himself. Not for the same reasons, of course, but he still wasn’t ready to talk to them.
Jensen answered the phone on the third ring, taking the maize-colored receiver from the cradle. His grandfather’s phone was still the ancient rotary style mounted to the kitchen wall.
“Hello?”
“Jensen? Is that you, dear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Anderson. How are you?” Mrs. Anderson was the widow his granddad had been “dating” for years.
“Fine, dear. Fine. Your grandfather says you aren’t getting out enough.”
Jensen laughed slightly. Apparently Granddad was sharing that sentiment with everyone.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Anderson.”
“Okay.” She didn’t sound like she believed him.
“Let me get Granddad for you.”
Jensen handed the phone to his grandfather, and listened as the older man made plans for the evening. Jensen took a sip of his coffee. What was the woman from last night doing now? How could he find her again?
He set down his mug with more force than necessary. What was he thinking? He’d had enough “good time.” Despite what his body and wandering mind might think, staying holed up here seemed the best course of action.
Elizabeth fiddled with the magnification of her microscope, growing more frustrated by the second as she couldn’t seem to fine-tune the sample into focus. The cells on the slide shrank and enlarged with each twist, but never came into sharp detail as they should.
She made a low noise in the back of her throat, then straightened from the apparatus. The muscles in her back protested, tight with tension, and she blamed it on leaning over her research for too long. But she knew that wasn’t the cause. Just as she knew the inability to focus the slide wasn’t the microscope’s fault.
Just like she knew that the ache between her thighs wasn’t still noticeable because of last night’s activities.
No, the ache there had changed and morphed, going from a reminder of what she’d done to a nagging prompt to repeat the performance. The restlessness was growing inside her—again. And now she understood what her body was tense for. Sex. But not just any sex. Sex with him. Jensen.
Don ’t go there , she told herself. And not for the first time in the last few hours. But her mind didn’t listen. Again she was reliving last night, the way Jensen—the mortal male—had felt buried deep inside her. Stretching her, filling her.
She closed her eyes. He’d taken her desperately, forcefully—their mating had been wild, uncontrolled.
It was just sex, she told herself, also not for the first time. But again, her body—and her mind, for that matter—didn’t believe her claim.
Jensen had been different, although not in a way she could define exactly. There was a tenderness in his ferocity. His hands strong, his movements powerful, his eyes haunted.
She kept remembering his eyes. Beautiful eyes like a deep, lush forest, varying shades of greens and browns. She’d seen something in those eyes.
“Yeah, lust,” she muttered to the empty room. Well, the almost empty room. She crossed over to the opening in the plastic, peeking out at the barn. The owls still sat on the rafters, right where they had been last night. Only today, they weren’t alone, either. She glanced over to see a black-and-white creature curled in a tight ball in a nest of hay.
A skunk. The little creature had been in the barn when she came in this morning. He’d waddled around, completely unconcerned with her presence. It had only peered at her, rooted for more bugs to chomp on, and then made itself a bed in the old hay. No scrambling away in fear. No spraying—t hank God.
Something was definitely up with the animals in West Virginia. Including herself.
“No sense of self-preservation,” she stated to the sleeping menagerie. One owl opened a golden eye, then they all continued to sleep.
She ducked back into her lab, shaking her head. Too strange. She couldn’t believe any animal—with the exception of
Jensen answered the phone on the third ring, taking the maize-colored receiver from the cradle. His grandfather’s phone was still the ancient rotary style mounted to the kitchen wall.
“Hello?”
“Jensen? Is that you, dear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Anderson. How are you?” Mrs. Anderson was the widow his granddad had been “dating” for years.
“Fine, dear. Fine. Your grandfather says you aren’t getting out enough.”
Jensen laughed slightly. Apparently Granddad was sharing that sentiment with everyone.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Anderson.”
“Okay.” She didn’t sound like she believed him.
“Let me get Granddad for you.”
Jensen handed the phone to his grandfather, and listened as the older man made plans for the evening. Jensen took a sip of his coffee. What was the woman from last night doing now? How could he find her again?
He set down his mug with more force than necessary. What was he thinking? He’d had enough “good time.” Despite what his body and wandering mind might think, staying holed up here seemed the best course of action.
Elizabeth fiddled with the magnification of her microscope, growing more frustrated by the second as she couldn’t seem to fine-tune the sample into focus. The cells on the slide shrank and enlarged with each twist, but never came into sharp detail as they should.
She made a low noise in the back of her throat, then straightened from the apparatus. The muscles in her back protested, tight with tension, and she blamed it on leaning over her research for too long. But she knew that wasn’t the cause. Just as she knew the inability to focus the slide wasn’t the microscope’s fault.
Just like she knew that the ache between her thighs wasn’t still noticeable because of last night’s activities.
No, the ache there had changed and morphed, going from a reminder of what she’d done to a nagging prompt to repeat the performance. The restlessness was growing inside her—again. And now she understood what her body was tense for. Sex. But not just any sex. Sex with him. Jensen.
Don ’t go there , she told herself. And not for the first time in the last few hours. But her mind didn’t listen. Again she was reliving last night, the way Jensen—the mortal male—had felt buried deep inside her. Stretching her, filling her.
She closed her eyes. He’d taken her desperately, forcefully—their mating had been wild, uncontrolled.
It was just sex, she told herself, also not for the first time. But again, her body—and her mind, for that matter—didn’t believe her claim.
Jensen had been different, although not in a way she could define exactly. There was a tenderness in his ferocity. His hands strong, his movements powerful, his eyes haunted.
She kept remembering his eyes. Beautiful eyes like a deep, lush forest, varying shades of greens and browns. She’d seen something in those eyes.
“Yeah, lust,” she muttered to the empty room. Well, the almost empty room. She crossed over to the opening in the plastic, peeking out at the barn. The owls still sat on the rafters, right where they had been last night. Only today, they weren’t alone, either. She glanced over to see a black-and-white creature curled in a tight ball in a nest of hay.
A skunk. The little creature had been in the barn when she came in this morning. He’d waddled around, completely unconcerned with her presence. It had only peered at her, rooted for more bugs to chomp on, and then made itself a bed in the old hay. No scrambling away in fear. No spraying—t hank God.
Something was definitely up with the animals in West Virginia. Including herself.
“No sense of self-preservation,” she stated to the sleeping menagerie. One owl opened a golden eye, then they all continued to sleep.
She ducked back into her lab, shaking her head. Too strange. She couldn’t believe any animal—with the exception of
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