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Authors: Tara Lain

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Contemporary Menage

The Scientist and the Supermodel



The Scientist and the Supermodel



Tara Lain


The Scientist and the Supermodel

Copyright © May 2011 by Tara Lain

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eISBN 978-1-61118-416-7

Editor: Heather Hollis

Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs

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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.


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To my Honey, the hero of my life, who not only supports me in all I do but will even sit and work out plots with me by the hour. I love you, dear. Every day with you is my happily ever after.

Chapter One


“Jakey, I don’t think you like girls.”

WTF! Jake practically jumped out of the hotel bed. He stared at the cute blonde snuggled next to him and tried to appear cool. “What are you talking about? Didn’t we just have sex? What the fuck…?”

“Come on, baby. I’m joking. But you just seem so distracted, like you’re a million miles away.” She kissed his bare shoulder. “It’s your work, I bet. You’ve got so much responsibility with Dr. Silvay and all. I just think you love science more than you love sex.”

Okay. Well, she was kind of right. Not the science so much as the scientist. “Yeah, sorry. I just have a lot to do to get ready for my boss’s big presentation tomorrow. I hope I didn’t shortchange you.”

“Hell, no, Jakey. You’ve got a great cock, you know?”

What did you say to that kind of compliment? “Thanks.” Her name was Josie, and she was actually a sweet girl, and bright too. Probably just trying to cope with a lonely life. That sounded familiar.

She pulled off his wire rims and cleaned them on the sheet. “Jeez, I love these things.” She’d insisted he keep them on during sex. “They make you look like Clark Kent or something. Of course, Superman wasn’t blond.”

Ah, yes, fantasyland. Maybe that was why she’d approached him after the conference dinner and suggested this hookup. She had a Superman fetish. Hell, he should talk. Who was he imagining her to be? One world-renowned, maybe Nobel-Prize-winning, Diane Lane lookalike, sexy-as-hell, genetic scientist boss lady. That’s who.

She carefully repositioned his glasses, then gave him a huge smile. “Hey, want me to get you going so we can do it again?” She raised the sheet and started to scurry down toward her goal.

Oh hell, no. He pulled her back up and kissed her forehead. “Sorry, but like you said, that conference is really weighing on my mind. I better get back to my room.” He scooted to the side of the bed, pulled his watch off the nightstand, and made a grab for his pants on the carpeted floor.

“Oh, do you have to go?” She caressed his bare back. “I could get you up for your early conference. Way up.” She giggled. Not his favorite characteristic in a woman. Em seldom giggled.

He got his pants on. Where the hell were the socks? He found them draped over the chair arm. “Thanks, it’s tempting.” Crap, he shouldn’t be lying to her. “I gotta go. Sorry.”

She pouted prettily while he shrugged into his white shirt and suit jacket that still sported the conference ID badge from the International Symposium on Genetic Medicine. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Really am sorry.” Yeah. That was the truth. He was sorry he was a wuss. He was really sorry he hadn’t just kept it in his pants.

She rose to her knees, stark naked, pretty breasts bobbing. “What about a rain check?”

Okay, more truth required. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Josie, to tell you the truth, I’m kind of having a tough time right now…with some decisions, you know. That and my work are really fucking me up.” He grinned. “Or I guess you could say not making me very good at fucking.” She giggled. “You’re very attractive and really nice, and I’m sure we’ll see each other again sometime, and maybe I’ll be in a better place.” Okay, that was as close as he was getting to telling her he was having some kind of fucking crisis—yeah,
crisis was exactly what it was.

She cocked her head. “That’s a nice take on the old ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech.” She brightened. “But I still enjoyed our evening, so I count it a gain.”

Yeah. She really was nice. He needed to use the john, but he wanted to leave more. He kissed her nose and walked to the door. “Bye. See you at the conference.”

“Bye, sexy.” She waved, and he took one last glance at her great bare tits before escaping out the door.

Outside, he flattened himself against the wall for a minute. He took a deep breath. Jesus, what was wrong with him? She was a great girl, but even those fantastic tits hadn’t gotten a wiggle out of him. He’d managed to get hard earlier, but only after she’d sucked him like a Hoover and he’d done some seriously heavy fantasizing.

He didn’t come. He’d just deflated after she came, so she thought he’d finished, and he’d tossed the condom quickly so she didn’t see. Shit. He just hadn’t been the same since—okay, he wasn’t going there. But whoever heard of a guy faking it?

Pushing himself away from the door, he headed for the elevator and pressed the Down button five times. When it responded, he jumped in and hit Close. The bar. That was what he needed. That dark little hideaway at the back of the hotel where he could be anonymous and lick his wounds. Okay, admittedly, a sucked cock did not qualify as an injury.

When the car reached “G,” he slipped across the palatial lobby, not looking at anyone and hoping he’d escape notice. As the newish research partner of the famous Dr. Emmaline Silvay, he wasn’t well known at this conference, which suited him fine. He needed a drink.

Contrary to what he’d told Josie, he’d finished Em’s PowerPoint presentation earlier that day and only had to show up the next morning to make his boss happy. That was the problem. He could think of a lot of ways he’d like to make Em happy that had nothing to do with presentations on genetic sequencing. Unlike Josie, his boss gave him a hard-on and a half, and sometimes, when she looked at him, he thought he saw lust in her eyes. Shit. It was probably just wishful thinking.

The sad fact was he didn’t want to rock the boat by coming on to her. She’d promoted him from her assistant to her coresearcher. Talk about a coup. The presentation she’d deliver tomorrow morning had his name on it too—Jacob Martin, PhD—which made him, at twenty-five, one of the youngest researchers at the conference. But she was thirty-six and so accomplished that her name was mentioned for a Nobel Prize. What the fuck would she need with a puppy like him? Plus, the way he’d been going, maybe he wouldn’t even get off with her.

The bar suited his mood. Dark, a little musty, it looked like the renovations throughout the old Los Angeles hotel hadn’t made it this far yet. Candles glowed on the few tables at the back and on the massive horseshoe-shaped bar that dominated the room. He climbed onto a barstool away from the door. From their badges, it looked like a few conference attendees had found the place, but he didn’t recognize anyone. Perfect.

“What can I get you?”

The buxom, California-blonde bartender smiled and looked like she might be offering more than a drink. No fucking thank you.

“A dirty martini, two olives.” He barely knew what that was, but he’d heard a friend order one and liked the sound of it. Just the way he felt.

Lack of performance. At twenty-five. Not exactly every young man’s complaint. In college, he’d been a serious cocksman, banging half the girls he met. He wasn’t exactly proud of that, but it was the truth. The last couple years, though, except for his dreams of Em, he just didn’t have the enthusiasm. Since his PhD. Since Tom.

The bartender placed the drink carefully in front of him, displaying a rack to make a centerfold weep. He grabbed the martini and took a swallow—


The bartender grinned as his eyes teared. She inconspicuously placed a glass of water in front of him and walked away. He’d definitely failed the finals in macho tonight. Another mouthful, and he let it slip down his throat this time. Was this supposed to be good? Bitter, burning. He’d think of it as penance.

Thinking. There was the rub. Tonight wasn’t the first—or even fifth—time he’d been half-cocked with a girl. Maybe it was the studying, writing his dissertation. He knew doctors said that stress could affect a guy’s…ability, interest. He’d gone for months without a girl while finishing the doctorate. No problem. But, of course, there’d been Tom. Tom had cared for him. He could admit it now, even though he’d tried to ignore it then. And Jake—shit. He’d been a shit.

The next big swallow of the martini went down real smooth.

“Want another one?”

He startled at her voice. “Sure.” ’Cause he felt very, very dirty.

A nice buzz set in.
Not much of a drinker
. He adjusted his wire rims. Man, he’d never feel the same way about them after tonight. Clark Kent, huh? He liked that.

He looked across the bar through a comfortable little haze. There were a couple of conference nerds, possibly an LA hooker trying to persuade them to view her etchings, some other random business types, and—

Who did that guy think he was, Brad Pitt? A baseball cap and sunglasses in this black hole. How could he see his drink? Jesus, was he drinking champagne? Alone?

The bartender was Johnny-on-the-spot with the next martini, and Jake took another mouthful. Oh yeah, just like silk. He hoped there was a lot of nutrition in an olive, because this sure as fuck was dinner.

He looked up again at the guy across the bar. At least he thought it was a guy. He could see longish hair sticking out from under the cap. And the mouth… From what he could see, those lips would make Angelina Jolie jealous. Maybe a girl?

As he took another swallow, he saw the guy/girl’s hand reach out for its flute of bubbly and miss. Only a quick grab saved the glass from tumbling over. Jake could almost feel how pissed the person was. The cap was ripped off by an impatient hand, letting a mane of shining, black, chin-length hair fall free. The creature looked around like it was searching for predators, then pulled off the huge black sunglasses.

Holy fucking Christ.

Gorgeous. He knew this was LA, the land of the genetic celebrities, but this was ridiculous.

Okay, Jake, you’re staring
. He looked down into his martini and took another slug. But he had to look again.

Peeking up over the edge of his glasses, he watched the guy—it was a guy, he was pretty sure now—take a deep breath, like he was really relieved not to be flailing around in the dark. Cheekbones. That was what you saw first on that face. Architectural masterpieces with perfect hollows beneath. Shit, the guy was looking! Jake looked away fast but was pretty sure the guy had seen him staring. Now that was embarrassing, but he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just seen.

He took off his glasses, wiped them on a napkin to kill time, and then put them back on. He sneaked a peek back to find the guy looking down at his champagne, so Jake just stared. The guy was the most beautiful man—person…creature—he could ever remember seeing. Yeah, it was definitely a guy, even though the face was like some kind of idealized being, half female, half male. Large eyes rimmed with heavy lashes and the Angelina lips were offset by a clean, very male jaw and strong, arched brows. His hair looked black, although the candles on the bar picked up a little touch of red, and it was cut in a lazy European style that swept hair onto his forehead and shagged it around his face. As Jake watched, the man pushed his fingers into that hair, pulling it back off his luminous face for a moment, and then released it to fall again in idle perfection. The guy was young, probably younger than Jake.

There was just one problem. If this was a guy, why did Jake suddenly have less room in his suit pants?

Roan stared hard at his glass. Had the guy quit looking? Oh God, he hoped—not. He pushed his hair off his face, a habit he’d nearly broken except when he was nervous. The guy was beautiful. Not that Roan didn’t see the most beautiful people in the world every day, but the glimpse he had of this man made his palms sweat. He looked—smart. The wire rims probably helped with that. God, Roan loved smart men. Of course, the gorgeous cheekbones and shaggy golden hair didn’t hurt. This guy was half geek, half demigod.

Okay, Black, he told himself, take a deep breath. The guy also looked as straight as Dior’s hemlines, and the fact that he was staring at Roan didn’t mean shit—everyone stared at Roan. He should just put his hat back on and try to sneak up to his suite. Yeah, fat chance. The paparazzi would be camped outside, and he hated having to bother the hotel security staff to get him to his door. Made him feel like some prima donna. He was probably safe here because the reporters never expected to see him in a bar. His half-finished split of Piper made it obvious why.

He looked across the bar and quickly back at his drink. The guy was staring again. Man, he would really like to know what made this guy tick. It’d been awhile since anybody got Roan this hot and bothered so quickly. Especially some straight professor type. That kind of guy didn’t usually go for Roan, figuring he must be dumb.

He couldn’t just walk over. The guy was wearing a conference badge, and there might be people who knew him in the bar. Having someone as ostentatious as Roan make an obvious play for him could be embarrassing—to both of them. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dumped some bills on the bar.

The beautiful guy was leaving. Funny, Jake felt his stomach clench in disappointment. Well, he figured that was normal. You didn’t get to see something that beautiful every day, no matter what sex it was.

“Want another one?”

Jake looked up at the bartender. She looked a little fuzzy. Not a good omen for his sobriety. Yeah, she was definitely flirting. He gave her a big smile. “Sure.”
No, wait, how many have I had
? Oh, what the fuck, he didn’t care. He looked around at the now much less interesting group of people, and when he looked back, there was a new drink in front of him.
Jeez, that was quick
. He took a deep swallow. Maybe it would help him sleep. Sleep, by himself—without Em, without anyone. He wiped a hand across his face. What was wrong with him?

“Is this seat taken?”

He didn’t even have to look. That beautiful, low, silky voice had to go with that beautiful silky skin and hair and lips.
Damn, give it up, Jake
! He turned on his stool, a little wobbly, to find the man who had been across the bar a couple minutes ago now standing beside him. He glanced across the expanse for a moment in muzzy-headed confusion.

The brunet chuckled. “I walked out the back door and came around the bar.”

“Thought you’d left.” Was he slurring his words?

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