His attention moved to where my hands were now fiddling with the edge of the dress, lingered there. Martin straightened from the pool table and crossed to where I stood—his steps unhurried, his gaze leisurely skating up my body. Again, I felt like a horse being perused for a ride.

“You could always take it off, the dress, if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”

A full-on, fire-alarm embarrassed flush rose to my cheeks. He stopped just in front of me. His eyes were shamelessly resting on the swell of my breasts with a suggestiveness that completely crossed the appropriate line.

It was so beyond appropriate it was…

It was…

It was inappropriate.

I gathered a slow breath, hoping to steady myself, and stomped down the rising wave of indescribable sensations plaguing my sensibilities—some pleasant, some not so pleasant.

“Listen,” I said through a jaw mostly clenched. “I overheard something when I was in the cabinet, before you arrived, and I thought you should know. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

His eyes flickered to mine, still hard, disbelieving. He was standing just a foot or so away and I’d tilted my chin upward to meet his glare.

After a pause, during which he studied my face, Martin said, “Go ahead, gorgeous. Enlighten me.”

“I heard two people walk into the room. So, I panicked and, yes, I hid in the cabinet. But, in my defense, I was already in there pulling out the reticulation equipment. Anyway, two voices—one female, one male—and they came into the lab together. Whoever the guy was when you walked into the lab, that was the same guy I overheard. The girl wanted the guy to drug you.”

Martin’s eyebrows bounced upward then pulled low when I said the word drug. I didn’t want him to interrupt me again so I spoke faster.

“She said she wanted him to drug you. They scheduled it for ten thirty tonight and he is supposed to make sure you stick around at the party. She said she would arrive at eleven then take you, drugged, up to your room and video tape the two of you. Then she said something truly disturbing—not that the rest of it isn’t already disturbing—but what she said next kind of blew me away because I didn’t know people could be that cold and calculating with no regard for basic decency.”

“What did she say?” he asked, his tone impatient. His eyes were still hard, angry, but the severity wasn’t focused on me. I didn’t appear to be the target—praise Bunsen and his burner!

“She said that if she got pregnant then it would be ‘a bonus.’”

Martin’s mouth opened then closed and his glare moved from me to the floor. He was visibly stunned. I watched his beautiful face as he processed the information, took the opportunity to examine him in a way I’d never allowed myself to do before.

He was painfully handsome. I kind of knew that before, but I really saw it now.

My chest hurt a little as I studied his features: square jaw, strong nose, perfect shape and size for his face, high cheekbones, like he had Cherokee or Navaho ancestry. Paired with his blue eyes, he was striking. I understood my previous reluctance to gaze at him directly. It was called self-preservation.

I tore my eyes from him and his exceptional form. I tried not to notice his decidedly swoony body—the way his jeans hung on his hips, the way his thighs filled out the jeans—and glanced over his shoulder.

“Well. That was what I needed to tell you so, I guess I’ll be—”

“Why should I trust you?”

My eyes moved back to his and I blinked at this question, because the answer was obvious. “Uh, what?”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

“Why would I lie?”

“What do you expect in exchange?”

“Exchange for what?”

He shifted on his feet just a fraction of an inch closer. However, that fraction brought with it a menacing cloud of suspicion and unpleasantness.

For someone so beautiful, his expression was surprisingly ugly.

“What is it that you want? What are you hoping to gain? Is it money?”

My mouth fell open and my nose wrinkled again, this time in outrage. I looked at him, really looked at him—and this time I wasn’t seeing the outer façade of blinding beauty. What I saw was a guy who was bitter, jaded, and maybe a little desperate—for what, I had no idea.

Finally I said, “What is wrong with you?”

His eyebrows shot up. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Yes,” I countered, my hands coming to my hips. “What is wrong with you? I came here to help you, the least you could do is not act like a jerk-face.”

“Jerk-face?” he shot back, his eyes growing both hot and cold. “You show up here, looking like that, and you expect me to believe you’re not after something?”

“I already told you, jerk-face, it’s a skirt party! I wouldn’t have made it through the door if I hadn’t been wearing this stupid dress, jerk-face. If you don’t like how I look, jerk-face, then you can go yell at your stupid sorority brothers.”

“You mean fraternity brothers.”

“Sorority, sorostitute, fraternity, fratigalo—whatever! It’s all the same to me.”

“So I’m supposed to believe that you have no ulterior motive? If this is true then why didn’t you tell me all of this at the lab?” He gained another half step forward and, since I refused to back down, only inches separated us.

“Because you scratched my itch and then you kissed me—both of which freaked me out because neither of which are in the course syllabus for laboratory experiments this semester. And, furthermore—”

I didn’t get to finish because the door opened behind me and a voice I recognized called into the room. “Hey Stroke—dude, why are you up here? I brought you a drink. Some of my special hunch punch.”

I’d turned toward the sound of the voice and stumbled a step backward. Martin’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, brought my shoulders to his chest as the owner of the voice leaned halfway in—two red solo cups extended.

The guy, about two inches taller than Martin—therefore, very tall—walked through the door after a short pause. Behind him I could see Eric standing with Sam. They both peered into the room and I noted Eric’s face was apologetic as he glanced at Martin.

I tried to step forward but Martin’s arm tightened, held me still.

The stranger’s clear blue eyes moved from me to Martin, then back again. “Hey—Eric said you had company so I brought one for both of you.”

I knew this voice because it was him. The cuss monster from the lab.

I felt Martin’s chest expand on a slow inhale, his fingers were digging into my arm; it wasn’t painful but it was pointed, firm, meant to communicate a message—don’t move.

“Thanks, Ben,” Martin drawled, but the edge in his voice was glacial and he made no move to accept the cups.

Ben gave me a stiff smile, his eyes lingering on where Martin’s arm was wrapped around me, then he raised both cups. “You two should have a toast. Come down to the party.”

“Leave the drinks and go,” Martin said.

Ben frowned, glanced at the two cups and cleared his throat. “You should come downstairs, this is epic—”

“Go,” Martin repeated.

This time Ben nodded once and set the cups on a table by the door. “Sure, sure. I’ll come back in a bit to see if you need any more.” He held his hands up and backed out of the room, his eyes completing another once over of my body before he closed the door.

I exhaled the breath I’d been holding and, just for a moment, allowed myself to lean against Martin.

“That was him. That was the guy—I recognize his voice.”

I felt Martin nod, his chin and cheek against the side of my hair. We stood—still, quiet—for a long moment, then he turned me to face him. Both of his hands moved to my waist and he backed me against the pool table.

His eyes, guarded, but also tempered with curiosity, searched mine. I still saw desperation in his features and it still perplexed me. I didn’t touch him. Instead I braced my hands on either side of my hips where my body met the pool table.

At length he asked, “What do you want?”

I swallowed then responded, “I’d like to leave.”

He shook his head slowly. “That’s not what I meant. What do you want from me?”

I shrugged. “It would be great if you could tabulate the findings from last week’s assignment, but I’m not going to hold my breath.” He never did the tabulations and analyses. It was annoying.

“Parker.”

“What?”

His eyes dipped to my mouth and his voice was the softest I’d ever heard it, almost coaxing. “Kaitlyn…”

I stiffened against the feelings associated with my name from his lips, spoken in gentle tones.

I averted my eyes and my voice was a little strained when I said, “Martin, I honestly don’t want anything from you. I’d like to leave so I can change into my normal clothes, drink tea, eat cookies, and read a good book in my dorm room.”

“Kaitlyn, look at me.”

Once again, my neck flushed and my arms broke out in goosebumps.

I tried to ignore both the blush and the goosebumps. “I also want for you to forget any of this happened so that we can go back to being lab partners.”