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The world out here is so wet it feels upside down. Puddles everywhere. Mud that tries to eat my boots alive. Every step is a struggle not to slip and wipe out right on my rear-end in front of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Intense. The rain is letting up, only a thin curtain now, beads chasing each other down my arms and getting caught in the lace at my wrist.
We cross the open space between the barn and the back door. It’s not even that far, but it feels like the longest walk of my life. My boots make godawful noises, each step another loud reminder of how hopelessly out of my comfort zone I am.
When I finally reach the porch, the rain is little more than a memory, droplets clinging to my eyelashes and the tip of my nose. I’m shivering so hard now that I can hardly get my hand around the door handle. The cold has eaten straight through all my pep talks and landed in my bones.
Silas gets there first, blocking the door with one broad shoulder. He plants his boots, wipes one hand through his hair, squeezing out enough water to fill a bottle. The sight of it is weirdly mesmerizing.
He looks at me, then at the puddle forming on the porch under my feet. One brow arches, like he can’t decide if this is hilarious or a situation requiring emergency intervention.
“Inside,” he growls, voice dipped in gravel. “You’re about to turn blue.”
I squeak out a laugh that honestly sounds deranged, then brush past him into the warmth of the house. The slap of dry air and the familiar scent of coffee and vanilla is an instant life upgrade.
Every inch of me is soaked and shaky, but a new kind of thrill is curling somewhere south of my navel. Silas is right behind me, dripping onto the tile, eyes fixed on me like I’m the only thing that matters within a hundred-mile radius.
He closes the door with a heavy, final sound. For a second, neither of us moves.
Outside, rain hammers the barn roof somewhere far behind us, but in here, the only thing that matters is the pounding of blood in my ears and the warmth of his gaze. I swallow hard, trying to chase away the tremors, but there’s no hiding how I feel. I want him. It’s as obvious as the trail of water we’ve left behind us.
Silas’s lips curl just a little, like he can read every freaky thought in my head. He holds my stare, then tips his chin again, gesturing deeper into the house.
“Laundry room. Let’s go.”
The command in his voice is pure fire, and I follow without a second thought, already dreaming about a hot shower and warm bed.
The laundry room smells like sunshine and fabric softener. Silas shoulders through the door ahead of me, makes a beeline for the cabinets overhead, and yanks down two towels. His shirt is pasted to his back, showing every contour of muscle through the cotton, and his jeans are practically painted on. Water drips off the end of his nose.
He wraps a towel around me. “Here,” he says, voice all business, but his eyes skim me from head to foot and linger on the places the blouse is practically see-through. Holy moly, the look in his eyes.
The terrycloth is warm, and I fight with my hair, which is in gross wet tangles, probably rearranged into tragic little clumps, but I don’t even care. Silas grabs the second towel, drags it over his own head, then shakes like a retriever and sends water flying onto the tile.
Rain drums on the tin roof, lower now, just a dull spatter, a reminder of the wild dash here. My skin is still tingling with cold, and my teeth feel like they might start up again, but already, the promise of warmth is pushing me toward calm. Sort of.
We kick off our boots in the laundry room and head through the dark house. A farmhouse lamp glows over the corner of the couch, painting the world in honey-colored light. On the sofa, Hank is out cold, chin propped on his folded paws, snoring so loud I’m amazed the storm didn’t rattle him awake. His flannel blanket is tucked just so, not a wrinkle in sight.
Silas halts beside me, both of us staring at the dog. For a second, the room settles. All I can hear is the even hush of Hank’s snore and Silas’s breathing inches away from the side of my face. The quiet of it hits different. It’s homey, safe, surreal.
Then Silas slides a step closer. His hand skims my arm, closing the towel tight around my shoulders. The pressure is strong and careful at once, the way a man holds the most valuable thing in the room and knows it. His fingers pause, thumb brushing back a strand of wet hair stuck to my forehead. His knuckles linger there, warm against my skin, and my body goes utterly still.
I tip my face to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes is wild and hot and just for me.
He doesn’t hesitate. Not even a little. His mouth comes down on mine, slow at first, but not careful. Not polite. The first brush of his lips is heat and hunger layered over the last of the rain.
I gasp, taste the shimmer of water still clinging to his skin, and the world slides out of focus. The kiss electrifies every inch of my body.
His hands go up, rough at the back of my neck, pinning me in place as his mouth claims mine. I give as good as I get. My whole body wakes up, tuning itself to the feel of his lips, the taste of him, the strength bracketing me on either side.
He pulls me in, crushing me against the heat of his body, and my toes barely graze the carpet. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, fingers digging in. My heart is thudding at a wild, impossible speed.
He tries to pull back. His lips part from mine, his hands gentling at my jaw, but I am not about to let this man take back a second of what just happened. I double down, fists closing around the front of his shirt, twisting it up and anchoring him to me.
“Don’t you dare stop,” I whisper, half-hiss, half-command.
His laugh is low, rough, and so unfairly hot I’m dizzy. “Wasn’t planning on it, sweetheart.”
He dives right back in, lips crushing mine, tongue slicking the seam until I open for him. The air feels charged. I’m burning everywhere he touches. Our bodies lock together, wet clothes grinding, need ramping up so fast it hurts.
Somewhere behind us, Hank snores louder, still dead asleep and triumphantly unaware.
