I snorted. “That’s not how immune systems work.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t...” He broke off, dripping on my welcome mat and forming a small puddle. “Can I come in?”
“Right. Yes. Of course.” I stepped back, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, and shoved it at him. Manners and all. “Here. Dry off. You’re insane.”
“Insane would’ve been not coming when you sounded like you needed it.” He took the towel but didn’t use it yet, just held it while water continued dripping down his face. “This is the bare minimum I’d do for you.” He said it simply, like it was obvious. “Now, where’s the problem?”
I blinked, still processing “bare minimum” while he was already moving past me, toweling off his hair in a way that made it stick up in absurd directions. He should look ridiculous, but unfortunately to my uterus, he looked devastatingly attractive. Life was profoundly unfair.
“Where’s the…” He paused for a second, “Circuit breaker?” he asked.
I showed him. He examined it with the same intensity he brought to everything, brow furrowed, jaw tight, like the circuit breaker had personally offended him and needed to be dealt with accordingly.
He flipped switches, prodded things, muttered in what might be another language. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, then finally he turned to me with a sheepish expression.
“I have no idea what’s wrong.”
I just stared at him. This massive, capable, probably-could-bench-press-a-car man just admitted he couldn’t fix my electricity. I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped me.
“It’s not funny,” he said, but his lips were twitching.
“You ran through a storm in seven minutes. And you can’t fix it!”
“The wiring in this building is probably antiquated. The video I saw wasn’t like this. This infrastructure is completely...”
“You don’t know what’s wrong.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he admitted. Then his chin lifted slightly, a hint of that confidence returning. “In my defense, I have many other useful skills. Electrical work just isn’t one of them.”
“What skills? Being wet and decorative?”
“Ah, little menace.I’mthe one that makes people wet,” his eyes glinted in the candlelight. “But I’m glad to know you find me attractive enough to think I’m decorative.”
My face heated and I cursed him internally, ignoring the growingwetnessin my panties. Damn him. “That’s not what I...”
“First hot, now decorative.” He stepped closer, still dripping slightly, a slow smile spreading across his face. I had to bite my lip to stop a whimper from coming out. “You’re doing wonders for my ego, Riley.”
“Oh, I’m sure your ego doesn’t need help.”
“Maybe not. But I like hearing you compliment me anyway.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his wet fingers leaving a cool trail on my cheek. “Even accidentally.”
I almost fucking fainted, my heart going a mile per hour. I was suddenly a teenager standing in front of her crush. What the hell was wrong with me?
“I should...” I stepped back, gesturing vaguely. “The storm. You can’t go back out in that.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll get struck by lightning.”
“The statistical odds of that are...”
“Stay.” The word came out harder than I intended, so I cleared my throat. “Please. I’d feel terrible if you got hurt only because you came to help me. I can make dinner. I have a camping burner somewhere. It’ll be terrible, but it’ll be food.”
“Okay.” He nodded. No hesitation or argument, just immediate compliance.
“Okay?”
“You asked me to stay.” He shrugged like it was simple. “So I’m staying.”
