Scarlet Wilson - Tempted by Her Boss

He was the most senior member of staff in the room and the responsibility of implementing safety procedures fell to him. All staff were trained about biohazard risks in the field. But he was already aware by the panicked faces that not everyone would have the quick thinking adaptability to apply them to their own workplace. He had to take the lead.

His long strides took him to the wall where he thumped the red button and the alarm started sounding. ‘Everybody, this is not a drill.’ His words brought the few people who hadn’t already noticed what was happening to their feet. ‘Biohazard containment procedures, now!’

He kept walking, straight towards his frozen co-worker, racking his brain for her name. Darn it. He should have asked days ago. She was on his list of possibilities for a replacement for Mhairi Spencer. He might not know her name, but he’d noticed her capabilities. Smart. Switched on. And focused. Three essential components.

The last remnant of dust was settling around her. He was walking straight into a potential disaster. But it was far more dangerous to leave her in an office space with circulating air-conditioning. She looked shocked and needed a push in the right direction. He took a breath before he reached her and clamped his mouth shut tight, putting both hands on her shoulders, spinning her round and marching her towards the door.

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t speak. The risk of inhaling or ingesting the substance was too great. He could only hope she was sensible enough to have stopped breathing.

He glanced sideways at a colleague who pressed the automatic door release, letting the door swing open and Donovan keep his hands in place.

He steered her to the left, nudging another button on the wall with his elbow and heading into the showers he’d just left. The door sealed behind him with a suck of air.

He could hear the motors above him stop. Perfect. The air-conditioning had been switched off. This whole building was designed for a possible disaster—the laboratories downstairs handled a whole range of potentially lethal toxins and pathogens. But this was the first time to his knowledge that there ever been a biohazard via the mail system.

The showers started automatically around them. Steam started to fill the room. ‘Strip.’

The word sounded harsh and there was a fleeting second of hesitation in her face before she started to comply, tearing off her shirt and sliding her trousers down over her thighs.

He took the same actions. Pulling off the shirt and tie he’d only replaced ten minutes ago and kicking off his brand-new Italian leather shoes. His designer trousers lay crumpled at his feet. All of these clothes would be incinerated.

It wasn’t just her at risk any more, it was him too. And everyone else in the building.

As soon as they were both naked he pulled her into the showers, grabbing antibacterial scrub and starting to lather it into both their skins.

There was a glazed look in her eyes. She was following instructions but didn’t seem to have quite clicked about what had just happened.

There was no room for shyness, no room for subtlety. Everyone in this department knew what to do in the event of exposure to a potential biological threat. Evacuate. Decontaminate staff and area. Isolate any threats. Identify agent. Act accordingly.

He looked at a clock hanging on a nearby wall. ‘Fifteen minutes.’ The minimum scrub time after exposure.

They had to try and remove every tiny particle from any part of their skin, face, hair and nails. No trace should remain. They couldn’t do anything about the particles they might already have inhaled, but further exposure should be eliminated.

Her eyes met his. Caramel brown in this steam-filled room. Her skin was glistening. Her hair was glistening. What was that stuff?

Water was coursing over both their bodies, the showers set at maximum. He poured some of the antibacterial soap into his hands. ‘Come here.’ He didn’t wait for her to reply, just dumped the soap onto her head and started scrubbing furiously. It was probably some special product she’d deliberately put there and not the mystery powder but he couldn’t take that chance.

‘What are you doing?’ she shrieked. It was the first thing she’d said. It was as if she’d snapped out of her trance. Things were about to get interesting.

* * *

The emergency procedures ordered all staff to scrub following exposure, but they certainly didn’t imply they should scrub each other. Donovan was improvising. Grace couldn’t see the stuff currently glimmering in her hair.

‘What do you think I’m doing? I’m trying to get this stuff off you.’

The water and soap ran into her eyes and she spluttered. ‘Stop it.’ She slapped his hands away. ‘I’ll do it myself.’ She turned her back to him, her first hint of shyness, leaving him with a great view of her curved backside.

‘Darn it,’ she muttered. ‘This stuff will play havoc with my hair.’

He tipped his head back, sloshing water over his face and shampooing his head fiercely. He knew the protocols here. He’d been involved in reviewing them for the last five years. He’d just never expected to have to use them in this set of circumstances.

He started work on his shoulders and arms, rubbing the antibacterial soap over all his body. ‘What’s your name?’ he shouted under the blasting water.

He’d never been naked with a woman whose name he didn’t know.

Her head turned and she glowered at him over her shoulder. ‘Grace. Grace Barclay.’

He smiled. So that was her name. In a building with one thousand five hundred employees he couldn’t possibly know everyone’s name. He held his hand out towards her—it was time for official introductions. ‘Pleased to meet you, Grace. I’m Donovan Reid.’

She scowled and glared at his hand, making no attempt to take it. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I know who you are. I’ve been here for more than seven months.’ The water was running over her face and she tilted her head to take it out of the direct stream. ‘It would be nice if you could take the trouble to remember your colleagues’ names.’ She turned her back to him again and started scrubbing her skin.

Feisty. He liked it.

Her long brown hair fell halfway down her back, water streaming down it. He pushed it to one side. ‘Let me do your back.’ It made sense. She couldn’t reach those parts herself and the decontamination protocol was clear. There was no room for shyness at this point in a crisis.

His hand touched her shoulder and he felt her sharp intake of breath under his touch. He started moving his hands, circulating the soap. Her skin was lightly tanned, with white bits in all the right places. And smooth. There was nothing like being naked in the shower with a woman you barely knew. It kind of cut through all the crap.

His hand felt something else and she flinched. He blinked. Steam was circulating around them. What was that bump in her skin?

It didn’t really matter. But the doctor in him—or the man in him—was curious enough to look.

So he did. This time it was his turn to suck in a breath. His fingers moved over the mark—over the scar on her skin. This was no neat surgical scar, this was a rough-edged, deep penetrating wound. A stab wound.

Why would a girl like Grace Barclay have a stab wound? She spun round in the shower. His eyes went automatically to her breasts. He couldn’t help it. They were right in front of him. Crying out to be touched. Bigger than he’d noticed, matching the rest of her soft curves.

She could see exactly where he was looking. She folded her arms across her breasts and turned back round.

Caught. Like a kid with his hand in the candy jar. This was getting more interesting by the minute.