“Plans? What plans?”

“I know a place where we can be alone.”

“Other than the fifty spare rooms back at the house?” I said, then immediately felt myself burn scarlet at the unintended insinuation. “Ah…I mean…that is…what I mean is…oh blast it.”

He watched me struggle under his suspended eyebrows, a whisper of a smile on his face, then cut in when I tried to hide my face in my arm. “No, the place I have in mind is better. Lunch is packed. Come on.” He squeezed my arm then pulled my hand as he stood, tugging me with him. “We need to get going.”

I snatched my hand back and quickly covered myself with a towel.

I tried not to look at him, mostly because he was magnificent. Unlike the others, he was clothed in board shorts that ended at his knee. His shirtless torso was flawless and completely smooth. He looked like a golden statue, cast in hard relief by the sun, but warm to the touch. And that was just his torso! I didn’t trust my gaze to venture downward to assess the flawlessness of his legs…or elsewhere.

My heart and the area previously defined as “my pants” both twisted and tightened at the sight of his perfect body. I felt pinpricks and tingles all over and a little lightheaded as I turned away from him.

“Let me get changed first,” I mumbled without thinking. “I wish I’d invested in a burqa or a moomoo…”

Martin gripped the towel as I tried to wrap it under my arms, bringing my attention back to him.

His expression was again fierce, his eyebrows lowered in a frowny scowl. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“What are you doing?” His gaze flickered to the towel then back to mine.

“Getting my things.”

He yanked on the towel and I held it tighter. His frown intensified. As he surveyed my face, I felt very much like I was being examined under a microscope.

Martin took three full, measured breaths, his hand now stubbornly fisted in the terrycloth, before he asked again through clenched teeth, “What did Ben say to you, Parker?”

“Nothing important.” I tilted my chin upward and shrugged. When he looked like he was going to press the issue further, I let go of the towel, letting the weight of it drop in his grip.

Martin looked troubled, but his attention strayed as though he were compelled, as though he had no choice but to look at my body. I tensed, fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest, and glanced at the sky, letting him look.

It didn’t really matter. We were at the beach for Bunsen’s sake! Sooner or later he was going to see me in a bathing suit. I repeated my mother’s sage advice, If I let another person’s opinion matter then I was giving him control over me; I alone had complete control over my self-image. I held still for as long as I could.

Then I heard him sigh. “Fuck me…”

My eyes darted back to Martin and I found him looking at my body with a mixture of pained hunger and appreciation. The profanity had slipped from his tongue like an odd caress.

“Excuse me?” I questioned, though I almost asked, Was that a request?

His gaze jumped to my face and he stepped forward, tossing the towel to the sand. He didn’t touch me except to fit the fingers of my left hand in the palm of his right. “It’s an expression, Parker. It usually means a person is surprised.”

I squinted at him. “What’s surprising? Is it my ghost-like skin? Does it scare you?”

I saw his mouth tugged to the side just before he turned from me and pulled me toward the house path. “No. Your ghost skin doesn’t scare me.”

“Is it—”

“You’re fucking, goddamn gorgeous, Parker,” he said roughly, a half growl, and without looking back at me.

Startled, I snapped my mouth shut, as a pleased and pleasant warmth suffused my cheeks, chest, and stomach. For the first time in my life I found I didn’t mind the use of curse words.

CHAPTER 9

Reactions in Aqueous Solution

I didn’t change clothes as I completely forgot that I wanted to change clothes. Therefore I continued to wear my relatively modest, halter-top, two-piece bathing suit on the ride from the house to this new and better place where Martin insisted we go…to be alone…

Being alone with Martin didn’t freak me out at first. It felt like a very theoretical state of being; like being informed I was going to go become quark–gluon plasma (i.e. one of the theoretical phases of matter) or the winning contestant on American Idol. So, equally likely.

The truth was that my mind was slow on the uptake because everything was happening too fast. On Friday afternoon I was hiding in a science cabinet on campus. It was now Sunday afternoon and Martin was practically wooing me—insomuch as crazy handsome, billionaire, geniuses woo a girl—on a small island in the Caribbean.

I was not used to change and I was not good with surprises. The entirety of my past and all changes therein were well documented via the agendas prepared by George. I’d always had time to prepare.

But not this time.

Thus, I forgot to freak out until he was leading me by the hand down a sandy path and through a healthy amount of tropical underbrush. In his other hand he held a picnic basket. I glanced up and blinked at the broad muscles of his back and it abruptly hit me where I was and who I was with and what we’d done so far.

The kissing, the touching, the whispering, the shared moments and the heated stares. I’d made eye contact with him more in the last thirty-six hours than I had in the last six months as his lab partner. A shiver passed through me. Life was happening too fast.

I mumbled, “Fast, quick, rapid, supersonic, hurried…”

Martin glanced over his shoulder, his oceanic eyes sweeping me up and down. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “Are you okay?”

I lied, “Yes. Good.” Then deflected, “Where are we going?”

A glint of some devilry flashed in his gaze, curving his mouth to one side—devilry looked really good on Martin Sandeke—and he returned his attention to the path. “Just this place I know with a waterfall and cave. It’s part of the estate, so no one else uses it.”

“How nice,” I said, bending as he held a palm frond out of my way, and added conversationally, “we have a garage at my house. It holds a car and some of my dad’s tools.”

Martin glanced at me, equal parts amused and confused. “Oh?”

“Yes. And a hammock in the back yard.”

“Is that so…”

“Yeah.”

“So, no waterfalls?”

“No. But this one time, when it rained a lot, the gutter broke. That was similar to a waterfall.”

Martin laughed. I knew he was laughing because, though he was quiet, I saw his shoulders shake; and when he turned to look at me, his eyes were bright with humor and he was flashing a lethally bright smile.

“You’re funny, Parker.”

“Thank you.” I looked away from the beacon of his smile. It was blinding. “You’re also…humorous at times.”

We walked another hundred yards or so in silence and I forced myself to study the surrounding landscape. The ground was sandy—light grey and white—and heavily littered with bleached shells. Tall palm trees provided the ceiling of the canopy. The path was littered with thick palm bushes and underbrush. All around us insects buzzed and hummed a constant symphony, and I could make out the faint sounds of rushing water. It grew louder the farther we walked but not overwhelming. The weather was warm, and would have been hot if we were in the sun and farther inland. But in the shade and so near the ocean, a cool breeze whispered over and cooled my bare skin.

Martin turned slightly, still holding my hand, though his attention was on a series of rocks before us that descended a stairway of sorts.

“Be careful here, just watch your step. It might be better if you do this barefoot. You’re not going to need shoes anyway.”

He released my hand, kicked off his shoes, and preceded me down the path made by the sandy boulders.

I, likewise, kicked off my flip flops and followed, keeping my attention on the trail. The sound of the rushing water increased exponentially as we descended. Then I stopped because Martin stopped, and I looked up and saw this place where he’d brought us.

And my mouth fell open.

He’d brought us to a very small cove, mostly shaded by palms and the surrounding rock face. It was about twenty feet in diameter. The crystal clear, turquoise water was mostly still, but rippled near the far end. Upon closer inspection, the cove appeared to be adjacent to a cave. The waterfall was unseen, but I heard it; I guess it must be behind the rock face.

It was like a little room, private, intimate, breathtaking.

I don’t know exactly how long I stood there gaping at the small natural loveliness of our surroundings. But I became aware of Martin’s gaze all at once, watching me; I darted a look at him, snapping my mouth shut.

“Do you like it?”

I nodded. “It’s…it’s stunning.”

He grinned, obviously pleased. He’d set the picnic basket down at some point on a shelf created by the curving rocks, leaving both of his hands free. Martin with two hands free felt a little dangerous. I glanced at his hands, my heart skipping.