Polar Reaction Read online

  Brendan stood and walked over to the window. He pulled back the insulated flap. It was pitch black outside, the wind louder without the muffle of fabric, the glass rattling and icy to the touch. He looked at his watch. It was still a few hours until sunrise. Taking his laptop with him so he wouldn't disturb the others, he made his way through the kitchen and down the narrow hallway toward the wet lab.

  Flicking on the light, he sat at the workstation and booted up his computer. When he opened the browser to check the weather, he found there was no Internet connection. The site was set up to receive satellite cell and Internet service and in the time they'd been there, it had worked fine. They'd experienced some weather-degraded performance during high winds before, but it usually reinitialized within a few minutes.

  He shut down the computer and gave it a cold boot, but when he tried again there was still no connection. Returning to the sleeping quarters, he fished in his pants pocket for his cell phone and flipped it open. There was no service.

  Brendan slipped back under the covers and stowed the flashlight beneath his cot. Closing his eyes, he told himself not to worry. Probably the storm would pass by morning. A few hours delay wouldn't make much difference in the scheme of things.

  He was awakened by someone shaking his shoulder. “Brendan, wake up.” Jamie's voice was urgent and tinged with panic. “I got up to bulldoze the landing strip but I can't even open the door. It's blocked by snow drifts."

  Brendan sat up, instantly awake. Tuck came out of the bathroom, wiping his face with a towel. Brendan turned toward him. “Jamie says we're snowed in. When I woke last night, I tried to get the Internet to check the forecasts but we had no access.” He reached for his cell phone again, flipping it open. No service.

  "It's still snowing, from what I can see out the windows.” Jamie peered out. “And the wind is insane. Listen to it.” The building was shuddering and creaking from the gale-force winds, which whistled and howled like the wolves in Brendan's dream.

  Tuck sat heavily on his cot. “We're not going anywhere in this weather, that's for sure. The wind is whipping up the snow already on the surface. No way a plane could land in these blinding conditions. If you were out there, you wouldn't even be able to see a few feet in front of you, much less find a landing strip."

  "We're not going to get any satellite transmissions either,” Brendan observed. “The maximum operating wind speed for the satellite dish is sixty miles per hour. From the sound of it, those winds are gusting at over a hundred."

  "Oh my God, you mean we're stranded?” Jamie's voice rose.

  Brendan could hear the edge of hysteria in Jamie's tone. “Hey, take it easy. We've got enough provisions to last a month here if we had to. We have our portable oil-burning heaters and the propane stove in the kitchen. The diesel generators have enough fuel to power the whole building for at least a week. If we shut down the labs and only heat this immediate area, we could keep it comfortably habitable for a month."

  "In a month it'll be deep winter.” Jamie bit his lip.

  "Relax, this thing is going to pass in a day or two.” Brendan put his hand on the younger man's shoulder and, forcing down his own trepidation, smiled. “We'll be fine. I promise."

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  Chapter Two

  "How can he concentrate with this damn wind?” Slanted white sheets of snow continued to hurl against all sides of the building and the sun had forgotten to rise. Jamie refused to entertain the frightening scenario trying to press its way into his brain—the building being blown apart like a toy house made of matchsticks, the three of them buried alive in the icy freeze, each helpless to save the others or himself as nature inexorably reclaimed them in death. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the images. He was overreacting. Brendan was right—this would be over in a few hours. By tomorrow they would be rescued.

  Jamie peered through the open door that led from the sleeping quarters into the kitchen. Brendan was sitting at the table, a mug of coffee beside his open laptop, his fingers moving steadily over the keys.

  Tuck looked up from his novel at Jamie's question. “Brendan Aaronson could concentrate in an avalanche. It's one of the reason's he's so productive. He can analyze a hundred pages of data in the time it would take most people to sift through twenty. He focuses like a laser beam. He won't even hear you talking directly to him when he's concentrating like that."

  Jamie nodded, thinking of his own work—the pages and pages of notes and raw data heaped in his laptop like a pile of straw he hoped eventually to weave into gold. Maybe he would work on the outline—distract himself as Brendan seemed to be doing so successfully. He could put on headphones and blast his music, drowning out that menacing, howling wind.

  Jamie looked at Tuck, stretched out on his cot, the very pose of relaxed ease. Tuck was tall, taller than Jamie's six feet, his legs long and muscular, his shoulders broad. Not for the first time, Jamie imagined what it would be like to slide his own bare body against Tuck's, to feel the rise of Tuck's cock against him as their lips parted for a kiss.

  He'd been honored when Tuck had suggested him to fill the assistant research spot, but had to force himself not to assign more meaning to it than there was. The pace was so intense and involved during the course of their research, he hadn't had a chance to explore any possible interest on Tuck's side. Maybe once they were rescued he'd consider breaking his own rule about no involvement with colleagues and test the waters.

  If they got rescued.

  Stop it. Jamie shut his eyes and rolled his head in an effort to relax the knotted tendons in his neck.

  Tuck closed his book, stood and walked to the couch. Sitting, he patted the spot beside him. “Hey, why don't you sit down, Jamie? You're pacing the room like a caged lion. It's going to be okay. Really. We just need to be patient. This structure was designed to withstand these kinds of storms and there are more than enough provisions. We're warm and safe."

  Jamie sat, facing Tuck. “You're right, I know.” He shook his head. “I keep thinking about the weather back home. About my little cottage by the sea. I can't wait to get back."

  "Yeah. But think of the great story we'll have to tell, right? It'll be headline news.” Tuck waved his hand in the air, as if reading a huge banner hanging there. “Three Scientists Rescued From the Edge of the World.” He turned a devilish smile on Jamie. “And think of the fun we can have while we're waiting. Why, there's no end of mischief we could get up to."

  Jamie's gut flip-flopped, his cock perking to attention. Was it his imagination, or was Tuck making an offer? What about the women he'd seen Tuck with back in California? But then, he'd seen him with guys too. Maybe he went both ways.

  He recalled the way Tuck had looked at Brendan the night before, the longing palpable in his face. Yeah, there was a pretty good chance Tuck was at least curious, but how far did it go? Did he know Jamie was gay?

  It was tempting to find out, but did he dare? They still had to work together back in the States. What if Jamie's hunch was wrong? Maybe he could work it so any overture on his part could be couched in other terms. Like the old aching-muscles gambit. Which in his case wouldn't even be a lie. He was so tense from the storm, his neck felt like twisted iron. Deciding to go for it, he gripped the back of his neck and winced for Tuck's benefit.

  "You okay?” Tuck asked.

  "Me? Yeah. Tense, I guess. Or maybe I slept funny. My neck's killing me."

  Tuck smiled, white teeth against olive skin. “You're in luck. I'm known for my killer massage technique."

  Jamie suppressed a smile. So far so good. He crossed his legs to hide the instant erection the offer of a massage had produced. He made sure his voice remained casual. “Okay. I mean, if you don't mind."

  "Not at all. Take off the flannel shirt, why don't you. It's plenty warm in here. Then I can get at you better.” Tuck arched an eyebrow and offered a cocky grin. If there was such a thing as gaydar, it was whirling and flashing like a siren by now. Jamie wou
ld have bet money Tuck was gay, or at least bi.

  Jamie stripped off his outer shirt, thought about but rejected the idea of taking off his thermal undershirt and turned his back to Tuck. In a moment, powerful warm fingers made contact with his shoulders, pressing gently at first, kneading the twisted, aching muscles.

  "Man, you're hard as a rock,” Tuck observed.

  You referring to my neck or my cock? Jamie came that close to saying it out loud, but opted instead for, “That feels great. Don't stop.” The strong, deep massage almost hurt, though at the same time it felt wonderful. Tuck moved in closer as he worked. He smelled good, like soap and pine needles. His touch was firm, but also sensual, the pads of his thick fingers gliding over Jamie's flesh, sending shivers of desire tingling down his spine.

  How easy it would be to twist his head just a little and say, “Kiss me.” Would Tuck respond? Something whispered inside Jamie that he would. He dared to lean lightly into the other man's touch.

  "This isn't going to work.” Tuck abruptly withdrew his hands. Jamie nearly cried out with dismay. Had he been completely off base about Tuck? Was he in fact as straight as an arrow? He bit his tongue and waited for Tuck to announce he couldn't massage a gay man.

  He turned to face Tuck's decree. Tuck threw him off guard again with an enigmatic smile. “You're so tense, your muscles are tied in knots from your neck down. The minute I move from your shoulders to your neck, the muscles bunch up again. The only way this will work is if you lie down. We'll start at the base of your spine and work our way up. That's the best way to trick the muscles into relaxing fully."

  Jamie stretched out eagerly, weak with relief to have his sudden hypothesis that Tuck was straight refuted, or at least not definitively proven. Tuck shifted beside him, his strong fingers gliding confidently over Jamie's back, easing the skittishness he felt both in body and mind. After a while Jamie felt himself drifting, sliding into a light doze, the blizzard just white noise in the background.

  He came wide awake when Tuck's fingers moved beneath his T-shirt, sending electric sparks over Jamie's bare skin. Tuck pressed his palms flat against Jamie's back, stroking the flesh with a light, sensual touch. Jamie permitted himself a languorous sigh, imagining Tuck was his lover.

  "That's better.” Tuck's hands continued to roam over Jamie's back. “You were wound up tighter than a spring. You should be careful about holding that kind of tension in your body. It's not good for you."

  "Mmph,” Jamie managed, sinking blissfully into the cushions as Tuck worked his magic. His erection throbbed. Maybe he'd just roll over, unzip his jeans and complain of the tension building up in his cock. Would the altruistic Dr. Tucker take pity?

  Tuck shifted and Jamie felt Tuck's weight settling on the backs of his thighs. “I can get at your neck better this way,” Tuck offered. “Now that we've got your back muscles cooperating.” He leaned forward, draping his hard body over Jamie's back.

  That's when he felt it. The hard, unmistakable press of an erect cock against his lower back. Jesus H. Christ. Tuck was hot for him. His own cock responded, hardening to a painful degree. With the last six weeks of enforced celibacy, it seemed like forever since another man had touched him.

  No straight guy would ever lean over like this for a massage. No way, absolutely no way. For a moment Tuck didn't even pretend to massage him, his hands resting lightly on Jamie's shoulders, his cock still hard as ever against Jamie's lower back. Tuck's scent was in his nostrils, his warm, sweet breath at his neck. He could feel Tuck's heart tapping against him.

  Jamie was afraid to move, afraid he might actually come in his pants if he did. Until this point, he'd held himself under tight rein, not permitting himself to feel the attraction that now rushed over him with the force of an Arctic gale.

  He would just twist over beneath Tuck, let his shirt ride up as he shifted position and pulled Tuck down for the kiss he simply had to have...

  "There's still no Internet ... oh..."

  Jamie startled at the sound of Brendan's voice. Tuck's hands jerked from beneath Jamie's shirt, the weight of his warm, heavy body suddenly withdrawn.

  Jamie could hear the defensive fluster in Tuck's tone. “I—I was just giving Jamie a massage. He's really tense with this blizzard situation.” Was he embarrassed at having been caught lying over another man, his hands beneath his shirt? Afraid Brendan might think he was, heaven forbid, gay? Or maybe the two were lovers, but so discreet even Jamie hadn't guessed.

  Tuck's laugh sounded forced. “He was wound so tight I was afraid he was going to crack in half. Feeling better now, Jamie?"

  Jamie rolled over, arranging his face into a neutral, bland smile. “Much, thanks. You have magic fingers.” He watched as Tuck looked nervously toward Brendan, his face flushing. Jealousy poked Jamie like a poison dart. Bastard. You were into me. I know you were.

  Ah well, if nothing else, Tuck had given him an excellent massage. He couldn't remember feeling so physically relaxed in months. Whatever there was or wasn't between Tuck and Brendan, he would probably never know. After all, this blizzard would blow over in a day or so, and they'd all head their separate ways.

  Brendan knew his face was burning and cursed himself for it. Why was he reacting like this? What was it his business what Tuck and Jamie did? Because it's Tuck, damn it, his heart answered.

  Brendan didn't consider himself gay. He'd had girlfriends, one of whom he'd nearly married. He'd thought he was in love with her but had finally come to the realization it would never work. He wanted more than she, or really any woman he'd ever been with, had been able to give him. He wanted passion. He wanted the kind of fierce, aching longing that probably only existed in love poems and corny movies.

  He'd thought often over the past year about David Tucker and the intense connection he'd felt for him when they'd worked together the first time. In fact, he'd scared himself to death over his feelings, sensing the possibility of the passion and yearning he longed for, and then realizing it was for a guy.

  He'd managed to put Tuck out of his mind for long stretches of time as the months passed, convincing himself it had been the combination of alcohol, close quarters and loneliness that had drawn him to another man.

  But late at night, alone in his bed with only his hand and his fantasies for company, Tuck would slip into his mind, unbidden, even unwelcome, peering into Brendan's soul with those dark, serious eyes and whispering his deepest secrets.

  The last six weeks had been a sweet kind of torture, or a tortured kind of sweetness, depending how one looked at it. Still unsure of his feelings or their implications for the way he defined himself as a man, he'd done nothing to let Tuck know he might be interested. Interested in what? He could barely allow himself to imagine, much less articulate, what.

  How ironic to be stranded now with him, all but Jamie out of the picture, only to find those two in some kind of embrace, Jamie's shirt bunched up, Tuck clearly embarrassed at whatever had been going on.

  Brendan banished his unanswered questions and confusion to a dark corner of his brain. He decided to act as if he hadn't stumbled on anything untoward. The wind rattling the building recalled him to the seriousness of their situation.

  "I was saying we still don't have Internet or cell phone service. It's possible the dish was knocked over or even blown away or something. With these shifting winds, we might be able to get a window or door open eventually. Then we can clear some of that snow away and assess the damage."

  Tuck, who had walked over to one of the windows, lifted the insulated flap and stared into the gray, whipping wilderness beyond. “These Antarctic blizzards can last up to a week or longer. We might as well relax until it passes. Once the winds die down, we should be able to get a better handle on the situation."

  "So you think it could be as long as a week?” Jamie had risen from the sofa and was tucking his shirt back into his pants. He was a good-looking guy, tall and strong like Tuck. He had light brown hair, a little shaggy around the ears at the m
oment, with bangs that fell into his very blue eyes on a regular basis. Brendan had wondered sometimes how Jamie could work, bent over his bench in the lab, his hair falling into his face, but he got results. He was bright, a good worker and had a wry, quick sense of humor.

  He looked young—he was young—and clearly anxious over the situation in which they found themselves. Brendan could hear the forced calm in his tone and his heart went out to Jamie. Maybe Tuck really had just been giving him a friendly massage.

  Not wanting to go there again in his head, Brendan moved toward his own bed. “I know it's kind of early in the day, but anyone want some scotch? George Lawrence left me this bottle. I don't know about you two, but I could use a drink."

  "Hey.” Tuck laughed. “It's five o'clock somewhere."

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  Chapter Three

  Tuck opened his eyes and closed his mouth. He lifted his head, which had been lolling uncomfortably against his neck. Disoriented, he looked down to see Jamie asleep, his head resting on Tuck's outstretched legs. Brendan was nowhere to be seen.

  They'd made themselves some lunch—several cans of beef vegetable soup and some crackers, plus the remains of the spaghetti from the night before. Along with the meal, they'd all had quite a bit to drink, especially Jamie, who was still out like a light.

  Tuck didn't remember falling asleep. He did remember their conversation, which started out soberly discussing what they would need to do in order to ride out the storm. They agreed to shut down the labs and storage rooms completely to conserve fuel. Limited washing up, so as not to tax the hot water heater, and limited cooking to conserve the propane. Luckily they had several boxes of hot and cold cereal, energy bars, peanut butter, crackers and canned soups and vegetables, as well as about thirty gallons of purified water in the pantry. Once the storm abated, they would try to get outside, clear away some of the snow and check out the satellite dish.