Breathe.

Breathe.

Inhaling and exhaling was one of those things that people learned at birth, but I was twenty-two. I should know how to do this, but now, I was feeling fortunate to be able to put one foot in front of the other without making a fool out of myself. Again.

Cai Hunter.

I was going to lunch with Cai Hunter.

I had just told Cai Hunter about my thesis, and he sounded quite interested.

I’d also spilled coffee all over him and then babbled on about the most, inane things, including the damn zombie apocalypse.

I was mortified.

But I was also elated.

Because even though I’d made a complete ass of myself, he still wanted to talk to me.

Cai Hunter wanted to talk to me.

I kept repeating the sentence as I walked down the hall in search of the room with clean clothes. I kept repeating it as I changed, and as I went back to the front door, but I still couldn’t believe it.

I’d been practically worshipping him since I was thirteen-years-old and first saw him on the cover of some science magazine at school. I’d followed his career ever since, digging for every bit of information I could find, but nothing could have prepared me for seeing him in the flesh.

And what magnificent flesh it was too. I wasn’t the sort of woman who drooled over every cute guy, but Dr. Hunter – Cai – was far beyond cute. He was gorgeous.

As I approached I slowed my steps, so I could take him in, hoping that by the time I reached him, I would somehow be immune to whatever it was about him that turned me into a jabbering idiot.

“I see you found a nice shirt in our stash.”

He gestured to the rather garish, long-sleeved yellow blouse I was now wearing.

“It was the only thing in my size,” I said. “When you’re all arms and legs, like me, clothes are a pain in the ass to find.”

Shit. That hadn’t been professional.

“I know the feeling,” he said with a smile.

“Of course, you do,” I said. “You’re what, six-five?”

He nodded. “Good guess.”

I didn’t tell him that I’d read a profile on him three years ago. He’d think I was a stalker or something. If I told him I just had a good memory, he might think I was bragging.

I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.

“Looks like it’s raining. Do you want to drive separately, or are you okay riding with me?”

“I don’t know my way around,” I admitted. “I just moved to Atlanta on Saturday.”

“Then you’ll ride with me.” He started walking toward the parking garage. “Where are you from?”

“Minnesota.”

It was strangely easy to talk to him, and the silence between us was comfortable too. The best part was that the whole car smelled like him too. Some sort of softly-scented soap and a hint of something more primal that I suspected was his natural scent.

As he drove us to our destination, he pointed out various parts of the city, much like a tour guide. But instead of giving me a history lesson or explaining the architecture, he always had some scientific bit of information. If I hadn’t been able to see the sincere expression on his face, I would’ve thought he was making things up.

He surprised me as he pulled into a place called Amalfi Pizza. I’d had him pegged as a health nut, the sort of person who ate things like wheat grass and flaxseed. Gourmet pizza was not what I’d been thinking. My bank account probably wouldn’t like this much, but it was just one meal.

And it was with Cai Hunter.

We were seated across from each other at a table small enough that my knees kept brushing his. We probably should’ve asked for a bigger table, but I was glad he hadn’t. I knew this was one hundred percent work-related, but I planned on enjoying every minute of the one-on-one time I got to spend with him.

“You said that your thesis was about genetics and infection?” he asked after we gave the waiter our orders.

“Yes.” I spread a napkin on my lap, fidgeting with the corner of the cloth. “I have this theory about how, if we better understood a link between genetics and infection, we could focus on correcting the genes rather than trying to eliminate the viruses. Gene therapy could be the new vaccine. Manipulate the genetic code in a baby, and they’d never get sick. Do it right, and they could pass the genes on to their descendants. It could eventually lead to an elimination of all illness. Of course, we’d have to factor in for mutations and a percentage of the population who either can’t or won’t consent to the gene therapy–”

My thought trailed off when I realized he was staring at me with something that looked a lot like fascination on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a half-smile. “I’ve just never heard anyone talk like that before.”

Heat flooded my face, and I reached for my water, fingers bumping against the cold glass. I stopped myself before I knocked it over.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “I tend to talk a lot when–”

“When you’re nervous,” he finished with a kind smile. “There’s no need to be anxious. I believe that we’ll work well together. I don’t have interns working for me often because I have high intellectual standards. I won’t send you out on pointless errands, but I will expect contributions. You’ve already proven that you see far-reaching effects rather than just an immediate resolution. From what I’ve seen so far, you have one of the most amazing minds I’ve ever encountered.”

“I have?” The compliment made me catch my breath. I knew I was smart but hearing it from someone like him…it would’ve had me babbling again if the waiter hadn’t come back with our drinks, breaking the moment.

And it was a good thing too, because whatever had been thickening the air between us hadn’t been professional, and I needed us to be professional.

No matter how gorgeous he was.