The Science of Loving

She was a geeky scientist obsessed with muscles. She even had a muscle car. He was bald by choice, and looked like a tattooed bad boy because his sister needed a practice dummy, had tequila and knew how to use it. He was also a rock star in the architectural world, perfectly content with his bachelor status until his tattoo artist sister decided to play matchmaker.

Mat… Danny was in love. Again. So, she thought everyone else, meaning me, should be, too. She didn’t appreciate that I was already living my dream: no drama, no mess. My life was just the way I wanted it; orderly. I liked my shit organized. I lived alone just so I could have things my way. If I wanted company, I’d go to the corner bar.

Angie… I hated parties. Crowds always left me slightly off balance and inevitably, I drew the attention of creepiest, most annoying guy there. Once caught, I could never shake them. By the end of the night I was nauseous, my head hurt, and I was a nervous wreck.

But when Danny wouldn’t take no for an answer, or as she put it, giving me her best death stare. “You might as well give in gracefully chica, because I’m not to be denied.” I gave in gracefully.

Now some creep had me cornered, backed up as far as I could go without falling into the bushes. Cringing, I froze, unable to move, beaten down by B.O. and discount body spray. Then he brushed a nonexistent hair from my cheek. Ew…

“Excuse me, I know you’re not macking on my girl.”

Holy Shit. He was huge, bald and tattooed. And he was the scariest man I’d ever seen. He was a painted Aztec god; all he needed was some gold jewelry and a bloody altar.


This is a funny, laugh out loud, contemporary romance about a science geek and a sweet guy with big feet. It contains some not so sweet language and sexy love scenes that some may find inappropriate (the hot, sweaty kind that will make you want to take up smoking.) So if you're bothered by graphic sex and profanity, this may not be your cup of tea--just saying. But if you want a light romance that will (hopefully) make you laugh, this could be your new guilty pleasure.

HEA... Does not have a cliffhanger ending. I hate those... Candace

Exert:
I felt his arm constrict around me as he said in a quietly menacing voice, “I think it would be best if you left.”

Spindly held out his hands, “Yeah, yeah, I hear you dude,” then addressed someone behind us. “Come on Ashley.”

“You go ahead,” she said, stepping up next to us, “I’ll catch a ride with someone else.”

“No Ash, you won’t.” The killer’s voice held a quiet threat. This was what death sounded like, not hotly raging, but cold, murderously calm. “I thought I made myself clear; I don’t want you anywhere near me. You. Need. To. Get. The. Fuck. Gone.”

My heart tripped—oh, God, he is a serial killer—as I froze against his heat, a twisted part of me wondered how he’d do it: Like a python, his gigantic muscles, crushing me breathless, or maybe he’d just smother me against his chest… His hard, hard chest… He could probably boink me to death, and I’d thank him all the way to the grave. God, I had the worst survival instincts ever. If my life were a horror movie, I’d be that first splash of blood in the opening scene.

Ashley raised her chin as if she were about to argue, but he just stood there like an impassive mountain, stonily silent. Finally, she relented, shooting me an arsenic glare. “Fine. Come on Pauly.”

My breath remained trapped long after she flounced out of sight. I was very much aware of the meaty arm coiled around me. It was vibrating with leashed power that could turn on me at any moment, and a delicious fear shivered from the tips of my ears down my spine. This was why serial killers got fan mail, this dark thrill. Just as my vision began to grey, I heard him murmur, “Breathe.”