Chapter 8
EIGHT
A lora was speechless.
“Now come on,” Maya said, “let’s go see if Tiger Boy’s done reorganizing your lab into alphabetical order.”
Rehan stood examining her workstation when they returned, his broad shoulders stretching his suit jacket in ways that really shouldn’t be legal before noon. Or ever, if Alora wanted to maintain her professional dignity. Not that dignity stood a chance when faced with those amber eyes and that jawline that could probably cut diamond.
“See something interesting, Mr. Kedi?” She aimed for professional, but her voice came out breathier than intended. Damn, those shoulders.
He turned, and oh—that predatory grace did things to her insides that had nothing to do with science and everything to do with the way he moved like a barely contained storm. Focus on the research, she commanded herself. Stop imagining how that controlled power might translate to other activities. Like training. Or yoga. Or?—
“Your notes are surprisingly thorough,” he said, derailing her increasingly dangerous train of thought. “Though your organizational system...” His fingers traced the edge of a tiger- striped sticky note, and her mind immediately supplied helpful images of those elegant fingers tracing other things.
“My system works perfectly.” Alora bustled past him, needing distance before she embarrassed herself. The man radiated heat like a furnace, and her body had apparently decided that was fascinating. “I can find anything in seconds.”
“Really?” His voice dropped lower, rumbling in a way that made her toes curl in her sensible lab shoes. “Then perhaps you can explain why there’s a takeout menu filed under ‘viral mutation patterns’?”
“The restaurant’s logo has a tiger on it.” She snatched the menu, trying to ignore how his proximity sent electricity dancing across her skin. “It’s completely relevant.”
Maya coughed something that sounded suspiciously like “smooth.”
“I see.” Rehan’s lips curved, almost smiling, and Alora’s heart did a completely unauthorized backflip. “And the cat toys in the centrifuge drawer?”
“Stripes helps me think.” The cat in question chose that moment to knock over a stack of papers, sending them cascading to the floor. “Usually.”
Rehan moved to help her gather the scattered documents, and dear lord, even his paper-collecting looked graceful. It should be awkward, watching a man in a thousand-dollar suit crouch to pick up papers, but he made it look like some kind of predatory ballet.
Their fingers brushed as they reached for the same page. The contact sent a jolt through her that had nothing to do with static electricity and everything to do with the way his breath caught, his pupils dilating slightly. His tiger eyes focused on her with an intensity that made her forget basic functions like breathing and remembering her own name.
“I...” Words failed her, which hadn’t happened since her first doctoral defense. She’d faced rooms full of distinguished professors with less nervousness than she felt under that molten gold gaze.
A low growl rumbled in his chest—not quite human, not quite tiger. The sound bypassed all her higher brain functions and went straight to her primitive hindbrain, which helpfully supplied that yes, this was definitely the most attractive thing she’d ever heard.
Maya cleared her throat. “I’ll just... go check on those cultures. In the other room. Far away. Where I can’t sense the pheromones you two are broadcasting.”
Alora’s cheeks burned. “We’re not—I mean, it’s not?—”
“Professional,” Rehan supplied, straightening with that innate grace that made her want to climb him like a tree. “We’re maintaining professional boundaries.”
“Right.” Maya smirked. “Professional. That’s definitely what this is. I’ll leave you to your very professional paper collecting.”
Alora watched Maya saunter away, mentally plotting revenge involving her friend’s favorite salsa shoes and possibly some super glue. When she turned back, Rehan stood studying her whiteboard with such intensity, she couldn’t help but admire his profile. The man had cheekbones that belonged in a museum.
“Your molecular modeling is... innovative,” he said, and she definitely didn’t shiver at the way his voice caressed the word.
“The virus doesn’t follow conventional patterns.” She moved beside him, pointing to her diagrams. “See how the protein structure shifts? It’s like it’s dancing.”