She looks embarrassed, but I’m not about to stand out here talking about it while we turn into puddles.
I grab her by the arm.
She squeals. “Are you trying to kidnap me?”
“No. My house is right here. Come inside and dry off.”
I watch her debate with herself while continuing to stand in the pouring rain.
“Joanna.” I say her name sternly, and somehow this is what makes her listen.
I lead her down the short set of steps and unlock my door as quickly as my fingers can find the key. It’s raining so hard there’s now about an inch of water pooling at my door. Once we slosh our way through the entryway, I run a hand through my hair to push the shoulder-length strands away from my face.
I probably look like a wet mop. I certainly feel like a wet mop.
“Welp,” she starts, hugging herself for warmth, “I officially regret not bringing a coat.”
Though most of my motivation was selfish, I felt badly enough for her fumbling about in the rain that I invited her inside my home, but now that she’s here, standing awkwardly in the foyer with no clue what to do next, I’m starting to question what I was thinking.
I have no dry clothes that will fit her, and even if I gave her something of mine, wouldn’t that be a bit…forward? I probably should have asked if she wanted to come inside, instead of yanking her into my house like a serial killer, but there’s no going back now.
“Do you want to change into something dry?” I ask, trying desperately to make my tone hospitable.
One judgmental eyebrow shoots up her forehead. “And what would that be? A spare change of clothes from your most recent conquest?” She smiles to herself, believing she’s nailed me as a playboy. Little does she know, I haven’t been with a woman since the Berlin wall was still standing. “Do you purposely keep women’s clothing on hand for occasions such as this?” she adds.
“Such as getting caught in a rainstorm?” I suggest mockingly. She nods, but I merely smirk in the face of her smugness. “I don’t know what you think you know about me, but I don’t haveconquests.” Her proud expression falls. “I have nothing that will fit you. But you can wear something of mine. If you want.” I watch for any sign she might recoil from the idea, but her expression remains flat.
Joanna assesses her current state, making note of how the already taut fabric of her dress clings to her in wet patches that leave nothing to my imagination. “I guess…that would be okay.”
I show her upstairs to the loft, given my en suite bathroom has heated floors and the most space. As we move across my bedroom, I notice her start to take in her surroundings. Joanna gazes over the balcony that overlooks the den. She’s curious about how I live, as is everyone in this town. I swear they all think I sleep in a coffin and live underground because I’m allergic to the sun. It just so happened the basement apartment came with the movie theater when I purchased it, and I will never give up my California King.
Pointing her to the bathroom, I stop to grab a black T-shirt and joggers from my chest of drawers. I don’t wear casual attire often, but I’ve learned to invest in comfortable pieces over the decades. Before I moved to Shadow Hills, I lived across the street from a public gym, so I learned a lot about athletic fashion, or what the younger crowd refers to asathleisure.
“The floors are heated,” I tell her.
One of her eyebrows lifts in confusion. “But you don’t get cold.”
“When I got the house, I asked for all the latest technology. I guess I didn’t realize some of it would be useless.”
I see her holding in a laugh, then she lets out a snort.
I go to hand her the clothing, but she’s already yanking off the tights from underneath her dress. I look away, setting the clothes on the marble countertop. She notices me but doesn’t look embarrassed or bothered in the slightest.
She grabs the zipper at the nape of her neck and I turn to walk away, giving her privacy to change.
“Ouch.” Her voice has me turning back. Her head is tilted at an odd angle, trying to see what’s happening behind her line of vision. “I think it’s stuck in my hair.”
Without being asked, I step closer. Her chestnut locks have indeed caught in the slider of her zipper, but the moment I get too close, I’m caught off guard by something.
Christ what is that smell?
I lean forward just slightly and realize it’s Joanna. Her scent is so alluring, I feel warm all over. She smells like sweet, liquid cane sugar, straight from the source, and it takes hold of me like a vice. I’m trapped by her nearness to me, like an asteroid sucked into the atmosphere of a planet. Her smell is so fierce, so intoxicating, I forget to breathe, yet I don’t mind the suffocating feeling it elicits.
I swallow hard and try to clear my head. Gingerly, I take the rest of her hair and move it out of the way, draping it over her shoulder. I carefully maneuver the tangled strands until they’ve been freed.
“There,” I say curtly, my breath dusting the back of her neck. Goosebumps rise along her skin, and I tell myself it’s because she’s still in wet clothes.
“Thanks.”
