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whenever I drew an illustration on the

board."

Zanita cleared her throat. "All right, I'll admit I wasn't overly enthused, but

I did warn you." She threw her arms up. "Frankly, I had no idea what you were

talking about."

"So, just because you were lost in a fog you're not coming tomorrow? Really,

what kind of a reason is that? Most people go through their whole lives not

understanding a damn thing. In that context, what's a few evenings spent in my

lectures by comparison?"

His obtuse reasoning completely escaped her. She blinked. "What?"

"Tomorrow will be quite different—I promise. No mathematics of any kind. That's

why I suggested the restaurant; not having blackboards will keep it honest." His

smile was heart-stopping.

She decided then and there that nothing would keep her from going tomorrow

night—interview or not. What sane woman would forego the pleasure of discreetly

ogling him? Besides, whatever made him think she wouldn't come?

"I never said I wasn't coming. You assumed that because my hand didn't go up

when you expected it to. I had every intention of going; I just wasn't in the

mood to admit it."

Tyber stared at her, speechless. Again. When he did speak, his voice held a note

of awe. "You are completely non-linear, Zanita."

She waved her hand. "I have no idea what that means, but I suspect it has

something to do with the mysterious face of Mars looks I get—see? Like that one

you're wearing now."

"Fascinating," he muttered. "So, you are coming?"

"Yeah. See ya tomorrow night, Doc." She waved goodbye as she headed quickly up

the stairs, before Tyber had a chance to say another word.

It wasn't until she got to her car that she wondered why it mattered to him

whether she showed up or not.

"Mills, he is to die for."

Zanita plowed her fork into the carton of Chinese take-out she had brought over

to her friend's house.

"We are talking about the physicist, aren't we?" Mills asked around an eggroll.

"Somehow I can't quite picture—"

"Trust me. To Die For. Of course I can't figure out what he's talking about half

the time. I mean, you'd have to be a rocket scientist to understand—"

"He is a rocket scientist." Mills pointed out.

"Oh, yeah." Zanita shrugged."At any rate, this is the best assignment I've ever

had. If he would grant me an interview, just think—"

"He's not an assignment."

Zanita looked at her. "Well, no, not exactly…"

"What makes you think he'll give you an interview when he's turned down everyone

else? No offense, Zanita, but you're not exactly Edward R. Murrow, or even

Barbara Walters, or for that matter Yolanda Neade." Yolanda Neade was a ditsy

local newscaster on a non-network-affiliated television station. Mills wasn't

pulling any punches.

"This is true, but I have something they don't have."

Mills looked at her friend askance. "What, pray tell, is that?"

Zanita batted her eyelashes. "I am non-linear."

"Say what?"

"I have no idea, either, but Doc Evans seemed very interested in it."

Mills snorted. "Uh-huh. As Whoopi said, 'Girl, you in danger'."

Zanita grinned. "I wish. Believe me, the man is odd. Gorgeous, but odd. The most

I can hope for is an interview with him. And I would be more than satisfied with

that."

"Satisfied is the operative word here. Maybe he's the one."

Zanita swallowed a cashew. "The one what?"

"To befuddle you."

"Befuddle me as in make me crazy, roll around in the hay, knock my socks off,

befuddle?" Mills nodded lecherously. "Tyber? I don't think so. I mean, he does

have a body that won't quit, and he is sexy beyond words, but…"

"But?"

"He's… a kook."

Mills raised an eyebrow as if to say, When has this little aberration ever

stopped a hot-blooded man?

"No. No, believe me, you have this all wrong. I'm sure he would never notice me

in that way. He probably isn't interested in such base interactions, being so…

so intellectually lofty."

"Right."

"Seriously. He might see me as interesting in some bizarre way known only to

him." She thought of his expression and the tone of his voice when he had told

her he was going to follow up on her idea, whatever that had been. "But only

because he thinks he can teach me to understand what he's talking about."

Mills choked on her tea. "Zanita! I have no idea what you are saying! Do you?"

"Well, no. But don't blame me—it's Tyber's doing. No one could possibly

understand a thing he says." She sighed. "This is not going to be a piece of

cake."

As if her words were an omen, when she walked into the fast-food restaurant,

Tyber was wolfing down a piece of cake a little girl had handed him. He looked

up as she approached the tables where several men from the class, including

Stan, were eating hamburgers and fries.

The past twenty-four hours had, if anything, enhanced his appeal. He was just as

sexy as she remembered.

There was something about the man that invited touching.

His incredible pecs couched inside the soft cotton of his casual shirt, perhaps?

His strong column of toasty warm throat? The boyishly intriguing dimples in his

mischievous smile? The incredible intelligence behind his eyes?

It struck her anew how very different he was—not what one would expect at all.

"Hi. Want a sip?" He held out his chocolate shake to her. She eyed the drink

dubiously, remembering the pasty taste from her high school years all too well.

"No, thank you. Who's the kid?"

Tyber shrugged. "It's her birthday. She gave us all a piece of her cake. Whether

we wanted it or not." He winked at her. "Fortunately, I'm a sucker for

frosting." He licked a dollop off his finger.

It was an innocent gesture on his part, but for some reason Zanita couldn't take

her eyes off that tongue slowly swirling around the edge of his long,

beautifully tapered finger. The gesture so fascinated her that she stood

riveted, watching him.

"I did promise you I'd be honest tonight."

"Wh-what?" Her face rose guiltily to his.

"The lecture." His eyes sparked expressively in his incredibly handsome face. "I

think after tonight I'll have you hooked."

"Hooked?" She knew she sounded like a parroting idiot, but she couldn't get the

sight of that sensuously swirling tongue out of her mind. Why did he have to

look so sinfully delicious? What would that tongue feel like swirling against—

"Like peanut butter to jelly," he affirmed.

She swallowed convulsively, dispelling the image that provoked.

Tyber scooted