She swallowed. Her mouth was dry, she was desperate for something to drink. Was there even water in this fishbowl?
She removed Donovan’s hand from her head. ‘Stop it. You’re not helping. I suffer from migraines but I haven’t had one for the last four years.’ She didn’t even want to open her eyes, the spotlights around them were just too bright.
He sighed with relief. ‘Thank goodness. What can I do to help?’
‘Stop talking?’ She squinted out the corner of one eye.
He smiled. The first time he’d smiled since they’d got in the isolation room.
‘Never gonna happen.’
Her stomach rumbled loudly and she pressed her hands over it in embarrassment.
‘Would some food help? Or some meds?’
She nodded. Having a migraine around Dr Handsome was bad enough. Having it under the spotlight of just around every member of staff was even worse.
She mumbled the name of the meds she normally used. The normally brisk manner he used around others had vanished. ‘Can you put the lights down?’ she asked.
He hesitated for a second. ‘Sure, I’ll keep you under my watchful eye.’ He walked over to the wall. Every word they said in here, every noise they made could be heard by the outside world.
‘Can we get some migraine meds for Grace, please? And can someone put the lights down around here?’
There were a few nods and some words exchanged by members of staff. Anna walked over to the glass. ‘Grace, are your meds in your locker? I can get them from your bag.’
Grace nodded. Donovan was back at her side. ‘What do you want to eat? We need to plan on being in here for the next few hours—maybe even the next few days.’ He gave her a cheeky grin. ‘We can order in—what’s your favourite?’
She laughed and shook her head. ‘You’re joking, right?’
‘Why?’ He held up his hands. ‘Anything that comes into this room goes through the cross-contamination system. We can ask for anything. It’s only our air that can’t get out.’ He raised his eyebrows, ‘Personally, I’m going to order a pepperoni pizza and a pastrami on rye for later.’
She smiled as her stomach growled again. ‘Well, there is something that helps my migraines.’
‘What?’
She named a coffee house a few minutes away from the DPA. ‘I’ve used it for years. They have the best skinny sugar-free caramel lattes and banana and toffee muffins I’ve ever tasted.’
He frowned, as if his brain was trying to process her female logic. ‘The skinny latte counteracts the banana and toffee muffin?’
She grinned. ‘Exactly. You get it. It’s all about the calories, Donovan.’ She pointed at his washboard stomach. ‘Though I’m sure you’d spontaneously combust if you ate anything like that. You probably don’t even know what a banana muffin looks like.’
He leaned forward and lowered his voice, just as the lights flickered off around them. His eyebrows arched as a dim glow of pale blue appeared, giving their skin a strange pallor. ‘It’s only work-related things that make me spontaneously combust, Grace. I can assure you I’m well acquainted with the muffin family.’ He gave her a wicked smile. ‘And from where I was standing you certainly don’t need to worry about calories.’
She felt her cheeks burn. How would they look in this strange light? Had she just imagined it, or had Donovan Reid just given her a backhanded compliment?
There was no hiding her curves. She was never going to look like one of the gym bunnies he normally dated. But maybe that wasn’t his preference.
There hadn’t been time to think earlier. No time to be shy. He’d seen every single part of her—scars and all.
The thought of his fingers brushing over her shoulder scar sent shivers down her spine. He must have noticed it, but he certainly hadn’t mentioned it.
He’d seen her ample breasts, rounded stomach and curved hips and thighs. Her backside didn’t even feature in her thoughts. In her head it was her best feature—round enough to rival J-Lo’s. If only she had J-Lo’s matching height...
There was a hiss of air, doors were opening, items left to be decompressed before the second set of doors opened. Her migraine tablets were pressed into her hands, along with a glass of water, and she swallowed them gratefully.
Donovan Reid had never struck her as the kind of man to have a good bedside manner. He wasn’t much of a people person—his mind was always focused on the job. He’d been the youngest team leader around here for the last four years.
And the last few years had been tough. A potential outbreak of smallpox, discovered by an ex-employee, followed by one of the biggest operations the DPA had ever been involved in. Donovan had missed that call by a matter of minutes. She could only imagine how much he’d smarted about that.
And now another member of his team was pregnant. Jokes had been circulating the office for the last year about a certain swivel chair. Callie Sawyer, Violet Hunter and now Mhairi Spencer had all sat in that chair at some point. Grace and her friends had vowed not to sit in it for the next five years.
She swallowed her tablets and sighed, leaning back against the pillows. They were softer than she’d thought; she could almost forget about her still damp hair. If she closed her eyes just for a minute, she might feel a little better. She sank down into the comfort zone, tugging the soft blanket up around her shoulders. She could daydream for a few seconds.
Daydream about what she really would have liked to have happened in that shower. Donovan to give her a cheeky wink and sexy smile, loving her curves and having a look of pure lust in his eyes for her. Donovan, with his light brown curls, chiselled jaw and sculpted body. For her eyes only. Ah, well, a girl could dream.
She could hear mumbling. Donovan was in deep talks through the glass with Frank. He gave a sigh and walked over to her.
She sat up. ‘What is it?’
‘Oh, good. You’re awake.’
She rubbed her eyes and looked around. ‘Was I sleeping?’
He nodded. ‘Just for the last thirty minutes.’
Great. In the middle of a crisis with the man she wanted to impress and she’d fallen asleep. ‘What have I missed? Has something happened?’
‘Yes, well, no. It’s good,’ actually. Frank couldn’t screen the sample until it had been irradiated. At first glance it’s not anthrax and it’s not any form of plague.’
She let out the breath she hadn’t even realised shed been holding. ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it? Maybe it’s something stupid. Maybe it’s flour or talcum powder—something like that? Something that means we’ll be okay.’
He ran his fingers through his already mussed-up hair. ‘It’ll take a few hours before we know anything for sure.’
She could read in his eyes exactly how he felt about that, he was watching everyone outside rush around. ‘And you can’t stand the thought of being stuck in here? You’re wandering about like a caged animal. Don’t you know the meaning of the word “chill”?’
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew she’d made a big mistake. He whipped around to face her, his eyes as black as coal. His expression matched.
‘How can I chill, Grace? The DPA has just received a potential biological hazard through the mail system. No note. No explanation Nothing. Just an Arkansas postmark. Hundreds of people in our department could have been exposed. Hundreds of mail workers could have come into contact with that letter. If this is a biological contagion, this could be a disaster. And you want me to chill? This is my watch,