MC-125 Ch. 01-11

"Forget that," she muttered as she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in. Their lips collided passionately, fervently. John's mind froze in shock and elation; his mind teetered between unbridled desire and pure fear. He felt the same from Samantha as his mind reached out to her through the embrace. He felt her longing, her terror, and they fed off each other's turbulent emotions until his mind and soul felt about to burst. Their mouths parted in an explosive gasp for air. Samantha backed away and held herself up on a lamppost, her breasts heaving with the effort. John fared no better, his knees weak and liquid as he leaned on his car.

"What...?" Samantha began to ask.

John never heard her finish her sentence as he darted into his car and sped off.

Chapter 5

John stared at the computer screen, a stream of letters in code hiding genetic secrets within. He flicked the mouse across the screen and minimized the window, his eyes sore from strain. The scientist rubbed his temples as he tried to focus on the data but failed. He couldn't get the kiss out of his mind. Even now he could feel her hot breath steaming down his throat and suffusing his brain with eager promise.

John stood up and paced the room, his mind a cacophony of emotions. It wasn't possible, he kept telling himself over and over again. Things like that don't happen. But the taste of her kiss still burned on his lips, melting his brain at a fevered pitch. Never before had he felt anything remotely close to that scintillating moment. He threw himself into his work the next morning and the ensuing week but to no avail, he was hooked, addicted, obsessed with the memory as it played over and over in his mind.

John huffed in an explosive breath and shut down the computer. He checked his watch. His workday was over with, all the other researchers having long since headed home. John headed for the elevator and paused at the brass panel. His hand hovered over the two buttons for a moment and his thumb decided to send him up instead of down to the garage. John angrily questioned what he was doing. Stupid impulsiveness. He was always in control of himself, prided himself on it. But the last few days his world was spinning crazily out of his grip.

The gray metal doors pinged open and John upbraided himself for the umpteenth time what the hell was wrong with him. Uncomfortable with its strangulating hold, John whipped off his tie and balled it up in his pocket. His feet guided him autonomously to the polished wood door that now loomed before him. He knocked and waited. Silence greeted him and a breath that he didn't know that he was holding exploded from his lungs. Well, he tried. John turned around and jumped out of his skin.

"Hello, Mr. Arrons."

John took a moment to collect his scattered thoughts as a pair of emerald eyes focused intently on him, a mixture of anger and sadness roiled beneath the surface. "Hello, um, Mrs. Sanders," John finally managed to squeak out. He squirmed beneath her gaze then managed to compose himself; he straightened his posture and bearing as if donning a suit of armor. In the breadth of a moment he was ready for battle. However, when he regained his composure his real feelings dissembled, not because of the penetrating stare that his boss was firing at him but because he felt it wasn't the right way to approach what he had finally decided to do. He took a deep breath and sloughed off his hastily erected shell. "Samantha."

Her eyebrow quirked at the personal address and a shadow of an emotion other than malice flitted across her eyes. "What do you want John?"

"I...I wanted to apologize for my, how shall we say, hasty exit," John began. "Um, could we find a place to sit?"

Samantha snorted and magicked the door open with a set of keys, and gestured for him to enter. John took a brief glance of her office as he stepped in and sat before her desk. The room was fashionably appointed, with tasteful paintings hanging from the walls and a fichus standing in a corner. Her shelves were lined with several folders of corporate accounts in dated order and various miscellaneous books. John fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat as his boss planted herself in the large leather chair at her desk.

"So, apologize," she fired at him as her eyes bore into him in that penetrating glare he was beginning to grow accustomed to. Her red lacquered fingers steepled before her as she waited for him to squeeze out a pathetic answer.

"You shouldn't have kissed me," John said as he watched the woman jerk in surprise. "I keep my distance for a reason." John raised his gloved hand. "The same reason that I wear these. I'm dangerous, Samantha."

A confused expression drew across her face. "I don't understand."

John took a deep breath. He was very tempted to tell her everything but he didn't know how she would take it. "I'm sorry but I can't explain any further."

"You can't? Or you won't?" The irritation was plain on her face.

"Both," John replied sadly. "You probably wouldn't even believe me if I told you anyways."

"I deserve a better reason than that."

"True," he conceded dryly. "But that's as far as I'm willing to say."

"If that's the case then I think we had best go our separate ways," Samantha said, her tone was hurt and angry. John opened his mouth to defend himself but she raised her hand and stopped him. "I believe this is the part where you leave, Mr. Arrons. Don't worry. This will not affect you in the workplace. I'm just glad that we have our sides sorted out before things progressed any further. Good night, Mr. Arrons."

Dismissed, John quickly left the office as Samantha shifted her attention back to her work on the computer. He could not, would not, take his gloves off and change things between him and Samantha. After their date last week he had come to respect her too much for that. John made his way to the parking garage below and slapped his helmet on when he made it to his bike. He sped off to Allesio's for dinner and found Erica wiping down the bar, her prim smile sitting on her face as always.

His friend was about to speak the usual friendly greeting but stopped herself when she noticed John's upset demeanor. "Hey, John. Is something wrong? You look a little down." John didn't answer as he slumped into a barstool. "Let me guess, woman problems."

"Yea," John answered. "Scotch on the rocks, please."

Startled by his request, Erica retrieved the drink for him nonetheless. "You want to talk about it?"

John said nothing and tilted back the thick glass, the fiery liquid burning smoothly down his throat. Erica wouldn't understand. Not without him divulging his secret, his curse. Silently he played back their discussion, thinking over and over again what he could have said instead to...he wasn't sure for what results. John saw it coming, was prepared for Samantha's ire. Yet, why did it hurt so much? It was only a first date. They hardly knew each other. Really, just acquaintances, strangers. But there was something, something indescribable that touched him. John shook his head to rattle out his thoughts and noticed that his glass was empty and Erica was still standing there. "Just keep it coming, please," John said quietly as he contemplated his predicament. Erica quirked an eyebrow but said nothing as she poured another finger in his glass.

The mosaic memory of at least a hundred women over the past year and the wild nights and languid, sex-filled days that followed them flitted through his recollection. All were willing participants, he never demanded anything from them; he just greased the wheels so to speak to speed up the seduction. But there had been one exception. Cassandra had been different. John took another sip from his glass. Again empty. He looked up at Erica and she filled it for him.

John looked at his glass as he continued his reminisces. What was he thinking about? Ah, yes, Cassandra. Now she was a real firecracker, that one. Raven black hair spilled over her shoulders and reached down her back. She had light brown eyes, almost a creamy texture in them that you could lose yourself in. Like many of the other women that he had bedded she had a tasteful body. She was short, only about 5'1" or so, but her posture attained from years in dance class made her seem taller. That reminded him of her legs. They were long and slender that led upwards to a firm round backside. John smiled as he remembered how much she loved him licking her derriere. Cassandra was a sensual woman, vibrant, seductive, and somehow innocent.

John had loved her.

Somehow within the course of only three short months with the ballroom dancer, he had fallen in love with her. She loved him as well. And that proved John's undoing. There was hardly a moment when the two were ever apart besides during work. While together they hardly left his apartment, on the weekends they had marathon sex until they could hardly even move and even so they slowed to an exhausted stop with John soft inside of her. But two things had happened to them. Two things drove them apart. MC-125 might have made it possible for the lovers to join and be inseparable but it proved to be their undoing. Finally, John had screwed up his courage enough to tell his night-haired beauty about his secret. She hadn't believed him at first but when had driven the point through that what he boasted was the truth, the woman became horrified of him; she began resisting his will, she fought him. Then, in a fit of anger, John had done the unspeakable. He began to totally supplant her will with his, dominating her mind. Within a week John realized his error but it was too late. The vivacious woman that he had loved was now an empty shell, an automaton incapable of genuine love or any other emotion without John's express direction.

John drained his glass in one gulp. In a sense, he had murdered Cassandra. What there was to love was gone. He tried piecing back together her shattered psyche but was a hard and fruitless effort. In the end he relinquished her back to her life, commanding her to continue her life as she saw fit. One month later he discovered that her family had sent her to a hospital ward for the mentally unstable. Cassandra had become confused and distraught over any major decision. He had basically erased any memory she had of him to purge her of his taint and that proved to be her undoing. She sought command but could not find it. The implanted order of her world was torn asunder. John had visited her once. Her mental state had degraded, she had become a true mental patient. Psychologists were baffled by her case but forged ahead with their drugs and testing.

That was what could happen if he ever let himself love again. And that was what Samantha had threatened him with. John could easily see himself falling for her. In many ways she was Cassandra's opposite: tall and statuesque with fiery red hair and bright, intelligent green eyes. And she was willful to a fault. John smiled sadly at that. "You know what hurt the most about breaking up with Samantha just now?" John finally asked drunkenly, more to himself than anyone else although Erica was standing worriedly right next to him. "I think I might have fallen in love with her. Even after just one date."

"I figured as much," Erica replied, the relief evident on her face when her friend had finally decided to open up to her. "I haven't seen you this upset since you and Cassandra broke up. So tell me, what went wrong?"

"Nothing," John stated. "Everything was perfect."

"So why did you two decide not to see each other?"

"There are a few complications that I'd rather not get into," John slurred.

"There usually are," Erica replied. "Let me guess then. You like her too much and that scared you. Probably scared you both."

"I doubt she feels the same. She dumped me."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that." John only grunted in response. "Tell me, were there fireworks when you kissed her?"

Boy, were there ever. John hardly had to be reminded of how his world seemed to tilt and careen out of control in that breathtaking moment. "Something like that," he responded guardedly.

"Well, let me tell you something," Erica leaned in as she spoke. "I certainly haven't forgotten that one time we had our little fling. If a guy kisses a girl like you do then she certainly will feel it. Feel it deep down. You know that song 'It's in his Kiss'? Depending on the guy, it's pretty true. You are one of those kinds of guys. Believe me, your boss lady probably feels the same way you do. Actually, I'd have to say she feels exactly the same way."

"Then why did she decide that we should stay apart, other than the fact that she's my boss?"

"Hey, women get scared about falling in love too, you know." Erica handed him a glass of water with a lemon wedged over the lip. "Give her some time. She'll come around. Now, what do you want for dinner?"

* * *

John was hunched over his computer, scanning data results from a recent blood sample. It wasn't cancer related but the need to research this side project had been on his mind for some time now. Someone knocked on his door and he quickly hit the 'sleep' button on his computer to hide what was on the monitor. The door cracked open when John hailed whomever it was to open and was startled by his visitor.

"Hello, Mr. Arrons," Samantha said as she entered.

John fumbled for a greeting and nervously gestured for her to sit. "Ms. Summers," he greeted. John wasn't sure what to expect of this visit. It had been a little over a month since they had last spoken. Already, John could feel his palms sweating under his gloves. What did she want? He thought she didn't want to speak with him ever again. This probably wasn't a business call; she had underlings for that. So then what?

"Still with the gloves?" she smiled tiredly.

"You know me," he shrugged. The two sat quietly, both looking nervously about the room and surreptitiously measuring the other. "Um, is there something that you wanted Ms. Summers?"

John watched as she gathered her courage to say what was really on her mind. "I need a personal favor to ask of you. Will you help me?"

"Depends on what it is."

"There's a charity ball tonight at seven," she explained. "A sort of inter-corporate get-together to try to browbeat the competitors and make ourselves look good."

John saw where this was going but decided to wait for an official offer.

"I'm minus a date and would really appreciate it if you'd escort me."

There it was, her invitation. Still, he was confused. "Not to sound rude, but why me? I'm sure you could find plenty of others to take along."

"True," Samantha measured out her words. "But for starters, it's a charity foundation for lung cancer, your field. And two, all the other twerps that work near me bore me to death and get on my nerves. You aren't as irritating as they are."

"Glad to know you still find me interesting," John said sarcastically. "You know. You still haven't accepted my apology."

"You didn't give me an apology, you gave me an excuse," she fired back.

"I explained as much as I could. For your safety," he added hastily.

"My safety or yours."

"Why do you have to be so damnably stubborn? I am trying to make amends here." He was shouting now, as was she.

"You think I'm going to forgive you? You still haven't given me a good reason to do so. God, why did I ever bother coming back here? Never mind about tonight. I regret having even bothered looking you up." That said, Samantha stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind her as she did so.

Chapter 6

He shouldn't be here, John thought over and over in his head. This was stupid. What was he doing here? He knew better than to come here. He sat in his car and waited. The sun sank slowly over a horizon of trees at a bend in the road. It was a nicely secluded neighborhood where the rich could live in privacy, not wanting to be bothered after coming home from a hard days work. John looked at his watch. It was six in the evening and no one had shown up yet, John noted as he looked up a light came on in the large house. He followed her silhouette as it crossed the window. Before long Samantha appeared at her front door alone and headed for her car.

John stepped out of his own vehicle and crossed the street. The red head looked up at his approach and waited by her car as he neared. "I was wondering when you were going to approach me. You've been waiting across the street for the past half hour," she commented.

Startled at first, John didn't have a reply. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't find another friend to escort you and make an uncomfortable situation of the mix up." She had been expecting him? How...

"Indeed," Samantha said and handed him the keys to her car. They stood there in her driveway and looked at one another, measuring each other, silently testing what really might be between them. Distantly a dog barked and broke the stillness of the quiet moment. "The door, John."

John snapped to attention and hurried around and opened it for her. He shut it gently when she was comfortably seated and he walked calmly to the driver's side as his mind ran in overdrive; his heart didn't fare much better. He keyed the ignition and drove as Samantha gave him directions. It was at the Marriott; John knew where that was. He had been there on occasion when he needed a larger room to entertain a large group of women. He put that thought aside. Those days were behind him. Ever since Cassandra he had lost interest in such sport.

They drove in silence.

When they arrived at the Marriott after an hour-long drive John tossed the keys to the valet and slapped a five in the boy's hand. Until that moment John hadn't paid attention to Samantha's appearance. He did now as she stepped out of the car. A long stretch of green silk ran from her pointed heels and up her long legs, a seductive slash in the skirt flashing her left thigh sheathed in a pale green stocking. The bodice hugged her slightly athletic frame and hinted at an attractive body within. It wasn't a daring cut nor reserved, but the way she wore her dress as it sparkled in the hotel lighting made John feel a twinge in his groin. A pair of diamond earrings sparkled by her smoky, emerald eyes. Her hair was done in a professional coif with a few auburn tendrils caressing her neck.

"You look lovely tonight," John whispered as she hooked her hand lightly in his proffered arm. She didn't answer but nodded in acceptance of his compliment. He led her to the main ballroom where the dinner was being held. Other people were just beginning to filter in as John and Samantha entered. A few heads turned and then resumed their conversation after having registered who entered. John's eyes swept the room. It would be another five minutes before anyone approached them. He knew these sort of political games; it was the main reason he didn't wish to climb higher in the corporate ladder. He waited for Samantha to lead him to anyone she knew. Before long she found a representative at GenenCorp and talked shop with him. She drew him into the conversation and even went so far as to comment that he was a former employee of GenenCorp. Damn her, John thought, she's trying to flush him out again! John gritted his teeth and blithely batted aside the allusion and said that he didn't like working under their current VP, Evans. The rep laughed, no one liked him. The representative did comment that he didn't seem to recall John's name, though.

"I was formerly known as Edwards. I switched from using my family name to my middle after some people wouldn't lose my phone number," John replied. "Darn telemarketers can be annoying at the worst of times."

They had a brief laugh at that and Samantha walked them off. Truth was, some of the girls he had been seeing still sought him out and he had to go underground and nearly change his identity to escape them. Another reason he changed his lifestyle. John shifted his attention from the past. Samantha had asked him to escort her for more reasons than just the company and to fend off political sharks. She was fishing into his past. This had all been an elaborate trap to test him. That first encounter with the GenenCorp rep was a heavy-handed marker that she knew there was a connection between his eccentricities and his former employer. He knew it was intentional because it had her certain straightforward style.