Page 45 of Intersect

His tongue pokes inside his cheek. “About that,” he says. “It’s nothing to worry about, but I got placed on administrative leave.”

I gasp. “What?”

“It’s fine. Jeff complained to the board. I knew it would happen even before I hit him, and I just didn’t care. I still don’t.”

I feel sick. It really happened, just like Jeff said it would. “God. I’m so sorry,” I whisper, pressing my face to his chest. “Tell me what to do. I’ll give a sworn statement that we were childhood friends. I’ll swear we’re not together.”

He gives me a half-smile. “It’s going to be fine. If they fire me, they fire me. I’ll find another job.”

“It’s not fine. You really think I can’t tell when you’re upset?”

“It’s not about the job,” he says, sighing into my hair. He places his hands on my shoulders, holding me in place. “I went to your aunt’s house. When I told you I had some stuff to do at the hospital.”

My jaw drops along with my stomach. “How could you do that? Oh my God. Do you realize how badly it could have gone?”

His mouth curves into an almost-smile. “I’m 6’5” and she’s not any bigger than you. What exactly do you think she could have done to me? Anyway, she wasn’t there. I found a key under the mat at the back of her house and—”

“Oh my God,” I groan, staring at the ceiling. “Please tell me you didn’t break in.”

“I didn’t have to break in. There was a key, remember? But my point is that I found her planner…and she’s gone. She flew to Paris last night.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure what I thought it would accomplish, going after her. But that it’s all amounted to nothing knocks the air from my lungs. “Wait. Why the hell would a time traveler need to fly? Couldn’t she just, like, wish herself there?”

“I have no idea. Maybe there are rules. Maybe she just sucks at it. We know nothing. Which is why I’m going to Paris.”

I stiffen. “No.”

“It’s our only chance,” he says, placing his palm against my cheek. “I have no idea how your tumor is going to progress, but we may not have time to wait for her to get back.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“You can’t,” he says softly. “God forbid, but what if you had a medical emergency halfway over the Atlantic? You might need oxygen. You might need…Jesus, there’s so much you might need if it happens again that I can’t stand to think about it. And they can’t do an emergency landing in the middle of the ocean. It’s just for a day or two.”

I stare at him, feeling completely helpless. I know I can’t dissuade him, but I still have to try. “She’s insane, Nick, and she can time travel. What are you going to do when she vanishes and appears behind you with a loaded gun? Use your medal-winning butterfly stroke to disarm her?”

He pushes the hair back behind my ear. “I’m so in love with you I can’t even breathe when I imagine you not here, and I’ll never be able to live with myself if I don’t at least try to find her. So don’t ask it of me.”

I meet his gaze. His desperate, determined gaze. There is not a thing I can say to stop him. I press my forehead to his chest, trying to stave off tears. “When?”

“I’ve got a ticket on the six o’clock direct flight out of Dulles tomorrow. Tonight’s was already full.”

A sob swells in my throat and I can’t contain it. “These could be our last hours together,” I whisper.

“Don’t,” he says. His palms hold my face. “Don’t even think it.”

“But—”

His mouth closes on mine, stopping my words but not my thoughts or my desperation. The kiss is hard, punishing, as if it can somehow make the truth other than what it is, and my fervor matches his, fueled by the knowledge it might never happen again.

I’m still crying, even as need coils tight in my stomach. My hands tug at the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head. My fingers are greedy. It’s not enough for them to trail over his shoulders, his biceps, his chest. They want to absorb him, consume him whole.

He grabs my ass and yanks me against him, hard, groaning as his mouth descends to my neck. My shirt is removed, my bra is released with a quick flick of his fingers. That old voice, the one that warns about the consequences of going too far, is silent. I no longer care what it means to give him everything. How could it possibly matter at this point, when it might be our last chance?

My shorts slide to the floor, and his follow, his hands clenched with need as they pull my hips toward him again. “Quinn,” he growls. “I need more. I’m not going to stop this time.”

“I don’t want you to.”

He lifts me onto the couch and is above me in seconds, fingers slick between my legs, confirming what I already know: I’m so ready for this. Beyond ready.