Page 24 of Body Shot

“That too,” he agrees. “So if you’re a bio . . . uh . . . are you a biologist?”

A smile tugs at my lips. “Actually, I’m a biochemist.”

“Jesus.” He blinks. “Okay, then, I guess you probably know something about chemistry.”

“A little.”

“Then you have to know that some kinds of chemistry can’t be explained.”

“Everything can be explained.” Our eyes meet and hold. The air pulses around us, burning when I pull it into my lungs.

“Seriously?” he says quietly. “Everything?”

“Okay, maybe not,” I cave. I can’t explain what happened between us last night, or what’s happening now. I understand hormones, but this is something inexplicable . . . a feeling like being high on a drug, like just the smell and taste of him is intoxicating. Addicting.

“Sometimes we can’t rationalize why our bodies feel a certain way,” Beck continues, almost as if he’s telling himself that too. He reaches out to stroke a hand through my hair. Tingles cascade from my scalp down my neck and down the backs of my arms. “Sometimes we feel something instinctually, right in the gut, right in the heart—you feel it in your body, not in your brain. You can’t create sexual chemistry when it’s not there. So don’t analyze. Just go with it. Enjoy it.”

“What are you saying?” I whisper, every nerve ending in my body on fire, my pussy squeezing. Does he want to have sex again?

“I know you’re trying to cure cancer.” His smile mesmerizes me. “But come out with me. Come to the beach. Just for an hour.”

“The beach?” I blink rapidly at him.

“Yeah.” His fingertips trail over my jaw and my lips part. “You know . . . there’s sand and water . . . um, H2O.”

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “Oh my God, Beck.”

He grins. “I thought maybe I should appeal to the scientist in you. I don’t know what to call sand, though.”

“There is no chemical formula for sand, because it’s a mix of different minerals and particles. But most sand consists mainly of silicon dioxide.”

Oh my God,whydo I keep spouting this crap? Standing here in front of a gorgeous, sexy man who appears to be attracted to me, it’s like I’mtryingto turn him off.

“I’m such a dork,” I moan.

He laughs. “Adorkable. Come on, let’s go analyze some sand.”

“I have so much work to do . . .”

“I’m sure it can wait an hour.”

Why am I even considering this? Responsibility is my middle name. Well, not literally. But . . . I’m so, so tempted. I huff out a breath, and against my better judgment say, “Okay.” I turn. “I need to save some work and shut down my laptop. Be right back.”

“You don’t want to change?”

I stop and my head whips around. “You think I need to change?”

“No!” He holds up his hands. “No, that’s not what I meant! You look great. But usually women . . . never mind. Fuck me.” He drops his head, shaking it.

“Oh yeah. Usually women want to dress up and do their hair and makeup when they go out. I forget about stuff like that sometimes. Especially when Carrie’s not around to remind me. You’re right, I should change.”

“No, seriously. Unless you actually want to go swimming, you’re dressed perfect for the beach.”

Perfectly fugly. Ah well. If I’m going to take an hour off, I’m not going to waste half of it putting on makeup.

Moments later we’re outside my condo, Beck leading the way to a black Jaguar convertible with the top down.

“Sweet Mary mother of God,” I breathe. “This car is gorgeous.”

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