Elements of Chemistry: Attraction

by Penny Reid

  “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, I don’t know what half of them are called.”

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

  I paused a beat to make sure his 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.”

  His eyes moved between mine. “You’re trying to punish me for winning our bet, for bringing you here.”

  I shook my head, hoped he would see the honesty in my denial. “I’m not. I promise. I like to read.”

  “Who comes to a party, an entire mansion at your disposal, and reads Dumas in a laundry room? I’ve been looking for you for over two hours. You’re avoiding me.”

  “Honestly, Martin…” I shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

  “You didn’t think I’d notice?” He roared, apparently no longer trying to control his temper.

  I winced, “That’s right.”

  He blinked at me once, then held perfectly still. His features completely motionless as though his face were stuck in angry suspension. I could see something building behind his eyes, like how you can see a storm from far-off gathering in the distance. Therefore, I decided it would be best to explain before he lost control of his temper.

  “Earlier, after I changed,” I motioned quickly to the string bikini I was wearing, “I went back to the deck and saw you had your hands full—and at one point, your mouth full of a tongue that wasn’t yours—so I figured you were good. You know, entertained, taken care of, no need of my escort services.”

  He flinched, blinked rapidly during my explanation like I’d splashed water in his face, and his back straightened.

  “You saw that?”

  I nodded and continued, lifting my hands up between us like I surrendered, “But, no worries. I understand that kissing random girls is in your wheelhouse. Which, like I’ve been saying all along, is another reason why we’re not compatible. Because, as I’ve said—and no judgment—but I’m not really into kissing guys who kiss other girls. That’s not in my wheelhouse. So you should go return to your women folk. I’ll be down here reading, no rush. But if you plan on spending the night let me know so I can hitch a ride with Eric and Sam, or Ray. For your own safety though, please make sure the sheets are clean. I overheard one of the guys in the library say that he thinks he has ringworm. I didn’t ask which bedroom he used.”

  Martin’s eyes narrowed on me as I spoke and his mouth curved into an unhappy line. When I was finished he lifted his gaze to the ceiling, subtly shaking his head; he paired an eye roll with a whispered, “Fuck.”

  Again, I flinched at the profanity and scrunched my nose, my gaze moving back to the discarded book. I wondered how much longer this conversation was going to take, because Porthos’ shenanigans were seriously cracking me up.

  “Parker…”

  My eyes jumped back to his, which were now once again on me. He didn’t look as angry, but he did look frustrated.

  “Yes?”

  Martin lifted his hand like he was going to put it on my leg, but stopped when I stiffened. He cursed again. Shook his head, again. Gritted his teeth, again.

  “Look,” he said, “If you’d stayed, then you would have seen me push her away. I’m not interested in her.” His expression relaxed, and I saw the flash of hopeful vulnerability. My heart leapt in response.

  Stupid heart.

  He cupped my cheek, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, and added, “I’m not interested in any girl here other than you.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from frowning, though I knew my eyes betrayed my disbelief because Martin’s frustration visibly spiked.

  Before he could continue, I interjected, “Martin, even if I believed you—which I don’t—it doesn’t really matter. You pawned me off on Ray for the drive over. When we walked in here, in to this house, you left me. You walked away from me, you didn’t introduce me to anyone, you went off as though I wasn’t there. I don’t know any of these people and I’m terrible at parties.”

  His gaze turned thunderous. “Is that what this is about? Are you down here because you’re pissed that I left? I thought I was doing what you wanted. You said that you didn’t want me to be possessive and hover. Is this some kind of punishment? Because I don’t respond well to that kind of mind-fuckery or passive-aggressive bullshit.”

  Despite my desire to stay calm, his words felt like gasoline on a fire I’d been carrying around in my chest, but had thus far managed to keep under control. My temper rose and with it the volume of my voice.

  “No, Martin. I don’t do passive aggressive and I don’t punish people, that is one of my life rules. I’m honest. If something upsets me, I’ll let you know. But in order for me to be upset, I’d have to be surprised by your terrible behavior. What you did, leaving me in a room full of strangers and giving CPR to female partygoers didn’t upset me, because I don’t really expect more from you.”

  It was his turn to flinch. He sucked in a sudden breath and straightened away from me, his eyes cooling to frigid icicles. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re used to getting what you want or who you want when you want it. And I could care less if you were upstairs, right now, having a ginormous orgy with the ring-worm gang. Because I’ve known all along that you are a jerk face and you don’t know how to treat people with decency.”

  His mouth fell open, presumably at my words and my hostile tone, and he stared at me. His expression was that of someone who’d been stunned speechless.

  I didn’t like losing my temper. In fact, I prided myself on how laid back I was, how I was in control of my reactions, how I never lost my temper. Therefore, this loss of control was another irritating new development since spending time with jerky Martin Sandeke.

  At length, he found his voice. Though, surprisingly, he didn’t sound quite as angry. “If you don’t like how I treat you, then why do you keep letting me kiss you?”

  “Opportunity and lust.”

  Gah… that was spiteful.

  He flinched like I’d kicked him and he glanced away. His reaction made my heart hurt and, therefore, I heaved a gigantic regretful sigh.

  My words came out in a rush, “That’s not true. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. The truth is…”

  He lifted his eyes to mine and the raw e
motion there made me forget myself. It made me forget to be cautious. Without really thinking about it or planning to do so, I gave him the whole embarrassing truth.

  “You’re smart—in fact, you have flashes of brilliance which is a huge turn on for me—and you’re funny and charming when you want to be. And sometimes you treat me with kindness and respect. Also, you’re a good kisser. I thought at first it was my lack of experience, but now I think you’re just an exceptionally good kisser. I like kissing you. I like the way it feels. I love how you make me feel when you touch me. But what feels good isn’t always what’s good for me, and I’m not willing to settle for being with someone who sometimes treats me well. I’d rather be alone.”

  With the end of my unplanned speech the numbness returned. I peered at him in a way that I hoped demonstrated my acceptance of the situation and the impossibility of us, and I reached for my book. I did all this while I tried to suppress my blush of mortification. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Porthos is rather charming and I’d like to finish this chapter before leaving.”

  Martin’s glare moved from me to the book. Before I understood his intention, he’d reached for the book, pulled it from me, and tossed it over his shoulder. I yelped my surprised unhappiness, but couldn’t retrieve the novel because he’d stepped forward again, crowding my space. His hands gripped my waist and he yanked me forward so that he was between my legs and my chest was against his.

  My mind might have been numbed to him, but my pants weren’t. I sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, everything tightening and twisting and bracing for his touch.

  He stared at me for a long moment, during which—I’m ashamed to admit—my heart rate quadrupled and my body responded by pressing more fully against him. When he did speak, his voice was a growly and hostile whisper. “Listen to me for one fucking second, ok?”

  I also whispered, but only because he was whispering, “Only if you stop using the f-word like you get paid royalties every time you say it.”

  “I’ll fucking use whatever fucking word I want to fucking use whenever I fucking want to.” He whispered back.

  I shook my head and spoke mostly to the two washing machines and two dryers lining the walls. “Again, proving my point, jerkface.”

  “Kaitlyn, you are irritating.”

  “Feeling is mutual, jerkface.”

  “Especially when you’re right.”

  “Well, you can…” I paused, blinked at him and his shocking words, “Wait, what?”

  His eyes moved over my face as he spoke and the tension in his body eased. Peripherally, I noted that he was wrapping his arms around me, one hand sliding under the string of my bikini and against my bare back.

  “I’m sorry.” He was still using his growly whisper.

  I narrowed my eyes, attempting to peer into and through his words, looking for trickery. As well, I was trying to ignore the wave of goosbumps that had spread outward from where his hot palm pressed against my back and the fluttering butterflies in my stomach.

  A beautiful man is the devil’s most potent weapon.

  A few seconds ticked by while we stared at each other. I wondered if I looked as hostile as he did.

  At length, I responded, “Do you even know why you’re apologizing?”

  “Yes.” Another growl.

  “Why? Why are you apologizing?”

  “Because I shouldn’t have left you when we got here. I should have kept you close me, and I shouldn’t have let Danielle close enough to touch me, not when I’m here with you.”

  I frowned my confusion at his accurate listing of offenses. “This seems like a miraculously sudden apology.”

  His jaw flexed. “Are you seriously going to give me shit about apologizing?”

  I shook my head. “No. No I am not. I accept your apology. Thank you for apologizing.”

  His eyes flickered between mine, then lowered to my mouth. “Now it’s your turn.”

  “My turn?”

  “Your turn to apologize.”

  My eyebrows bounced an inch upward. “What am I apologizing for?”

  “For always assuming I’m an asshole.”

  It was my turn to stare at him while he filled the silence, his chin dipping toward mine, our mouths scant inches apart.

  “I didn’t leave you because I was trying to be a jerk. I wanted to give you your space. I thought I’d circle back around and find you, prove that I trusted you. I don’t know how to be near you without being possessive because every time a guy looks at you I want to rip his head off. I’ve never come to a party with someone before, I don’t know girl-rules. This is new for me. And I wasn’t kissing Danielle. She kissed me and I pushed her away, you obviously didn’t stick around for the half second it took me to tell her I wasn’t interested.”

  My mouth opened and closed. I was shocked. His words shocked me.

  He wasn’t finished. “You promised me you would give this a try. But you’ve already made up your mind about me. Sitting down here, avoiding me isn’t trying. Seeing another girl kiss me and then walking away isn’t trying. Assuming the worst of me isn’t trying. Either you do this for real, or you break your promise. But don’t put this all on me. I’m not a fucking mind reader.”

  I sputtered, perplexed, “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I assumed the worst. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Apology accepted. Now kiss me.”

  ~END SNEAK PEEK~

  HEAT: Elements of Chemistry Part 2 releases April 30

  Pre-order on Amazon: http://www.Microsoft Word/Penny-Reid/e/B00BI7A7SY/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

  Sneak Peek: Truth or Beard (Winston Brothers Series #1) by Penny Reid

  (Release date July 23, 2015)

  CHAPTER 1

  ~Jessica~

  I pulled into the Green Valley Community Center parking lot and scared the crap out of five senior citizens.

  Though it was Halloween, frightening senior citizens was not on my agenda.

  I’d dutifully stopped as they crossed in front of my vehicle. Unfortunately for everyone within earshot, the truck made a ghastly, high-pitched whining sound whenever it idled.

  All five of them jumped, obviously startled, and glared at me as though I’d commanded the truck to make the screech on purpose. Soon their glares morphed into wrinkled squints of plain befuddlement as their eyes moved over my appearance from my perch. It took them a few minutes, but they recognized me.

  Everyone knew me.

  Nevertheless, I imagined they were not expecting to see Jessica James, the twenty-one year old daughter of Jeffrey James and sister of Jackson James, dressed in a long white beard sitting behind the wheel of an ancient Ford Super Duty F-350 XL.

  In my defense, it wasn’t my monster truck. It was my mother’s. I was currently between automobiles, and she’d just upgraded to a newer, bigger, more intimidating model. Something she could plaster with bumper stickers that said, Have You Kissed Your Sheriff Today? and Don’t Drink and DERIVE, Alcohol and Calculus Don’t Mix, and Eat Steak!! The West Wasn’t Won With Salad.

  As the local chief of police’s wife, mother to a police officer (my brother) and a math teacher (me), and the daughter of a cattle rancher, I think she felt it was her duty to use the wide canvas of her truck as a mobile pro-police, mathematics, and beef billboard.

  After a few more moments of confused stares, the gang of seniors shuffled off toward the entrance to the community center, casting cautiously confused glances over their shoulders. As quickly as I could, I maneuvered the beast into a space at the edge of the lot. Since inheriting the truck I usually parked on the edge of parking lots so as not to be that jerk who drives an oversized vehicle and takes up two spaces.

  I adjusted my beard, tossing the three-foot, white length over my shoulder, and grabbed my gray cape and wizard hat. Then I tried not to fall out of the truck or flash anyone on my hike down from the driver’s seat. Luckily, my costume also called for a long staff, and I leveraged the polished wood to aid my descent; the re
st of my costume was negligible—a one-piece mini-skirt sheath with a low cut front—and made stretching and moving simple.

  I was halfway across the lot, lost in delighted mental preparation for my father and brother’s scowls of disapproval, when I heard my name.

  “Jessica, wait up.” I turned, found my coworker Claire jogging toward me. I set my wizard hat—which had a built-in wig—on my head and waved.

  “I thought that was you. I saw the beard and the staff.” She slowed as she neared, her eyes moving over the rest of my costume. “You’ve made some… modifications.”

  “Yes.” I nodded proudly, grinning at her warily amused expression. I noted that Claire hadn’t changed since work; she was still wearing an adorable Raggedy Ann costume. Lucky for her, she already had bright red hair and freckles. All she had to do was put her long locks in pig tails, add the overalls and white cap.

  “Do you like what I’ve done?” I twisted to one side then the other to show off my new garment and the high-heeled strappy sandals.

  “Are you still Gandalf? Or what are you supposed to be?”

  “Yeah, I’m still Gandalf. But now I’m sexy Gandalf.” I wagged my eyebrows.

  Claire covered her mouth with a white-gloved hand then snorted. “Oh my God! You are a nut!”

  A sinister giggle escaped my lips. I’m not much of a giggler unless I’ve done something sinister. “Well, I couldn’t wear it to work. But I love the irony of it, you know? All those stupid Halloween costumes that women are expected to wear, like sexy nurse and sexy witch and sexy bee. I’ve actually seen a ‘sexy bee’ costume. Am I missing something? Is there a subset of men who get off thinking about pollinators?”

  “I agree. You can’t wear the sexy Gandalf costume to work. In addition to being against the dress code, you’re already starring in the sex fantasies of all your male students as their hot calculus teacher. If you’d worn sexy Gandalf at school instead of regular Gandalf, I think they’d go home feeling confused about their sexuality.”

  I laughed and shook my head, thinking how odd the last three months had been.