murmured in a deep voice, his gaze darkening.

I felt the heat in my cheeks as if I had been whipped there.

“What?” I managed to say before my voice broke.

“Your lab coat is in the way,” he grumbled unenthusiastically, still without breaking eye contact. “Take it off.”

The tingling in my chest moved further and further down.

Some stupid part of me succumbed to this torturous stare, so that I couldn't tear myself away from that warm yellow-green as I slipped the coat over my shoulders and let it slide back onto the examination table.

Quentin seemed frozen in place, his eyes fixed on mine as well.

“Your blouse...”

I swallowed, fighting two urges at once. First, the urge to break eye contact, to do the only right thing and escape this intense situation. And second, the urge to obey Quentin unconditionally.

“My blouse...” I repeated, barely audibly, and let my hands wander to the top button.

Quentin's jaw began to work, and it was as if his face was also gaining color.

Just before I could open the top button, he looked away and ran a hand across his face.

“It's okay,” he murmured, his face continuing to gain color. “I'll do it.”

What?