Page 21 of Stripe Theory

“Yes.” But he didn’t release her.

“Mr. Kedi?”

“Rehan,” he corrected automatically.

“Rehan. You’re still...”

“Holding you.” He made no move to stop. “Yes.”

“Professional distance?”

A low rumble answered her. “That’s becoming increasingly difficult.”

“Oh my god,” Maya groaned from somewhere behind them. “Just kiss already. The sexual tension is setting off my shifter senses.”

That broke the spell. They jumped apart like opposite magnetic poles suddenly switching charge. Alora immediately missed his warmth.

“I have spare clothes in my office,” she said quickly. “And towels. For science emergencies. Not that this was an emergency. More of an... unexpected reaction.”

“Like the purple smoke?” His lips twitched.

“Exactly. Well, no. Different. More wet.” She cringed. “I mean... I’m going to shut up now.”

She fled to her office, Maya’s laughter following her. Through the glass walls, she caught Rehan watching her retreat, his eyes still glowing gold in the fluorescent lights.

Maya appeared with a stack of towels, grinning like the cat who got the cream. “So... that was professional.”

“Zip it.”

“He didn’t even notice when his phone fell in a puddle. Too busy making sure you weren’t hurt by the big bad centrifuge.”

“It’s nothing.” Alora buried her face in the towel. “Just... professional appreciation.”

“Honey, I’ve seen professional appreciation. That wasn’t it. That was pure, primal?—”

“If you say ‘mate bond’ I’m replacing all your coffee with decaf.”

Maya mimed zipping her lips, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Fine. But when you’re ready to talk about why he keeps growling at lab equipment that gets too close to you...”

“Don’t you have cultures to check? Far away from here?”

“Going!” Maya headed for the door, then paused. “Though you might want to change quickly. Your tiger’s getting twitchy out there, and that wet dress isn’t helping his control.”

Alora glanced down at herself and squeaked. The blue fabric clung in ways that definitely violated lab safety protocols.

Professional distance, she reminded herself firmly. Focus on the science. Not on how water droplets traced paths down Rehan’s neck, or how his sweater emphasized every perfectlysculpted muscle, or how his growl made her want to conduct very unprofessional experiments...

She needed to change. And possibly invest in waterproof lab equipment.

And definitely stop thinking about wet tiger shifters.

Changed and somewhat dried, Alora returned to find her lab partially restored to order. Rehan had exchanged his wet sweater for a spare dress shirt someone had rustled up—probably Hunter, given how it stretched across his shoulders. He stood at her main workstation, studying their earlier data with intense focus.

“This pattern,” he said without turning. “It’s not random.”

She moved beside him, close enough to share warmth but not quite touching. Professional. Mostly. “You’re right. Look here?—”

She reached past him to tap the screen, pulling up genetic sequences. “The virus maps the shifter gene before attacking. It’s learning, adapting...”

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