“Feeling any better?” Loyce asked, her voice softer than she intended.
Lucian slowly raised his eyes. The top buttons of her coat had come undone, revealing the white T-shirt underneath and the elegant line of her collarbone. Her face, so beautiful it could launch a war, made his mouth go dry.
The fire Loyce ignited in his heart burned hotter than the serum ever had in his veins.
The lab was so quiet they could hear the ice melting. Their breathing, at some point, had fallen into sync.
“And if I said no,” his voice was a low rumble, “would you keep treating me?”
For the first time, Lucian let the mask of cool indifference slip. His brow was furrowed in pain, yet the corner of his mouth lifted in a faint, defiant smile.
Loyce suddenly became aware of how intimate their position was. She was practically kneeling before the tub, enveloped in his presence.
She quickly pulled her hand back, but as she stood, she accidentally knocked over an empty vial. The sound of shattering glass broke the spell.
Loyce took a step back, her voice returning to its usual clinical tone. “The worst of the effects has passed. You can get out in another ten minutes.”
Lucian watched the tips of her ears turn a faint shade of red. Her subtle reaction was like a feather brushing against his heart, and he gripped the edge of the tub, forcing down the tickle that rose in his throat.

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