I’m going to admit that there was a fair amount of whimpering when I read the last page of this book. Yes, it ends in a cliffhanger and once again, I’m okay with that.
In Heat, we really get some HEAT. Holy moly, Martin and Kaitlyn really light up the pages with their chemistry and sexytimes!!! But do not assume that all this one is about is the physical aspect of their relationship. One could assume that Martin is nothing but a smart rich guy but Heat fills in the holes where his background is concerned. His family is nothing to brag about and are nothing if not extremely callous and horrible people. Martin does everything he can to keep his life separate from his messed up family.
Kaitlyn experiences a new part of herself during the week she spends with Martin. She certainly discovers herself sexually, I mean, who wouldn’t with a guy like Martin? Good googly moogly. I think a woman could lose her virginity just standing in the same room with him, much less removing clothing. I digress. Kaitlyn begins to explore the possibility of doing more with her life than going into science. Going into the sciences is what she feels like to expected of her, not necessarily what she really wants to do or is passionate about. During her week with Martin, she realizes that music is her true passion but how can she actually pursue her true passion without disappointing her family and their expectations.
I truly enjoyed the time that Kaitlyn and Martin spent together. They have an easy going connection with each and their banter is hilarious and entertaining. I loved book 2 in this series and I cannot wait to see how Ms. Reid winds up the “saga” of Kaitlyn and Martin.
“What are you doing?”
I lifted my eyes at the sound of Martin’s voice, but not immediately. I finished the paragraph I was reading, then I looked up, holding my place in the book with my thumb.
He was dressed in swim trunks and he was wet, with beads of water dripping down his chest. As such, he looked super hot. However, only the right side of his body was visible as the door blocked the other side. His hand was still on the doorknob and he leaned a tad to one side, into the room.
My eyes wandered over his form and I allowed myself to appreciate the beauty of Martin Sandeke like I might admire the beauty of a cold, soulless statue. Physically, he was a magnificent male specimen: corded muscle, long limbs, and rigid angles. Even his temples were drool worthy, especially since I knew his head housed a giant—albeit mismanaged—brain. Truly, he was one of our finest. His ancestors should really give themselves a big pat on the back.
A little pool of water had gathered at his feet, which made me wonder how long he’d been standing in the doorway. My eyes traveled upward again and I noticed he wore an angry expression. He looked livid.
I started a little at the heated annoyance in his stare. Then I glanced around the laundry room, searching for the source of his anger. I found that I was still alone. Therefore, I surmised his fury must be directed at me.
But, just to be sure, I said, “Who? Me?”
“Yes. You,” he growled, then stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “What are you doing in here?”
I raised the book and tipped my head toward it. “I’m reading.”
Martin exhaled loudly, another growl. “I can see that, Parker. But why the fuck are you in here reading?”
I frowned at his use of profanity, my shoulders bunching with tension. I realized I’d gotten used to it, how often he cussed; I’d accepted it as part of him. But that was before he’d left me standing at the entrance to a party I didn’t want to attend, and that was before I’d seen him kissing a random girl.
“It’s the first sequel to The Three Musketeers. I’ve been meaning to read it. I found it on the shelf in the library—or living room, or whatever room. There are too many rooms in this house, so I don’t know what half of them are called.”
Martin gritted his teeth, and I got the distinct impression he wanted to strangle me. “Parker. This is a party. And you’re in the laundry room? Reading?”
I paused a beat to make sure this wasn’t a trick question. When I could find nothing amiss with his interrogation, I nodded slowly. “Yes. This is a party. I am in the laundry room reading.”
“Why? What is wrong with you?”
My mouth opened and closed but no words arrived, because his questions continued to confuse me. Finally, I admitted, “Martin, I don’t know what you want me to say or why you appear to be upset. I found the book when I was in one of the several rooms with lots of books. I’ve been meaning to read it. So I picked it up and found a quiet place. Why are you so angry?”
He charged at me and I ineffectually scrambled backward on the washing machine. In less than two seconds he’d pulled the book from my hands, slapped it on the counter at my left, and braced his arms on either side of my legs, leaning forward.
I realized he’d made me lose my page in the book. I decided to ignore my urge to vocalize this complaint, because his eyes were beyond heated.
They were incensed blue flames. I braced myself, my gaze wide and watchful, and flinched when he lifted a hand. I relaxed a smidge when he used it to push my hair off my shoulder.
When he spoke, his voice was low, strained, like he was trying very hard to control his temper. “I brought you here as my date. That was our agreement.”
I nodded once. “Yes. I know.”
“And, instead of talking to people or having fun, you’re in here reading a book.”
I kept my voice even and calm, tried to sound soothing. “I am having fun. I’m reading a book.”
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