Page 13 of Reluctant Chemistry

Until she met Hot Chopper Guy.

A knot gripped her stomach as footsteps approached from inside. The door opened a fraction, then wider, and there he stood—shirtless, worn Levi’s sitting low on his hips, and that sexy smile welcoming her. The more CeCe tried to keep her eyes on his face, the more she failed. A smidgen of chest hair curled around each nipple in short tendrils, and the taut skin running from his navel into the waistband of his jeans was one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen. She wanted to touch it so badly.

Luka cleared his throat.

“Here I am again.”

His smile softened in amusement. “So I see.”

She glanced back at the Kombi: her quick getaway if things didn’t go to plan. “Again, I should have called first, but I don’t have your number. So…”

“It’s not a problem.” He stepped aside. “Come in.”

The small studio, decorated in various shades of depressing beige, reminded her of a three-star motel she’d stayed at with her parents when she was younger. He’d still not made his bed, but a different novel sat on the nightstand, and no clothes lay discarded on the floor. “Do you enjoy living here?”

“For now. The shower’s good, and so’s the hot tub. I don’t need much else at the moment. The owners are visiting relatives in the States, so I’m keeping an eye on the place until they get back in April.”

“So, you’re one of those ‘no possessions’ kind of guys?”

“Guess you could say that. Although I do like books and surfboards and mountain bikes. But those are details, yeah?”

She offered a smile. “Yes, but the odd detail is okay.”

Luka picked up the bottle of merlot she’d given him the other day. “Drink?”

CeCe nodded. “Thanks. Just a half glass though—I’m driving.” She placed a paper bag on the kitchenette counter. “This is for you. Apple cake.”

Luka opened the bag to peek inside, and as he did so, the aroma of fresh baking filled the air. “Thank you. Did you make it?”

“Yes. I enjoy baking. It’s so much more satisfying than buying a cake at the supermarket. But I do find it strange how all those ingredients can turn into a delicious cake just by mixing them together and adding heat. It’s weird, don’t you think?”

“It’s all about chemical reaction.” He opened a cabinet above the sink and grabbed a couple of wine glasses. “How’s your ankle?”

“Still a little weak but fine.”

CeCe wasn’t sure why she’d come. She’d never chased a guy and had no illusions of this being a long-term thing. Luka didn’t seem the type. However, the spark that had ignited at the library refused to be extinguished.

Miss Libby said he’d been asking after her on Thursday, but as she watched him pour the wine, he didn’t mention it.

Luka handed her a half-filled glass and raised his in a toast. “To rabbit holes.” She clinked. “Let’s go outside.” He opened the sliding door onto the side deck, where two Cape Cod chairs were draped with a wetsuit and beach towel.

“You’ve been surfing?”

He grabbed the wetsuit, threw it over the decking rail, and motioned for her to take a seat as he did the same. “Yeah, I went out first thing. The water was freezing after that rain last night.”

CeCe sat and sipped her wine, the alcohol’s warmth having an instant effect. “I hope you don’t mind me just popping in.” She looked away, then back. “Some nights, it hurts to be alone.”

There was an immediate shift in his expression. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured.

Breaking the unease caused by his intense scrutiny, CeCe placed her wine on the small table between them. “Can we use the tub?”

Luka regarded her with apparent hesitation then nodded slowly. “Sure. I’ll go grab you a towel.”

When he returned, CeCe averted her eyes as he dropped his jeans and slipped into the tub. He wasn’t naked, not completely, but his white boxers molded around his butt, so her imagination didn’t have to do any work. Apart from the undeniable appeal of a tight male behind, she’d always been a shoulder girl, and Luka’s shoulders didn’t disappoint. She’d worn a one-piece underneath her clothes, and as she unbuttoned her shirt and shimmied out of her jeans, his gaze lingered.

He floated backward and nestled into a seat, watching her. And as she slipped into the tub, he took her hand and twined his fingers gently through hers, offering no indication of his intention. Maybe that was the difference between men and teenage boys—no undue pressure or persuasion.

“Tell me…about your hurt.”

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