Читать книгу Love is the Drug - Ashley Croft - Страница 8

Almost thirteen years later

New Year’s Eve

Department of Behavioural Ecology, Fenland University

Dr Molly Havers slid off her stool and sashayed over to the fridge. She’d gone to town this evening and made a special effort with her outfit. White plastic onesie, safety glasses and sky-blue accessories. Well, it was a special occasion. How could he possibly resist?

She pulled out a small plastic pot and minced across the lab to her boss’s workstation. ‘Here you are, Professor Baxter. One pot of gorilla semen, as you requested.’

Ewan Baxter didn’t so much as lift his eyes from his keyboard. ‘Is it fresh?’ he growled, sounding not unlike a gorilla himself.

‘Of course it’s fresh, I made it myself,’ said Molly, aiming for an ironically sexy purr.

Ewan swivelled round on his stool and peered at her through his safety glasses as if Molly was one of his samples. ‘I hope you’re not developing a throat infection, Dr Havers, because if so, you know the rules. You shouldn’t be in the lab putting your co-workers at risk, not to mention jeopardising this project.’

Molly resisted the urge to throw the semen over Ewan. ‘I don’t have a throat infection.’

Ewan frowned. ‘Are you sure? You look a bit flushed and you sound pretty rough too.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me. Actually, I was only trying to be sarcastic.’

‘That’s a relief, but I’d appreciate it if you tried not to be so sarcastic in future. You had me worried for a moment.’ His expression was deadpan.

‘In case I was ill?’ asked Molly.

‘No. In case you ruined our work. You know we can’t afford to let any rogue bacteria in here. Can I have the semen, now, please?’

Molly slapped the pot onto his nitrile glove, knowing the gleam of desire in his eyes wasn’t for her, but the pot of gorilla jizz that had been flown in a week ago at vast expense from an animal conservation project in Rwanda. ‘And I promise to try not to be so sarcastic in future,’ she said, even more sarcastically.

Ewan’s eyebrows lifted, the way they did when he’d read a scientific paper he’d been asked to peer-review and was about to rip to shreds. ‘That would be helpful,’ he said. ‘Or I might have to think about getting a research assistant who’s more respectful. Thank you for passing the semen.’

Molly detected a nano-smile before he returned his attention to his work. He was joking about getting a new assistant, of course, because Molly knew he had a sense of humour. Unfortunately, it was often so well hidden you needed an electron microscope to find it. Then again, maybe it was a good thing that Ewan was so dour he made a high court judge look frivolous. It would be excruciating to be working on the “Love Bug” project with a boss who pumped out innuendos to rival a Carry On film.

Molly went back to her own desk and her work on the Love Bug, a name that had stuck after one of the lab technicians had seen an old film on the TV and joked about it to Ewan and Molly. The top-secret project was a revolutionary hormone designed to help humans bond. Theoretically, it could make two individuals fall in love with each other. Theoretically.

Ewan wasn’t amused – as always – about his complex work being reduced to a “sound bite”. Molly thought he was right about one thing: the Love Bug wasn’t accurate because the bonding agent was actually a synthetic hormone, not a “bug” or bacteria and definitely not a “love potion”.

Ewan would have hit the roof if anyone described their precious project in such romantic terms. Well, thought Molly as she looked down her microscope, it had certainly been proven scientifically that Ewan didn’t have a romantic gene in his body. She’d lost count of the times that Sarah had told her Ewan was a lost cause and that there “were plenty more fish in the sea”. Sarah had taken on the role of surrogate mother since their parents had been killed in the accident on the way to Auntie Carol’s, even after Molly had ceased to need parental guidance where men were concerned. However, Molly thought – glancing over at him, oblivious to anything except the semen – maybe she did have a point about Ewan.

She tried to focus on her own samples but then caught sight of the time on the laptop. It was half past six on the party night of the year and what was she doing? Smearing gorilla jizz onto a sliver of glass. That wasn’t normal behaviour by anyone’s standards, not even a dedicated research scientist such as herself.

‘Did you know the solitary confinement cells at Alcatraz were designed to face the mainland so the prisoners could actually hear the sounds of revelry in San Francisco?’ she muttered.

‘Sorry?’ said Ewan, hunched over his microscope.

‘I said I was thinking of ripping off all my clothes and running down the corridor shouting, “I’m a badass babe.”’

‘Mm. Of course.’

‘Ewan?’

He swivelled round again. ‘Yes, Molly?’

His eyes met hers through their safety glasses. Perhaps a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but it disappeared so fast, she must have imagined it and the Baxter lab, of course, was no place for imagination.

‘It’s getting late. Do you mind if I call it a day and get ready for the party?’ Molly said.

He frowned. ‘The party?’

She pulled off her glasses. ‘Yes, Ewan, the party. It’s New Year’s Eve if you hadn’t noticed.’

He took off his own glasses and blinked. Molly’s determination to hate him from now on, melted like butter in a pan. Despite his name, wherever Ewan’s genes had originated from, it wasn’t Scotland or anywhere within a thousand miles. He had dark brown hair, not red or blond, and his eyes were the colour of strong espresso, rather than the blue or green a geneticist would have expected. Somewhere along the way, Ewan’s ancestors had coupled up with a tribe from the Mediterranean – and a pretty hot one at that.

‘Surely, you hadn’t forgotten?’ she asked.

‘No. No, of course I hadn’t.’

‘Are you going? It starts at eight, you know.’

‘Um. I don’t know yet.’

Molly bit back a gasp of exasperation. The party, and the potential for getting pissed, was her one hope of persuading Ewan to let his hair down.

‘Well, it’s up to you, of course, but everyone will be expecting you,’ she said, turning her back on him and unzipping her onesie. ‘Especially after this morning …’

Ewan pulled a face.

‘Well, when you get awarded the MBE in the New Year’s Honours List, people want to celebrate.’

He grimaced again. Ewan might not have a sexual response but he also didn’t have an ego and had refused to accept that he was responsible for the lab’s pioneering work into parent and baby bonding among primates.

‘I suppose I’d better put in an appearance, if only to thank everyone who helped us win the gong. I can always come back to the lab when I’ve shown my face and it will be quiet as everyone will be at the party.’

‘The Love Bug will still be here tomorrow …’ said Molly, in despair.

Ewan clicked his tongue against his teeth disapprovingly. In fact, he was the only man Molly knew who tutted in a non-ironic fashion. ‘Please don’t call it the Love Bug. It trivialises a very important project and it’s also completely inaccurate. You and I know it’s not a bug, it’s a genetically synthesised bonding hormone but if that … descriptor … slipped out to the press, they’d jump on it like a … like a … dog on a bone.’

Molly resisted the urge to snigger. Ewan might be a genius, and gorgeous, but he was shit at similes.

‘You know what will happen, if some clever dick from the papers gets a whiff of our work before we’re ready to announce it publicly, it will end up splashed on the pages of some rag as a “sex bullet” next to a picture of Brian Cox showing his …’

‘Calm down. Our work is under wraps for now and the Love Bug will still be here tomorrow,’ she said, deliberately using the despised descriptor again and dumping her gloves in the waste bin. ‘But the party and your adoring fans won’t.’

‘I do not have adoring fans.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Molly mischievously. ‘What about Mrs Choudhry from admin and that guy from the equipment supplier with the hooked nose who smells like chloroform?’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Really? Well, I’m going and if I don’t see you at the party, I’ll see you next year.’

Molly made a meal of taking off her onesie, in the hope Ewan might change his mind and leave the lab with her but he pulled up his hood again and started tapping away at his laptop.

‘Maybe I can just fit in one more run of tests …’

One day you will be found dead in this lab, Ewan Baxter, and eaten by fruit flies. In fact, it may be that someone – probably me – kills you out of sheer sexual frustration.

‘Up to you,’ said Molly through gritted teeth, ‘but I have to get down to the fancy-dress shop and find a costume before it closes.’

At first she thought he hadn’t heard her but then, slowly and very deliberately, he swivelled round again. There was genuine terror in his eyes and she thought his face had definitely turned a shade paler.

‘The fancy-dress shop? Why would I need a costume?’

Power surged through Molly’s veins. ‘Didn’t you realise?’ she said, picking up her backpack. ‘It’s a fancy-dress party. The theme is movie heroes and heroines. Good luck with what you can find in the next half hour.’