Storm Watch. Jill Shalvis

free.

      “Yeah.” He shut the bedroom door, closing off the wind and rain freely flying in, and looked at her.

      Her hair had been demurely pulled back into a low ponytail when she’d first arrived, but was loose now. The dark honey strands fell to her shoulders, with long side swept bangs framing her face.

      Her mouth was still wet.

      Which made him want to kiss her again. Forget the storm beating the shit out of his house, forget Cece out there in it—

      Okay, he couldn’t forget that. He needed to get his mind off the fantasy currently running in high def in his head, the one that had him pushing Lizzy to the wall and kissing her again until she didn’t look so worried, and then taking that kiss to its natural course, which involved no clothes and her crying out his name as she came.

      But life was rarely that good to him.

      So he turned her back to the bathroom door, where the only window was narrow and high up inside the shower. “Change. I’m going to the garage to look for plywood.”

      “The electricity is out.”

      “Yeah, it’s probably going to stay out for a good long time, too.” What the hell. He slid his fingers into her hair again, smoothing it back off her face for the sheer pleasure of feeling her warm skin beneath his palm.

      She caught his hand in hers. “Before,” she said. “When I screamed? You came running.”

      He looked into her eyes, and there was a long beat between them, where the icy air didn’t seem cold at all but rather shimmering with heat.

      The heat coming from them.

      He’d survived the past two months by putting aside emotions and feelings. It was a tactic that had served him well.

      But he was feeling now, big-time.

      “I slay my own dragons these days, Jason,” she said softly, and went back into the bathroom.

      At the sound of the lock hitting home, he smiled grimly. She didn’t need him. Message received.

      He found no plywood in the garage, which meant that the room was going to be a wreck before this was over. Hoping that would be the extent of the damage, he came back into the kitchen and took another food foray. This time, in the dubious light of the morning, he found a box of crackers and Cheez Whiz.

      Worked for him.

      Loading up crackers and stuffing them into his mouth, he called his mom. She answered on the first ring, breathless and excited. “My baby! Honey, are you back?”

      “Yeah.” At the sound of her love practically pouring through the phone line, he let out a breath and a reluctant smile. “You okay?”

      “Oh, sweetheart, I’m fine. Tell me you’re coming here so I can fatten you up and see for myself you’re in one piece.”

      “I’m in one piece.”

      “Are you sure? Because the last time we talked, you were in such a bad place—”

      That had been right after Matt’s death. He’d been a mess. “Mom.” He paused, his throat tightening. “I’m good.”

      “I’ll be the judge of that. When will I see you?”

      “Soon as this storm is over. Is Shelly okay? The house? You both safe?”

      “We aren’t flooding, we’re both staying put, and we’re fine. I love you, Jason.”

      “Love you, too, Mom.”

      “Prove it and get up here as soon as you can.”

      He promised to do that and shut his phone, resuming the stuffing of his face with the crackers and Cheez Whiz until Lizzy came into the room.

      He still couldn’t wrap his brain around it. She’d once had a way of looking at him, of seeing things in him that had made him uncomfortable, to say the least. He hadn’t liked looking into those sweet orbs and seeing himself reflected back, because he’d never liked what he’d seen.

      Of course she was no longer looking at him the way she used to. She’d learned to temper her emotions. And she’d gotten good at it, too, because she was staring right at him and he had absolutely no idea what she was thinking.

      She wore his sweats, which swam on her. Covered from chin to toe, she was now shapeless, which was good. Now maybe he could forget how she’d looked when he’d first flicked on the light, when her thin scrubs had been drenched through and clinging to her curves. “Warmer?” he asked.

      “Yes. Thanks.” She narrowed in on the jar in his hand. “Breakfast of champions?”

      He turned the jar in his palm and read the ingredients. “Hey, it’s got five percent of my daily required protein. Practically a vitamin.”

      She actually smiled, and whoa baby, that was new. He hadn’t seen many smiles out of her in their high school years. She’d been too shy, too reserved. The smile transformed her face, and while he stared stupidly at her, she came close and read over his shoulder. “It’s ninety-five percent fat, Jase.”

      Jase. No one had called him that since…well, since her, and he laughed, his first in a good long time. “Ready to roll?” “Yeah. Listen—” She broke off to glance over his shoulder, at the window above the sink, and her entire body went tense. “Move!” she cried, adding a shove packed with surprising strength for a little thing, taking them both down to the tile floor with a bone-jarring thud.

      Above them the kitchen window shattered, spraying in glass and wind and water, all of which rained down over the top of them.

      Jason managed not to bash his head on the floor as he circled his arms around Lizzy, trying to cushion her fall but not quite succeeding. Lying there flat on his back with her sprawled over the top of him, he tightened his grip when she gasped and wriggled. “Don’t move,” he demanded. “The glass.” He slid his fingers into her hair and stared up at her, searching her face. “Are you okay?”

      She craned her neck to look behind them, where he’d been standing, where the majority of the glass had hit. Rain was flying in freely now, pushed by the brutal wind. The branch that had broken the window shimmied and danced in the opening. “That almost got you,” she breathed.

      “Well, it didn’t, thanks to you.” He turned her head back to his. “And do you ever answer a question?”

      “I’m fine. And you’re not,” she said, pointing to where blood was blooming through the material of his shirt from a slice on his upper arm. She started to push herself up but her grimace tipped him off and he held her still, reaching for her hand, which was also cut.

      He sat up, which meant that she was sitting, too, straddling him. In the back of his mind he registered the fact that it was a very nice position to be in as he ran his gaze over her carefully, looking for—“Damn.” Another cut. Gently he ran a finger over her cheekbone, which was beginning to bleed. “Just a nick, though.”

      “I’m okay.” Using nothing but thigh muscles, she stood, then reached down with her uninjured hand to pull him up. Very carefully she brushed the glass from him, until he grabbed her wrist and moved them both from the shattered window, back into the living room. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the couch, going for his first-aid kit from his bag.

      “I will if you will.”

      “So you’re still stubborn,” he noted, amused at both of them.

      “As a mule. And I’m the nurse, remember?” She grabbed the first-aid kit from him as he sat next to her.

      “I’m a trained medic.” He grabbed it back, holding it over her head.

      “So, what, brute strength trumps brains?”

      “Look at you,” he murmured. “You’ve grown claws. I’m so proud.”