Super Hot (a Superlovin' novella)

by Andrews, Vivi

  The younger guard’s eyes bugged out, his Adam’s apple bobbing wildly. “Nightwing? Like Nightwing Nightwing?”

  Tandy’s smile went from professional to distantly polite. He must be new; guards at Trident learned not to gawk at the supers in their first week. The older guard quickly stepped in, elbowing his young counterpart out of the way. “Apologies, Ms. Nightwing. You can go right down. Dr. Eisenmann is in the south bunker.”

  She arched a brow. The south bunker was typically reserved for experimental—and rather explosive—research and she’d been under the impression this was purely a business meeting. Though, admittedly, she’d had meetings in stranger places over the years, so she nodded her thanks to the elder guard and strode down the long south corridor toward the heavily reinforced underground bunker.

  She didn’t need supersenses to hear the young guard whispering excitedly behind her or feel his eyes boring into her back as he tried to figure out which one of the legendary Nightwings she was. With two of the most famous superheroes as her parents and a pair of supertalented crime-fighting brothers, as well as a scattering of super aunts, uncles and cousins, she was used to people staring, trying to figure out what her superpower was.

  Imagine how surprised they’d be if they found out her only super ability was working harder than everyone else and turning the family’s modest business interests into a financial empire. Her parents had used all their influence to hush it up—how super normal she was. The powerless black sheep of the famous Nightwing clan.

  The elevator at the end of the south wing was steel reinforced and sank, quickly and silently, into the depths beneath the main Trident complex. Tandy allowed herself a small smug smile at the logo on the control panel. Nightwing Manufacturing. Only the best.

  When the doors silently swished open, she stepped out into a broad, brightly lit underground tunnel and began the long walk to the south bunker. Her stomach continued to flip with tumble-dry enthusiasm and for once she was glad she’d skipped lunch in favor of a work meeting.

  She hadn’t been back here in years. Trident Corp. The site of her ultimate failure. The walls seemed to be saturated with her frustration, that awful consuming sense of uselessness.

  Tandy wasn’t given to wallowing. She’d long since accepted her lack of super powers and found a sense of self-worth that wasn’t dependent on her ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but there was something about this place. The premiere superhero research facility reminded her with every step deeper into its bowels that she didn’t belong here. That she wasn’t super and never would be.

  It was an office in this very building where the doctors had first told her parents she may never develop powers. The way her mother had cried, you would have thought they’d been told she was terminal.

  Tandy stuffed down the memory and the bitterness that rose with it. It didn’t matter. She was happy exactly as she was, damn it. She was no longer the insecure teen she’d been. She was smart and powerful and no goddamn building was going to make her feel otherwise.

  The vault doors at the end of the hallway were closed, sealing off the south bunker from the rest of the facility. What were they keeping in here? And why did they need her to consult on it? Nightwing Corp didn’t have any materials stronger than the polymers they’d already provided to seal the bunker. What more could this Dr. Eisenmann possibly want?

  Tandy put her hand on the biometric panel beside the vault doors and it beeped cheerfully, recognizing her scans and releasing the seals. The door lumbered inward, the heavy metal dragging along the bare cement floor with a groan. It opened into a reception area—but there was no one there to receive her. The lab beyond was similarly abandoned.

  “Dr. Eisenmann?”

  Tandy glanced at her watch. Four-thirty-two. Where was he? Had he forgotten their appointment? Was this some sort of payback for the times she’d rescheduled?

  Irritation, always close to the surface inside Trident’s walls, bubbled up. She wouldn’t be here at all except her family prided itself on its good relationship with Trident Corp. Super cooperation, the betterment of all mankind and all that crap. She’d put this off as long as she could, but rescheduling a third time would have been beyond rude, especially since she actually had a window in her schedule today while the lawyers took one last pass through the Sun Petro-Chem acquisition paperwork.

  But all of that was moot if Dr. Eisenmann wasn’t here.

  “Dr. Eisenmann?” she called again, loud enough for her voice to echo off the lab walls.

  Nothing.

  Nothing, save a metallic clank from the room at the opposite end of the lab.

  Irritation flashed higher. Just like a scientist. So caught up in his own work that he can’t even be bothered to greet her properly.

  Tandy strode through the disorganized chaos of the lab, mentally rehearsing the dressing down she would give the absentminded scientist. She marched through the open door—

  And every coherent word marched right out of her brain.

  The man in the weight room didn’t look like any kind of scientist she’d ever seen.

  Her first impression was of muscles. Glistening, shifting, flexing muscles. He was shirtless, facing diagonally away from her so she had a perfect view of his chiseled profile and every rhythmic bunch and stretch of the muscles across his shoulders and back as he pressed the weight machine’s bar above his head. His light brown hair was close-cropped, not quite military short, but close to it—which gave her an uninterrupted view of his neck. She’d had no idea necks were so sexy. Earbuds were tucked into his ears and he stared straight ahead, firm bearded jaw clenched with single-minded focus as he pumped.

  Tandy stood frozen in the doorway, jaw slack. Ogling. She’d never thought of herself as an ogler before, but Sweet Baby Jesus if ever a man deserved a good long ogle it was this one.

  She should go. This obviously wasn’t Dr. Eisenmann. Was he a test subject, maybe? Here to participate in a super research study? She couldn’t help wondering what his super power was—beyond the superhuman sexiness. Oh holy hotness, what if his superpower really was superhuman sexiness? What if he exuded some sort of megawatt sex pheromone that reduced every female he came into contact with to ogling goo? What if this was just the contact high version? What would happen if he directed that super sexiness straight at her? Tandy’s knees went weak at the thought and a little whimper escaped her lips.

  He didn’t notice, just kept pumping away, music still blasting away in his ears. Get a grip, Tandy. You have a boyfriend. Though at the moment she was having a hard time remembering her own name, let alone her boyfriend’s.

  With a muted clink, Super Hot let the weights settle gently back on top of one another, his reps complete. He stretched for a towel, rubbing at the gleaming sweat on his chest as he straightened to his full—impressive—height and turned—

  To stare right at Tandy.

  A pair of eerie amber eyes almost glowed, stunningly vivid in his tan face, blazing at her with an instant and startling rage. She froze, classic deer-in-headlights style. Super Sexy was pissed.

  The temperature in the room shot up and she actually hallucinated flickers of different colored fire dancing in the air out of her peripheral vision, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Super Hot’s livid face. He snatched up a T-shirt draped over the treadmill and jerked the earbuds from his ears. She dimly heard the music blaring from them as he stalked toward her. Barefoot. There was no reason why that should strike her as so insanely erotic, so intimate, but damn if her mouth didn’t go dry at the slap of his feet as he approached, bearing down on her, gold eyes blazing... Hot damn.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” he barked. “This is a restricted area.”

  A wise woman would retreat. Tandy knew better than most precisely how stupid it was to get into a pissing match with an unknown super. But she was also a Nightwing—even if she didn’t have a power to her name—and never let them see you quake was practically a fa
mily motto. So she tipped back her chin and stood her ground, drawing around her the Hardass CEO persona she’d perfected for whenever she was feeling weak or insecure.

  Nightwings did not admit weakness and Tandy wasn’t about to betray any hint of vulnerability here, of all places. Trident fucking Labs. Where all she’d ever been was one giant weakness. One giant lack of superness. She’d stand her ground if it killed her. And from the look in Super Hot’s eyes, it just might.

  * * * * *

  When Eisenmann turned around and saw the girl hovering in the doorway, the fire roared to life, riding his surprise and the quick flash of anger that his refuge had been invaded. It wasn’t safe. He was a hazard to everyone he came into contact with—which was why he’d spent the better part of the day attempting to deplete his energy reserves so the fire would be weaker when Tandy Nightwing finally arrived. For this girl to just waltz in here, putting her life in danger—dust particles in the air sparked and flamed around the room like fireflies as he closed in on her.

  Not a girl, he realized. A woman, albeit a tiny one. Maybe five-four including the four inch heels and a hundred pounds soaking wet, she had delicate, bird-like bone structure that made her look like a stiff breeze would knock her over. But it was more than her diminutive size that screamed protect me from the big bad world. Her eyes were huge, their pale green color an arresting contrast against the rich brown of her skin. They made her look waiflike and angelic, though everything she could control about her appearance—from the aggressive angle of her chin to the designer skirt suit—had been carefully constructed to scream ball-busting businesswoman.

  The tight, sleek cap of her hair was perfectly smooth, every last hair subdued by what was probably a four hundred dollar haircut. Between her skyscraper heels, her briefcase and her purse, her accessories probably cost more than he made in three months. She was exquisite—and way out of his price range.

  So what the hell was she doing here?

  “Well?” he growled.

  She thrust her jaw out pugnaciously. “I happen to have an appointment.” The words were coated with a judicious layer of fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

  “Bullshit.” He jerked on his T-shirt, realizing belatedly he was gripping it in one clenched fist. “My only appointment isn’t until four-thirty.” He stabbed a finger toward the clock, and did a double take as the orientation of the arms registered. Four-forty-one. Fuck.

  His gaze ricocheted back to the girl—scratch that, woman. She was so frail. He’d dealt with a lot of supers in his day. They weren’t all huge, but they all exuded a certain something. A sense of strength. Of invulnerability. Imperviousness. He’d expected Tandy Nightwing, for all her lack of powers, to be just like all the other supers he’d met, since she came from super stock. Could she possibly be so dainty?

  “Tandy Nightwing?”

  Her green eyes grew impossibly wider. “You can’t be Dr. Eisenmann?” she said with an insulting level of disbelief.

  The fire flared and he gritted his teeth, pressing it down. “You aren’t exactly what I was expecting either.”

  Preoccupied by the fire, he wasn’t even fully aware of what he’d said until her glass clear eyes narrowed and filled with a murderous glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped.

  Nice move, Doc. “Sorry. Look, you caught me off guard. I lose track of time sometimes when I’m working out. It seems to be the only way to—“ Realizing that perhaps telling the only woman who could help him that he was an out of control pyromaniac was not the best way to introduce himself, he swallowed the rest of his explanation and forced a smile. “Never mind. Thank you for coming.”

  She pursed her lips and gave him a grudging nod. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Obviously this isn’t a good time. We can reschedule—”

  “No!” Fireballs erupted in both his palms—little ones, no bigger than golf balls, and he was able to squash them quickly, so hopefully Tandy didn’t notice them. He took a deep breath, forcing down the panic that had triggered the fireballs and tried to sound remotely civilized as he said, “Now that you’re here, please stay.”

  Wariness and something else, some unnamed uneasiness, lurked in her eyes. “I’d really rather go.”

  She hadn’t wanted to come in the first place—though he had no idea why. He wasn’t about to let her run away now that he finally had her here. Charm. That’s what he needed. He used to know how to be charming. Soothing. Making volatile supers trust him had been one of his singular skills. Of course, that was BW. Before Wroth. Before his every emotion was edged with fire. Before his massive brain was crowded out of its comfy home in his skull by the encroaching parasites of flame. Where was cool, calm Eisenmann now?

  He took a deep breath—and got a whiff of her perfume. Expensive and surprisingly tangy. Somehow it calmed him and the fire retreated enough for him to think again.

  “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over, all right? I’m Dr. Eric Eisenmann, senior researcher here at Trident Labs, specializing in super rehabilitation therapies.” He extended his hand.

  She stared at his outstretched hand and for a moment he thought she would refuse him. Then, “Tandy Nightwing. CEO, Nightwing Industries.” She slid her palm across his and tingles shot straight from the point of contact to the base of his spine before she withdrew her hand from his as quickly as courtesy permitted, all but wiping it on her skirt.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Nightwing. Shall we relocate to my office?” He gestured back toward the lab and she gave another abbreviated nod, stepping back to allow him to lead the way. “Sorry for the mess,” he offered as they wended through the cluttered lab toward the office. “I usually have a very tidy workspace. Haven’t been myself lately.” Understatement of the century.

  He studied her from the corner of his eye, trying not to look directly at her because when he did, the temperature in the room kept taking a sudden upward shift. He felt the fire stirring at the back of his brain. It liked her. Eisenmann had no idea what that meant, but he wasn’t eager to test it.

  She was silent beside him, lips pressed into a hard line as her eyes flicked around the lab, both flawlessly manicured hands locked tight around the handle of her briefcase. If he didn’t know any better he’d almost think she was scared to be here, but that made no sense whatsoever. What reason would a Nightwing have to be remotely uncomfortable at Trident? They were one of the families whose support had built the place.

  She wasn’t at all what he’d expected from a Nightwing. He’d met her brothers, working a fair bit with Chance, a big muscular guy who was quick to laugh and never wore anything more formal than jeans, even to black tie events. Frost was definitely the serious one, but even he wasn’t brittle the way Tandy was. No, Tandy Nightwing wasn’t at all what he’d expected.

  But she was still his only hope.

  Chapter Three – Relationship Tourette’s

  Eisenmann held the door to his office for her like a proper gentleman and Tandy preceded him inside, trying to tamp down her unease at being here, in the belly of the beast, so to speak. With him. A man she wouldn’t half mind going all beastly on her.

  She drew up short when she saw the melted hunk of desk and smelled the lingering trace of ozone in the air. “Interesting decorating choice.”

  He grimaced. “Unintentional decorating choice. Would you like to have a seat? Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea?”

  Maybe some clothes for yourself? Tandy bit her tongue and perched on the edge of one of the office’s two chairs. His T-shirt’s soft, worn fabric did little to conceal all that rippling muscle. She kept getting distracted by his bulging biceps, the weird flickers of light that seemed to flash in his amber eyes, and the heat that seemed to pulse off his body.

  This was a scientist? Every time she looked at him, heat pressed against her skin, until she had to resist the urge to fan herself like a Victorian maiden. He had to be doing it on purpose. She’d never been naturally this attracted to anyone.<
br />
  Was his super power really sex appeal? Did he know he was affecting her like this? Maybe his power was so intense that the sex poured off him whether he directed it or not. Should she ask him to turn it down? But what if he hadn’t turned it up? What if she was just particularly susceptible to his hotness? She refused to let him see how he affected her. Nightwings did not admit weakness.

  “Tandy?”

  She realized with a jolt that he’d asked her something. What had he asked her? Tea? Here he was offering her refreshments and she was staring at his chest. She snapped her eyes up to his face, her own flushing at being caught ogling. “I have a boyfriend,” she heard herself blurting, like she had Relationship Tourette’s.

  Eisenmann’s eyebrows flew up. “Good for you.”

  Crippling embarrassment stomped on her libido—enough to allow her brain to regain a little of the control usurped by her hormones. “I only meant to assure you I’m not…” She waved a hand at the masculine showcase in front of her. “Interested, or anything.” The words came out with a caustic edge she hadn’t intended, sharpened by the defensiveness that always seemed to rise up in Trident’s labs.

  It didn’t help her mood that they were a bald-faced lie. They shouldn’t be. She was involved with what’s-his-name. Anthony. That was it. Anthony. Who was perfect for her, damn it. Anthony, who never made her feel defensive or off-balance. She was always in control with him and she liked being in control. None of this hot-flash, knee-melting business.

  Her liquefied muscles were probably just a function of the fact that she hadn’t been laid in weeks—both she and Anthony so busy they’d barely found a moment for one another. Thank God she was seeing him tonight. She’d need it after the heavy dose of sex that was infiltrating her every cell.

  Eisenmann’s eyebrows couldn’t get any higher now. “Thanks.”

  The heat in her face was reaching excruciating levels—thank God for the darkness of her skin that he wouldn’t be able to see it. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want from me? Professionally.”