with her view of the gorgeous specimen of manhood as he dived into the ocean.
She actually envied the water as it slid over that rock-hard body.
“Want a towel?”
“Hmm?” she murmured, absently taking the soft fabric that was handed to her. Frowning, she glanced at the red beach towel, then at her brother. “What’s this for?”
“To wipe your chin.”
“Goof.” She laughed, tossing the towel back at him before sitting back on her beach chair, her toes digging into the warm sand. “That’s sweat from the sun. I’m not used to it being this warm the second week of September.”
Or, admittedly, to seeing a man sexy enough to make her sit up and drool.
“Right. It’s the heat.” Michael was a master at sarcasm, his words as dry as the sand beneath their feet. “Aren’t you in a relationship?”
Even as Alexia waved that question away with a flick of her wrist, she yanked her gaze from the water. She didn’t know why. Even if she were in a relationship, looking wasn’t cheating. And at this point, she and Edward were just colleagues who’d dated a few times. Friends—without benefits. Buddies, even.
“Not so much in a relationship as considering one. Dancing around it, maybe,” she admitted. More like trying to justify pushing herself into taking a handful of dates and a solid friendship and making them something more. Something bigger. Of course, she’d been trying to talk herself into it for three months now. If there was one thing Alexia was good at, it was talking. “I don’t know what we are, to be honest.”
Michael tilted his red sunglasses down to peer at her. His eyes were the same dark, depthless brown as her own, but he was blessed with thick lashes while she was stuck relying on volumizing mascara. It’d be so easy to hate him for that. “You moved across the country for a guy. That says relationship to me.”
Alexia lifted her bottle of water and sipped, her eyes sliding back to the ocean. All she could see of the swimmer was the occasional elbow. Why did that turn her on so much more than the idea of seeing all of Edward, naked?
Which was the problem in a nutshell. She liked everything about Edward. The man was brilliant, one of the foremost scientists specializing in psychoacoustics. She’d studied under him for two years when he was in New York, before he’d moved to California to take over the Science Institute. They had a lot in common, enjoyed each other’s company and always had a ton to talk about.
The only problem was, she wasn’t sexually attracted to him. And she couldn’t imagine a relationship without sex. Without heat. Excitement and orgasms and spontaneous wall-banging releases. Those were as high on her relationship list as honesty and communication.
“I moved across the country for a once-in-a-lifetime job. That says career to me,” she said as she dug her bottle back into the sand. “This position is off-the-charts exciting. I’ll be doing in-depth research into correcting and enhancing sexual recovery for abuse victims by means of subliminal messaging, neurolinguistic programming and brain-wave technology. And get to be the face of the Reclaiming Yourself project. I’ll meet with investors, promote the project and make a difference in how it’s perceived by the press.”
“You’re an acoustical physicist with a minor in psychology. How does that translate into PR shill?”
Alexia grimaced at her brother’s irritated tone.
“Show a little more enthusiasm, why don’t you,” she said, swiping her towel at him. “It got me back to California, so you should be grateful. Investors want to talk to someone directly involved who is working on the project. I’m better at the social stuff than Edward is, and since the project focuses more on female sexuality, it’s better to have a woman front and center.”
“In other words, Dr. Darling isn’t as good at talking sex as you are?”
Alexia grinned, but as the words sank in, her smile dimmed. Yeah. Edward was great at the science of sex. But talking about it? Doing it? She wasn’t so sure.
“I’m just giving you a bad time. I really am excited that you’re back home,” Michael said, patting her shoulder. He gave her a cheeky look. “With you here, publicly talking sex all the time, the heat’s going to be off me with the parents. So thank Dr. Darling for me, ’kay?”
Alexia’s smile disappeared completely.
“They’re going to have a fit, aren’t they?” she murmured.
“Yep.”
By the time she’d started third grade, Alexia had known three things. One, that she was much, much smarter than the average bear. Two, that she didn’t quite fit in anywhere—not with kids her age, not with the agenda her parents lined up for her and not with what her child psychologist had deemed society’s norms. And three, that her father would never love her. After a few years of exploiting the first while trying to hide the second, she’d finally realized that there was nothing she could do about the third. At thirteen, with a slew of academic awards, a couple of skipped grades and a social calendar filled with normal, acceptable, shoot-me-now-I’m-going-crazy boring activities, she’d done a tight one-eighty.
She’d stopped socializing and started failing classes. She’d turned to fatty food and sugar for comfort. She’d explored more ways to numb herself than she liked to remember. And to this day, she wasn’t sure if her father had noticed any of that.
But he had noticed when, at sixteen, she’d been picked up by the base MPs, drunk and half-naked with an ensign thirteen years her senior. That’d been the second turning point in her short life. Her father’s fury hadn’t mattered. His blustering and disgust had barely dented her hangover. Seeing that, the admiral had proceeded to show her once and for all where she got her brains. In an ice-cold voice, he’d promised that the next time she stepped out of line, she’d be out of his house and no longer a part of the family. She’d shrugged, saying that she didn’t care. He’d nodded, as if he’d expected exactly that response, before adding he’d then send Michael to boarding school overseas.
Michael. The one person who loved Alexia. Who accepted and celebrated her. Who she’d be cut off from until he was eighteen, if their father had any say in it.
Yep. The admiral was a scary man.
“Don’t stress about it,” Michael said quietly, clearly tracking her trip down memory lane. “Mom’s thrilled you’re back and Dad will come around eventually. They might not like what you’re talking about, but the prestige of seeing you on TV, hearing you’re at the big fancy billionaire parties like any good socialite will bring them around.”
“Sure, as long as they ignore the part about me publicly talking sex.” Alexia sighed. As much as she wanted to be tough and emotionless when it came to their parents, a part of her still craved—with the desperation of a small child—that approval. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—change who she was to get it.
“You could almost feel sorry for them.” Michael laughed. “We’re not exactly their idea of poster children, huh? To make it easier on them, when I go to Sunday brunch, I pretend to be straight. Not an easy thing for the headliner of Sassy’s Fancy, an all-male revue. Last month I mentioned my photo shoot for Calvin Klein and you’d have thought I tried to jump the waiter, the way Dad choked and Mom sputtered.”
“Maybe
