by Vivi Andrews
* * * * *
“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 family 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.
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