It’s all about the chemistry.
ROMANCING DR. LOVE
Sterling University #1
Rebecca Heflin
Releasing March 7th, 2017
Dr.
Samantha Love says it’s all about the chemistry. A brainy psychology professor
and researcher, Sam has based her entire academic career on the theory that
what we call love is simply a chemical reaction. She is currently running a
study to prove that her compatibility blood test reveals perfect matches—sort
of like an organ donor, but for relationships. No romance required.
Along comes
sexy literature professor, Dr. Ethan Quinn, who says it’s all about the
romance. He thinks the pretty psychology professor has taken love and all its
mysteries and reduced it to something as romantic as a cholesterol test, and he
sets out to prove her theory wrong.
When Ethan
signs up for her study, Sam discovers to her horror, that according to her
compatibility test, they are a perfect match. Sam faces an existential crisis
over her career and her research. If she believes in her science, shouldn’t it
follow that she believes Ethan is her perfect mate? And if she doesn’t believe
he’s her perfect mate, doesn’t that bring into question her research? Her
compatibility test? Her reputation? And her very career?
As Sam struggles with her dilemma, Ethan pursues her with all the romantic
tactics in his arsenal. Will Sam’s theories succumb to his challenge? Or will
Ethan lose the battle for Sam’s heart?
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“No, no, no. This isn’t happening.
This isn’t happening,” Samantha Love muttered as she gently banged her head
against the steering wheel.
She turned the key again. Nothing. Not
even a wheeze. This was the icing on the cake of her otherwise craptastic day.
A bead of sweat trickled down her
back. And another one between her girls. God, she hated boob sweat.
When she’d taken the research and teaching
position at Sterling University in North Georgia last fall, she’d never have
guessed the summer would be so hot.
Throwing open the door of her car to
let in even more stifling heat, she searched for the lever to pop the hood.
Finally locating it, she pulled it, then walked around to the front of the car.
As if she knew what to do.
Just as she leaned under the hood to
jiggle some wire thingies, she heard, “Dr. Love? Do you need some help?”
She let out a startled squeak hitting
her head on the underside of the hood. “Ow!” Rubbing the offended spot, she
turned and saw Ethan Quinn standing there looking all adorable. Not to mention
manly.
Dammit. Why did it have to be him? “No. I’m
fine.” Yeah, right. For all her parents’ preaching on women and self-sufficiency,
she didn’t know a dipstick from a spark plug when it came to cars. She turned
back to the mystery parts under the hood.
“You need a jump.”
“I beg your pardon?” She spun, hand on
her hip.
“Your battery.” He pointed in the
direction of her open hood. “It probably needs a jump.”
“Oh. Right.” Of course he meant her
battery. What else would he be talking about?
“I have jumper cables in my car. I’ll
have you going in a few minutes.”
“He’ll have me going in a few
minutes,” she mumbled under her breath as she watched him walk to the far
corner of the parking lot. Tall, athletic build, dark-wash jeans, white
button-down shirt. And that hair. Tousled espresso-brown waves just brushing
the top of his collar. “He’s already got me going,” she said to herself.
He tossed his messenger bag in the car
and climbed in. And, of course, his car started. Because that’s what
cars did. They started when you turned the key. Then they blew cold air, so you
didn’t have to stand in the mid-July Georgia heat. Unless they dated back to
the Stone Age like hers. Another bead of sweat trickled between her breasts.
She released a wistful sigh. Bet the
AC felt good.
He pulled his recent model
American-made car around to face hers and then got out to pop the hood. Walking
around to the trunk, he opened it and grabbed a set of jumper cables, looking
like he knew what he was doing.
Good thing somebody around here did.
“It’s a hot one today,” Ethan
commented, as he connected one of the clamp doohickeys to what she assumed was
the car battery. His sleeves were rolled up over his forearms, displaying
muscles with a light dusting of hair.
Clamping the other end of the cables
to his own battery, he then returned to her car. When he walked past her, his
cologne wafted to her nose, temporarily erasing her angst at being in his
presence.
Then he touched his hand to her back.
And the anxiety returned tenfold. “Stand clear.” He leaned into the gaping
mouth of the car and attached the remaining clamp, throwing a spark.
“All right. Let’s see if we can get
this baby going.” He climbed into the driver’s seat of his car and turned it
on.
“Give her a try,” he hollered over the
din of his car’s running motor.
Sam dropped into the front seat and
turned the key. The older-than-dirt engine tried but couldn’t work up enough
energy to turn over.
“Hold on,” Ethan called, then revved
his car. “Okay, try her again.”
Her car wheezed then reluctantly
cranked a couple of times before coming to life.
Ethan was at her door, leaning over,
hands braced on the roof. “Great. Let her run a bit, then I’ll disconnect the
cables.” A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. “My AC’s on full blast. Why
don’t you sit in my car until yours is ready to go.” He stepped aside to give
her room to get out.
Sam felt as wilted as week-old
lettuce, so against her better judgment she took him up on the offer.
He opened the front passenger door of
his shiny black Lincoln MKS—such a gentleman—and she sank into the leather
seats and stuck her face in front of the vent. God, it felt good. The door
closed with a solid thunk. Resisting the urge to wipe away the boob
sweat, she settled for drying the perspiration on her face and neck.
The car dipped as Ethan took a seat on
the driver’s side before shutting the door and closing out the rest of the
world. Music played softly in the background—something popular. The intimacy of
being alone in the car with Ethan washed over her.
“I’d offer you something cool to
drink, but I don’t have anything.”
She realized she hadn’t said a word in
the last five minutes. “Thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. You’d do the
same for me.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” She smiled. “I don’t
know a thing about cars.”
He nodded as a grin split his face.
“Well, from the looks of your battery, you’re going to need a new one. I can follow
you to Burt’s Automotive. He can have a replacement installed in fifteen
minutes.”
She shook her head. “Thanks, but I
don’t want to put you out in any further.”
“It’s no trouble. Besides, if you go
straight home, I don’t think she’s going to start for you in the morning.”
“Oh.” That would not be good.
“She should be juiced up enough to get
you to Burt’s. Stay here until I unhook the cables.” Ethan got out of the car
and set to work.
She’d steered clear of Ethan Quinn
since the day she was introduced to the rest of the college faculty. The moment
they shook hands she’d felt a connection. And from the look on his face, he’d
felt it too. That flood of adrenaline, dopamine, and serotonin one feels when
there is a strong physical attraction.
Relationships were complicated, but
getting situated at a new university was already complicated enough.
No. Being in close proximity to Ethan
Quinn was a bad idea. So as much as she hated to leave the cool comfort of his
car, she jumped out and got in her rolling oven before he could say otherwise.
Rebecca
Heflin is
an award-winning author who has dreamed of writing romantic fiction since she
was fifteen and her older sister snuck a copy of Kathleen Woodiwiss' Shanna to
her and told her to read it. Rebecca writes women's fiction and contemporary
romance. When not passionately pursuing her dream, Rebecca is busy with her
day-job as a practicing attorney.
Rebecca is a member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), Florida Romance
Writers, RWA Contemporary Romance, and Florida Writers Association. She and her
mountain-climbing husband live at sea level in sunny Florida.
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