I nod, because damn, his face is only inches from mine, his scent of musk and salt all around me, and the words are still a no-show. My brain has taken a vacation and hasn’t sent a postcard.

It only gets worse when he lifts a callused hand to my cheek and strokes back a wet tendril of hair clinging there. Crap, now I can’t even breathe, the air locked in my lungs, my skin prickling all over.

“Let’s get you up.” He takes my hands, and my palms sting where he grips them, but I couldn’t care less.

I let him pull me up, and we stand together, bodies flush, the wind ripping through us. It’s cold, but his body emanates heat and it seeps into me, right into my flesh and bones.

“You sure you’re okay?” He’s turned against the light now, and it gilds his hair and the outline of his shoulders. “Can I leave you alone?”

And if I don’t want you to leave? I want to say, which is the most idiotic thing ever. But I nod again, because he seems to expect an answer. He probably thinks I’m mute and an idiot. Well done, Ray.

Although that’s for the best.

It’s only when he releases me and steps away, toward the steps and the still raging storm, that I find my voice.

“I’m Raylin,” I say.

He stops, and I see that the tattoo on his back is a flock of blackbirds tangled with snakes and flowers, black with touches of red and light blue. He glances at me over one massive shoulder.

“I’m Storm,” he says, and I believe it as he vanishes back into the rain.

STORM

What’s with this girl?

I stumble into the house, dripping and leaving puddles behind me as I head toward the bathroom. I’m limping, too. My leg aches, the healed fracture from four months back throbbing with the humidity and the running. I like pushing my own limits, and even as I stumble inside, I don’t regret it.

Not at all, especially since I met her.

I toe off my sodden running shoes and tug down my drenched shorts. I’m hard, have been since I pressed my body to hers under the roof of the beach terrace.

Seriously, what is it with her? She’s a fraud, that much I know. That house where she’s staying? No fucking way is she housesitting. The place was sold a few months ago, Hawk told me. He knows the previous owners. They’ve been here, on and off, and are supposed to come by and grab the rest of their things any day now.

Hawk. Rook. Damn.

I should tell them where I am. They are my only true friends. Our bond goes beyond friendship. We’re the same blood. We’re sworn to secrecy, branded with roses and thorns.

Still, I hesitate. Call me paranoid, but after the last accident, I’m lying low. Better they don’t know where to find me. Better nobody does.

But this girl. Dark hair, bangs dripping in her face, wet lips parted and eyes wide, the rain molding the thin blouse and shorts to her curves… So hot. Pressing against her in the rain was like a spark of life, a spark of fire lighting me up from the inside. Making me feel again.

Why did she drag me out of the storm? Why was she out there, watching it wash over the land and sea? Does it excite her, like it does me? What does she want?

Why did she back away from me after she led me to the house? I thought it was an invitation, but fear lurked in her eyes, and I wouldn’t take her against her will.

But fuck, I want her. She pulls at something in me, and I can’t let go. I want to hold her, protect her, draw out her secrets. Rip off her clothes and sink into her, fuck her until I can’t think anymore.

My balls ache, and when I wrap my hand around my cock, I groan between my teeth. Christ, when was the last time I was so hard? Can’t remember. Maybe before the car crash four months ago, but even then I can’t recall being so damn desperate for release.

I tug on my hard-on, hissing at the pressure, as my other hand traces the surgical scar running down my side. The skin itches there, tight and strangely numb.

Which is like I feel most of the time.

Pulling harder on my dick, I enter the shower stall and turn on the water on warm. From the giant rainforest showerhead, a soft cascade falls, warming me up. I brace one hand on the tiled wall and bend over, working my aching hard-on, my fist sliding from the base to the head slowly. Drawing the pleasure out. The need.

My head dips forward as I jack off to the image of her face, that ripe mouth, those wide eyes, those pretty tits with their pretty dark nipples visible through the soaked cloth. Long strokes that stoke the pressure behind my balls.

Her mouth on my dick, sucking. Taking me deep. Those damn eyes looking up at me, dark and wide. My hand tangled in her long hair, pulling. Her teeth scraping the underside of my cock, teasing.

My stomach clenches, and my whole body jerks as I come, splashing my cum on the shower wall. A groan catches between my teeth, my leg muscles trembling with the force of the orgasm ripping the seed from my balls.

Fuck. God.

I bow over, hair falling in my eyes, water choking me as I struggle to catch my breath. Ow. I think I have no more cum left in me, and I reach down for my deflated balls to reassure myself they’re still there.

Just from thinking about her. Without even tasting her, or kissing her, or touching her skin except to hold her hands in mine.

I’m fucked.

Chapter Two

RAYLIN

The rain lashes at the windows until late the next morning, and I watch it, sipping at some yucky instant coffee I found stashed in the pantry room. Dry and protected behind the bay windows facing the beach, I’m warm and cozy.

It sucks, because it leaves my mind loose to wander and visit worries, fears, and the memory of a certain muscular guy pressed up close and personal, asking me if I’m okay.

It also brings back the memory of the thug after me, and I feel itchy with nerves.

He can’t have followed me here. What is this, a James Bond film? Nobody knows where I am.

I slide out of the loveseat someone thoughtfully placed there—to watch the rain like I am? I wonder—and think about Storm or whoever he is as I rinse my cup in the kitchen sink.

What was he doing last night jogging in the hurricane? Okay, almost hurricane, and sure, it’s his own business, but only a blind man would have missed the front coming. He was right outside the house whose fence he was fixing when I noticed and went to take shelter.

Instead, he headed out for a run. On the surf.

A little disturbed at the dark suggestions my mind offers as to his motivations, I return to the terrace. Pushing the screen door open, I walk to the end, to the steps where he held me by the hips and asked me who I am. The tiles are cool under my feet, and my toes curl a little at the sensation.

He headed into the storm. Did he want to hurt himself? Put himself in danger?

None of your business, Ray. None of your damn business. Don’t you have enough with worrying about your own little self? Hitmen sent after you not enough trouble for you?

So it makes no sense that I go into the bathroom and fix my hair, pulling the dark strands into a ponytail, and straighten the halterneck top of the only dress I own. Just on the off chance he passes by later.

Pathetic. Seriously.

The rain isn’t showing any sign of letting up. No internet, no TV. It’s like being stranded on a desert island. Some more digging unearths a stack of musty romance novels, and I plop myself back in the loveseat to read. My stomach rumbles, but I ignore it, too comfortable to move.

I wish I could stay here forever, in this bubble of warmth and safety. Not having to worry about myself, my family and the debt collectors after me.

Not having to remind myself every day to keep breathing and that life is worth living, even when the people who are supposed to look after you, love you above all, have abandoned you to the wolves—no, worse.