Heat by Penny Reid Hypothesis #2 Publication Date: April 30, 2015 Genres: Contemporary, Humor, Romance

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Blurb

**Blurb contains spoilers if you haven’t read Elements of Chemistry: ATTRACTION**

Four days left. Private beach (…and boat). Not so invisible girl. And maybe less of a jerk-faced bully than originally thought. What’s the worst (or the best) that could happen? Kaitlyn is finding life outside of the science cabinet of obscurity to be quite illuminating …and so are her pants. When things heat up between Kaitlyn Parker and Martin—previously known as the jerk-faced bully—Sandeke, she places her trust in the one person she never thought capable of earning it, let alone keeping it safe. Fortunately or unfortunately for Kaitlyn, where she gives her trust she can’t help but also give her heart. But how will the world beyond the sanctuary of their newfound connection react to their relationship? Soon senators, chinless billionaires, and elements beyond Martin and Kaitlyn’s control want to weigh in on the young couple’s future. Navigating the chaotic inferno of new love might be more than Kaitlyn bargained for, and much, much more than her trust—or her heart—can handle.

“What are you doing?” 

I lifted my eyes at the sound of Martin’s voice, but not immediately. I finished the paragraph I was reading, then I looked up, holding my place in the book with my thumb. 

He was dressed in swim trunks and he was wet, with beads of water dripping down his chest. As such, he looked super hot. However, only the right side of his body was visible as the door blocked the other side. His hand was still on the doorknob and he leaned a tad to one side, into the room. 

My eyes wandered over his form and I allowed myself to appreciate the beauty of Martin Sandeke like I might admire the beauty of a cold, soulless statue. Physically, he was a magnificent male specimen: corded muscle, long limbs, and rigid angles. Even his temples were drool worthy, especially since I knew his head housed a giant—albeit mismanaged—brain. Truly, he was one of our finest. His ancestors should really give themselves a big pat on the back. 

A little pool of water had gathered at his feet, which made me wonder how long he’d been standing in the doorway. My eyes traveled upward again and I noticed he wore an angry expression. He looked livid. 

I started a little at the heated annoyance in his stare. Then I glanced around the laundry room, searching for the source of his anger. I found that I was still alone. Therefore, I surmised his fury must be directed at me. 

But, just to be sure, I said, “Who? Me?” 

“Yes. You,” he growled, then stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “What are you doing in here?” 

I raised the book and tipped my head toward it. “I’m reading.” 

Martin exhaled loudly, another growl. “I can see that, Parker. But why the fuck are you in here reading?” 

I frowned at his use of profanity, my shoulders bunching with tension. I realized I’d gotten used to it, how often he cussed; I’d accepted it as part of him. But that was before he’d left me standing at the entrance to a party I didn’t want to attend, and that was before I’d seen him kissing a random girl. 

“It’s the first sequel to The Three Musketeers. I’ve been meaning to read it. I found it on the shelf in the library—or living room, or whatever room. There are too many rooms in this house, so I don’t know what half of them are called.” 

Martin gritted his teeth, and I got the distinct impression he wanted to strangle me. “Parker. This is a party. And you’re in the laundry room? Reading?” 

I paused a beat to make sure this wasn’t a trick question. When I could find nothing amiss with his interrogation, I nodded slowly. “Yes. This is a party. I am in the laundry room reading.” 

“Why? What is wrong with you?” 

My mouth opened and closed but no words arrived, because his questions continued to confuse me. Finally, I admitted, “Martin, I don’t know what you want me to say or why you appear to be upset. I found the book when I was in one of the several rooms with lots of books. I’ve been meaning to read it. So I picked it up and found a quiet place. Why are you so angry?” 

He charged at me and I ineffectually scrambled backward on the washing machine. In less than two seconds he’d pulled the book from my hands, slapped it on the counter at my left, and braced his arms on either side of my legs, leaning forward. 

I realized he’d made me lose my page in the book. I decided to ignore my urge to vocalize this complaint, because his eyes were beyond heated. 

They were incensed blue flames. I braced myself, my gaze wide and watchful, and flinched when he lifted a hand. I relaxed a smidge when he used it to push my hair off my shoulder. 

When he spoke, his voice was low, strained, like he was trying very hard to control his temper. “I brought you here as my date. That was our agreement.” 

I nodded once. “Yes. I know.” 

“And, instead of talking to people or having fun, you’re in here reading a book.” I kept my voice even and calm, tried to sound soothing. “I am having fun. I’m reading a book.”

“How long have you been up?” I scowled at him, willing my heart to calm and the brief spike of adrenaline to recede. 

“For about five minutes. I was up when you knocked and I heard the door open.” He grinned down at me. His voice was deliciously roughened by sleep. 

“Do you always grab girls and throw them on your bed when you wake up?” 

“Only if that girl is Kaitlyn Parker.” 

I appreciated that he’d just used my own line against me and I shook my head at his shenanigans. This seemed to make him happy because his eyes lit with menacing satisfaction. 

But then the longer we stared at each other the thicker the air grew between us, and the more difficult it became for me to breathe. His gaze also changed and lit with a new flame, both ominous and hungry. I momentarily forgot why I was there and what my super genius idea had been. All I knew was that his look held the promise of something that was going to feel fantastic. 

“I like you here,” he whispered, his eyes half lidded as they moved to my mouth, lingered there. 

“You like me where?” 

“In my bed. Being in my bed every morning should be one of your life rules.” 

“Oh…” Every inhale felt painful, tight. 

“All I can think about is touching you,” he said, lowering himself to kiss me. 

It was the key phrase and it sparked my memory. I remembered why I was there. I remembered my super genius idea. 

“Wait!” I said, turning my face to the side. 

“Wait?” 

“Yes, wait. I have an idea and it involves you not kissing me.” 

“That sounds like a terrible idea.” He nuzzled my neck, licking my throat, using his hot breath to make me squirm. 

“It also involves you letting me go.” 

“Another terrible idea.” 

“But it’s not. It’s really genius…oh!”

“We’re calling your pussy, ‘pants’? That’s what we’re calling it?” 

“No. I mean, we can…I guess. But ‘pants’ doesn’t necessarily conjure the most alluring images. I’m open to other names if we have to name it. Why do we have to name it?” 

His hand in my much-discussed pants slipped around to my bare bottom, caressing and squeezing. “We don’t have to name it. I just thought you were naming it.” 

“No. I’m not naming it.” I shook my head. “I was just saying, or trying to say, that the area in my pants that is required for sexual intercourse is—” 

“You mean your pussy.” 

“Yes.” 

“Then say it. Say, my pussy.” 

I scrunched my face at him even as his hands continued to glide over my body and his hips rocked into me, making me feel muddled all over again. 

“What? Why?” 

“I just want to hear you say the word.” Martin unclasped my bra. 

“Why can’t I say vagina?” 

“No.” 

“Vag?” I tried, half serious. 

He made a face then shook his head, pulling my shirt and bra from my body. 

“How about my nether region?” 

The side of his mouth quirked just before he took a step away to discard his own shirt, his fingers then moving to unbutton his jeans. “No.” 

“Dewy petals?” I batted my eyelashes at him. 

“Ugh, what the fuck does that even mean?” He stepped out of his jeans, leaving his long, lithe, fine form in nothing but black boxers. He reached for me, and I let him. 

“I have a ton of these.” I grinned at his reaction. “I play this game, really it’s a strange coping strategy, where I repeat synonyms for words—” 

“I know. I told you, I heard you do it all the time during lab.” 

“Oh, that’s right. Well, I know lots of euphemisms for the female anatomy.” 

“Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.” Martin turned us, marched me backward until my legs connected with the mattress, then eased us down using one arm wrapped around my middle and a single knee on the bed. 

It was an impressive display of upper body strength and core muscles. In other words, it was hot. 

“Just one more?” 

His hand slid from my collarbone, between my breasts, and down my abdomen; he hitched two fingers into my shorts at my hip and paused. 

“Okay, just one more.” 

“Meat curtains.”

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