Through the model home’s windows, we watch the storm transform the construction site into chaos. The rain comes in sheets now, horizontal in the wind. Our access road is rapidly disappearing under water and mud.
“That’s not good.” Reed stands beside me, close enough that I feel his heat despite our damp clothes.
“Understatement.” I try to calculate how long it will be before the road is impassable.
My fingers fly across my phone screen, sending urgent emails to postpone tomorrow’s deliveries. I should have driven here myself, but it seemed unnecessary for us to drive out here together. I’d thought I’d catch a ride back to town with Leo, but something made me stay behind. Is it too frustrating not to be here and not to handle things myself? Or is it because I wanted to be around Reed?
I focus harder on my phone, finishing my email to Lucy, and moving on to answer emails about permit renewals and inspection schedules. Anything to avoid thinking about being alone with him.
“I don’t suppose your security assessment included emergency provisions?” I aim for light, but my voice comes out breathless.
“I have supplies in my truck. The brief said to expect to be out here for a week.” He glances at the window, assessing the storm. “I’ll grab them before the storm gets worse.”
“Worse? How could it possibly—”
Lightning flashes over the lake, and the following thunder is so close that the windows rattle. Then the rain increases to the force of a raging waterfall.
“Like that.” He’s already at the door, hand on the handle. “I’ll be right back.”
“In this? That’s insane.”
“I’ve been in worse.” And then he’s out the door before I can argue.
I watch from the doorway as he jogs through the rain to his truck. The rain soaks him in seconds, his dark shirt plastering to his body. He grabs two duffel bags and a cooler, moving with a strength that makes it seem like the wind trying to knock him sideways is no big deal.
When he returns to the house and closes the door, water is streaming off him. My mouth goes dry as I stare at how his wet shirt clings to every line of muscle, leaving nothing to the imagination and adding fuel to the fire of my growing lust for Reed. Water drips from his hair, runs down his jaw, and disappears under his soaked shirt.
He sets the supplies down carefully, then looks at me. His eyes are dark in the storm light. For a moment, we just stare at each other. Him soaked and breathing hard from fighting the storm. Me frozen in place, phone forgotten in my hand, my mind running through fantasies that all involve me peeling the wet clothes from his body and tasting the rain on his skin.
CHAPTER 3
REED
Maya stands frozen by the kitchen doorway, her eyes wide and lips slightly parted. She exhales the wordOhwith a breathlessness that ratchets up the desire already burning through me. She’s looking at me like she wants to devour me. And my cock wants to let her.
“You need to get out of those clothes,” she says, her face immediately flushing in a distractingly pretty way. “I mean, you’ll catch pneumonia. There are towels in the hall closet.”
I grab towels from the closet she’s pointing to, acutely aware of how her eyes never leave me. “Thanks.”
I change into dry clothes in the guest bathroom. When I emerge, she’s sitting on the couch shivering, phone in her hands, but it’s clear she’s not actually focused on the screen.
“Hey,” I say, and she startles. I slide out of my hoodie and hand it to her. “You’re shivering. You need to warm up, too.”
Maya looks up at me and at the hoodie, hesitating for a moment before taking it. She motions for me to turn around. I do, thoughthe image of her taking off her shirt blazes through my body and wakes my cock up.
“Okay. I’m decent again,” she says.
Pity.
“Hungry?” I head to the kitchen and unpack the groceries, needing something to do with my hands that isn’t reaching for her. “I can make something decent with what we’ve got.”
“You cook?” Her voice sounds strained.
“I learned to cook when I was a kid. It was just my mom and me, mostly, and she worked a lot of nights.” I organize the food I brought in, leaving items on the counter for pasta, and putting most of the rest in the refrigerator. If I’d known I’d be cooking for a beautiful woman, I’d have brought better groceries. “Plus, I enjoy cooking, even if it’s just for myself.”
“Are you alone by choice?” She watches me as I find some pans and start heating water for pasta.
“It’s easier to be alone,” I say simply, hoping she doesn’t push her questions too far.
