Reviving Trish (Project DEEP Book 2) Page 4

Rolling onto her back, she closed her eyes. She had spent most of every day in this room with the door closed, leaving the rest of the tiny cabin to Tushar. She knew when other people came and went. She could hear him speaking to Jack and Davin at some point every day.

  The only person who came into her room was Abri, however, and Trish didn’t really need her anymore, so she hadn’t been by in several days.

  Trish was getting stronger every day, except for the fact that she spent too much time lying in bed like an invalid. She did her exercises in the room and was aware of the noticeable improvement to her strength and balance. She wasn’t 100 percent yet, but she was close.

  If only that same improvement applied to her psychological state. If anything, she was more depressed than she had been prior to putting up a wall between herself and Tushar.

  She was attracted to him. That had never changed. He was sexy and youthful. She knew he spent time hiking every day. It was starting to show in his build. He was probably more muscular now than he had been since they were at West Point.

  For many years the two of them had been so devoted to their work they barely had time for the gym. She knew there was a time when she was literally aroused by watching him work in the lab. His excitement matched hers, and their shared love of medicine was sexy as hell.

  But what now? She still didn’t have the energy to face the future, not mentally anyway. As her physical energy picked up, her brain remained in a state of melancholy. If she didn’t snap out of it, she was going to have to admit defeat soon and seek counseling. As if there were a lot of psychologists in the world equipped to handle patients who came out of a ten-year cryopreservation.

  Lately she found herself recalling the early months of their relationship at West Point, the stolen touches when they passed each other in the hallway, the heated look in his eyes when he stared at her from across the room in their anatomy class, the way her body reacted to his hungry glances. She wanted to reach out to him often now, verbally and with her hands, but she was stuck. Stubborn. When he walked by her, she considered grabbing his hand. At night, she wished she had the guts to roll his direction, touch him, stroke the firmness of his pecs.

  She’d dug this hole, and she couldn’t get out of it.

  She spoke to her mother and Ryan most days, updating them on her progress and hearing about their lives, but she never mentioned her depression. Was it really depression, though, when she knew exactly what she should do to put an end to the madness?

  Listening to Tushar thrive in the other room sometimes infuriated her. He was often on the phone with someone from the bunker. She knew he was helping them with a project from his laptop. He was also looking at online classes and spoke animatedly about the future.

  He never once pressured her or confronted her. She’d asked him to leave her alone, and she’d gotten her wish. It had been time to put an end to their ridiculous standoff days ago, but she couldn’t figure out how.

  Thoughts and ideas about her future flitted through her mind sometimes, but she couldn’t nail them down. She needed someone to bounce them off of. She needed Tushar. Her partner. Her husband. Instead, she had continued wallowing in self-pity.

  As usual, she waited for Tushar to leave the cabin before she headed for the shower. She often spent way more time than necessary in the enclosed space, enjoying the warmth of the spray of water while masturbating to thoughts of what should be happening inside that cabin instead of her pity party.

  Today was no different. For someone who had drawn a line between herself and her partner, she spent more time than ever before visualizing his fine body to get off.

  Oddly, while she had withdrawn from her husband almost completely, in her mind they were growing closer. Every intimacy they’d ever experienced through the years played over and over in her mind in vivid color. She ran her hands down her body, gripping her breasts firmly and then pinching her nipples until her mouth fell open and she parted her legs.

  In her old life, she had never masturbated in the shower. Her needs had been met first by Tushar, and then they’d taken a back seat to medicine and curing disease. In fact, she’d had more orgasms in the past few weeks than she’d had in the ten years before they’d been preserved. All while living in a self-imposed exile from the man she should be sleeping with.

  Oh yeah, she was stubborn. She was embarrassed and she was stubborn. She didn’t know how to bridge the gap. She was afraid of what their future together might look like. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to continue to practice medicine. How would the two of them have anything in common if she didn’t jump on the same bandwagon and share his enthusiasm?

  She slid one hand down her body to reach between her legs in the manner she had grown accustomed to, knowing how to get herself off most efficiently. She flicked her clit rapidly until her knees shook, and then she thrust her fingers inside her tight channel. When she could no longer breathe, and her thoughts became a jumbled mess, she ended things by splitting her two middle fingers, straddling her clit, and rubbing the sides rapidly. It took seconds. And then bliss.

  While she leaned against the cool tile wall, trying to catch her breath, she pictured her husband’s buff body, his dark skin, his mesmerizing eyes. The irony was that Tushar probably thought she had no sex drive, when the complete opposite was true. If anything, she had a higher sex drive now than she’d ever had in the past.

  Something had to change. She needed to grow a spine.

  Damn him for being so accommodating. It would be easier if he got angry and confronted her.

  An hour later, Trish was sitting at the kitchen table, leaning over a book while eating a sandwich, her usual lunch routine. She held the pages down with one hand, keeping the other free to feed herself.

  Abri had teased her weeks ago about her stack of paperback books. Apparently during her ten-year sabbatical from life, the world had switched to ebooks. People carried around thousands of different titles inside their smart phones—another device she had yet to conquer. One thing at a time. She had way bigger issues to take care of than her technology gap.

  When the door to the cabin opened and Tushar stepped inside, she wanted to lift her face, smile, greet him. Something. But she couldn’t manage to do anything out of the ordinary. She kept her eyes on her book and took another bite of her sandwich.

  Her husband did not behave in his usual manner, however, shocking her. Instead of passing right by her and heading for the sofa or the bedroom to avoid her, he pulled out the chair opposite hers, lowered onto it, put his elbows on the table, and leaned forward. “Enough.”

  She lifted her gaze, swallowing the sandpaper bite in her mouth. “Pardon?” Why did she have to sound so contrary?

  He blew out a breath, leaned back, crossed his arms, narrowed his gaze, and nailed her with his deep brown sexy eyes. “I’m done with this arrangement. You’ve been moping around here for weeks. I know you’re physically strong enough to get out now. And although it’s cold outside, it’s invigorating. You need to leave this cabin. Hike. Breathe. Live.”

  She couldn’t drop her stubborn front. “Maybe I don’t feel like going outside.”

  He rolled his eyes dramatically. “What do you feel like doing, Trish? Because I’m way over this routine. It’s driving me crazy. You asked for time. I gave it to you. Now I’m done. If you don’t feel anything for me, then say so, and we’ll part ways.”

  She cleared her throat, but he wasn’t done.

  “This is insane. If you’re depressed, then you need help. If you don’t want to be married to me anymore, then say so. But this has to stop right now because I for one want my wife back. I don’t care if she’s different. I don’t care if she wants to change professions. I don’t even care if she has decided to become a housewife. Anything.

  “I’m tired of sleeping alone in the same bed as the woman I love. I’m tired of tiptoeing around her while she mopes for eternity. We’re alone in this beautiful mountain range for the first time in our lives wit
h all the time in the world. We should be fucking instead of fighting.”

  She sucked in a breath at his last words. Damn, he was hot all angry and frustrated with her. She shouldn’t be thinking he was hot, but it was sexy as hell.

  He shoved from the table, sending the chair to the floor, set his hands on the top and leaned so close only a few inches separated their faces. “What I want to do is yank you from that chair, flatten you against the wall, and fuck the daylight out of you until you soften and rejoin life.”

  “Why don’t you, then?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she wasn’t sorry. They were perfect. They were exactly what she should have said weeks ago.

  Tushar flinched, pulling back a bit, his fingertips dragging across the table as he righted himself. “Come again?”

  “Why don’t you? It’s the best idea I’ve heard since I woke up six weeks ago.” She rose to her feet.

  One second he was staring at her as if she’d grown a second head, and the next second he shoved the table out of the way and grabbed her by the shoulders as if it would have been far more trouble to round the table than simply remove the impediment.

  The table wobbled, her glass of water crashed to the floor, shattering and making her flinch at the sound. Her book slid off the side. God knew what happened to her sandwich. She didn’t care. For the first time in six weeks, passion consumed her in the presence of her husband instead of alone in the shower.

  Tushar hesitated only a moment, staring into her eyes, and then he backed her up until she slammed into the wall. In less than a second, his mouth was on hers, his hands on her biceps, his torso pressing her into the wood paneling.

  She was on fire. Totally alive. Restless. Needy. Greedy.

  She threaded her fingers in his thick hair, luxuriating in the feel of it that she remembered as if it were only two months ago she’d last touched it. For her it was.

  His hands smoothed around to grip her breasts in the same way she had done an hour ago in the shower. Hot. Insistent. Demanding. Nothing like the calm man she remembered from years ago. This Tushar was dominant. This Tushar took her breath away and left her panting.

  He molded his fingers to her flesh and then pinched her nipples. Tipping his head to one side, he deepened the kiss while he grabbed her sweater and tugged it up her body. He jerked it over her head so fast their lips barely experienced the parting before his mouth slammed back down on hers and he proceeded to devour her.

  She returned the gesture, her tongue reaching into his mouth to tangle with his, reminding herself of his taste and the way he stroked her tongue so sensually it drove her crazy. He’d done that the first time they kissed. She had never forgotten. Until now. But no more.

  His hands covered her bra, grasping her breasts almost roughly. He dipped his fingers under the cups to flick the tips of her nipples.

  She moaned into his mouth, and he pulled back. “Oh, yeah. Damn, I missed that sound.” And then his lips were back on hers.

  Her heart raced. She willed the rest of their clothing to disappear.

  As Tushar pressed his torso against hers, his front pocket vibrated against her hip. For a moment she didn’t know what caused the sensation, nor did she care, but a second later, a noise filled the room, and she realized his phone was ringing in his pocket.

  He groaned as he smoothed his hand down her body and then angled his fingers into his jeans before breaking the kiss. He was breathing heavily as he lifted the cell.

  Trish watched his face, seeing him fully for the first time since her reanimation. Really seeing him. Looking him in the eye. For a moment she held his gaze, and then he dipped his face to see the screen.

  Half of her wanted to grab it from his hand and toss it away before he could look at it, but her rational self realized very few people would contact him, and all of those people were important.

  “It’s Ryan.” He stuffed it back in his jeans. “I’ll call him back.”

  She agreed, lifting up to kiss him again. The moment their lips touched, her phone started ringing.

  “Shit,” Tushar whispered, deflated. “Guess you better answer.”

  She swallowed, staring at him for a few seconds before he released her so she could pad across the room and grab her phone from the counter. Also Ryan. Something could be wrong. Something might have happened. She lifted the cell, “Hey, hon.”

  “Hey, Mom. How are you? I tried to call Dad. He didn’t answer.”

  She glanced at Tushar, her face flushing. “Yeah, he’s here. He just didn’t get to his phone in time. I’ll put you on speaker.” It was difficult to control her breathing so he wouldn’t hear the panting in her voice.

  Tushar had righted the table and squared it back into its spot in the center of the kitchen. Half of her sandwich, her book, broken glass, and spilled water remained on the floor, a reminder that moments ago her husband had pulled out a new side of himself and made her blood pump.

  After tapping the speaker symbol on the screen, she set the phone on the table, took her sweater from Tushar’s outstretched hand, and tugged it over her head.

  “Hi, Ryan. I’m here too,” Tushar said, lowering onto a chair while reaching for Trish.

  It felt far more natural to take his hand and step between his legs than to ignore him like she had for the last several weeks.

  Tushar’s hand settled on her lower back as they both leaned in to speak to Ryan.

  Unfortunately, Ryan sighed.

  “What’s wrong?” Tushar asked.

  “It’s just chaotic here and stressful.”

  “Anything new?” Trish asked, her spine stiffening.

  “The tension of not knowing who’s leaking information about the project is putting everyone on the team on edge. Stress makes people snap. No one knows who to trust. Mistakes get made under pressure.”

  “Mistakes?” Tushar’s brows lifted.

  “Yeah. Nothing earth-shattering so far, but I don’t like to see any mistakes in the lab.”

  “Of course.” Now his brows furrowed. “I didn’t like them when I was in charge either.”

  Ryan was the leader of the new team of twelve, the team that had come in and restarted the project several years after the original team was preserved. Ryan was the one who fought hard to go to medical school and dedicated his life to finding a cure for the specific illness the first team had all succumbed to.

  Trish had always known her son to be tenacious and hardworking even when she last saw him when he was only twenty years old. He had never given up, not only in finding a cure but also organizing a team of cryonicists to ensure the team could be revived. He had done the hard work of getting the government to reopen the lab and organizing the funding to do so.

  Without Ryan, Trish would not be standing in this cabin today with her husband by her side.

  “What kind of mistakes are you seeing?” Trish asked.

  Ryan expelled a long breath. She could picture him leaning back in his desk chair, running a hand through his hair, facing the ceiling. “Some numbers were transposed on a spreadsheet, changing the data and giving erroneous results to one of the studies we’re working on.”

  “Transposed? Do you know who did it?” Tushar asked, grimacing. Trish knew he hated to blame any member of the team, but the truth was they would need to know and ensure it never happened again.

  “Technically, yes. But I’m inclined to believe it wasn’t human error. I have never once in the time I’ve been here known any of the lab techs to transpose numbers. I think there’s something wrong with the computer software personally. But how the hell would anyone prove that?”

  “Have there been any other incidents?” Trish asked. Goose bumps rose on her skin, and she rubbed her arms to chase away the chill. She’d seen errors in her life, even in that very lab, but they were few and far between.

  “Not since the beaker.”

  “The beaker?” Trish righted herself, glancing down at Tushar. “What beaker?” The chill
running down her arms changed to a frigid stiffness. A beaker incident was what started this saga. A stupid beaker that exploded in the lab eleven years ago and infected everyone in the bunker with the virus that eventually led to their cryonic preservation.

  Hearing there was another beaker incident sent all the blood rushing from her face until she thought she might faint.

  She could tell by the look on Tushar’s face that he already knew this story. Why hadn’t he said something?

  “Yeah,” Ryan continued. “Happened before you were reanimated. Must have been faulty glass or something. It exploded, sending shards of glass all over the lab.”

  Trish’s mouth was so dry it became difficult to speak. “What was in it?”

  “Luckily nothing. But it scared Emily to death. That’s when I found out you had had a similar experience more than a decade ago. I think she went into shock, reliving that day. No one else in the lab on my team knew about the previous incident, so they simply cleaned it up and moved on.”

  “That’s…crazy. How many beakers explode in the US each year?”

  “Not many.” Ryan gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Believe me. I googled it. Turns out no one keeps that sort of data.”

  Trish chewed on her bottom lip. She understood how Emily would have felt. Even the sound of broken glass would haunt Trish for the rest of her life. It had startled her minutes ago when Tushar knocked her water on the floor.

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t call to freak you two out. I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m just exhausted. And now that damn data has to be redone. Puts us behind on that study. Nothing we can’t handle. Not life threatening. Just annoying. I have bigger problems on my plate than that data. Trust me.”

  “Bigger problems? Like what?” Tushar winced.

  Ryan groaned. “Did I say that out loud? Lord. I’m tired. I need sleep.”

  “Are you going to expand on that thought?”

  “Nope. You have your own issues to deal with. Concentrate on getting Mom healthy and staying under the radar. I’ve got the bunker under control.”

  “Well, be careful.” Trish set her palms on the table to steady herself and took several deep breaths. Ryan’s tone indicated he was trying to sound more optimistic than he was actually feeling. Something was going on in the lab, and she wanted to be there.