She scurried to her side and climbed into the cab, slamming the door shut behind her. The rain pounded the roof of the truck in a staccato beat, but inside they sat still, panting, in the sudden warmth. Heather felt like a drowned rat. Water dripped from her hair, down her face, to pool in her seat and on the floor of the truck. She swiped water from her face, then looked at Bo. He was doing the same thing. When they locked gazes, suddenly they both started laughing. For no reason they could articulate, the more they laughed, the funnier the situation became. They laughed till their sides ached. Heather couldn’t tell where the laughter tears stopped and the dripping rain began.
“I guess we should’ve left with Pete,” he said as they calmed down, still smiling and wiping his eyes.
“Do ya think?” she asked, using his own words as a tease.
That started another round of laughter that lasted several minutes, until finally subsiding into giggles, then hiccups, then comfortable silence once more. Heather felt like her face would split in two from how wide she was smiling; when was the last time she’d laughed like that?
“Let’s head home.” Bo fired up the engine, and soon the wipers were slapping water from the windshield. Over the ocean lightning flashed, a classic thunderbolt straight from the gods. They looked at each other once again, and the jolt of electricity when Heather’s eyes met Bo’s had nothing to do with the weather. A different storm was brewing, and Heather knew they both could feel it. Thunder rolled, closer now. Bo molded his hand over the gearshift and pushed it into first. As they pulled out of the parking lot and moved forward across the bridge, Heather looked out at the swirling, tempestuous water of Breach Inlet.
She suddenly realized with the force of a lightning bolt that here she was in a car during a storm again. Only this time, she wasn’t experiencing a panic attack. She released a small smile as she felt a sense of awe. This was a powerful sign she was learning to live with worry. And she wondered, glancing over at the man at the wheel, how much of this change was because of him.
THE BEACH HOUSE was dimly lit when Heather opened the front door. The storm still rallied and thunder rolled, showing no signs of dissipating in its fury, but the house was dry and warm. Once inside, they stood for a moment in the hall, water coursing from their hair and clothes to puddle on the floor.
“Wait here,” Heather said, and she rushed to her bathroom to grab two big bath towels. She ran back, almost slipping on the floor, to hand one to him. Their eyes were full of laughter as they both vigorously ran the towels over their bodies.
“There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall,” she told him, and clicked on the lights. “You’ll find more towels in there.” Feeling the hostess, she started toward the hall. “I’ll see if I can find you a spare robe in one of the closets.”
Bo grabbed her arm. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll look around. You take care of yourself.” He then dashed off, creating a dripping trail down the hall.
She smiled, liking his concern for her, and hurried across the living room to her bedroom, also dripping water across the floor. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she began to strip off her clothing. Soon she was naked, feeling vaguely illicit at being so while alone in the house with a man, and not entirely hating that feeling, even as it unsettled her deeply, made her blush in places she didn’t even know could do so. At twenty-six, she was still a virgin and had never been naked with a man. Her anxiety disorder had always found a way to end any relationship before it reached that point. She both treasured her virginity and was embarrassed about it. Based on everything she’d read in magazines and online, being her age and never having had sex made her an anomaly. Someone weird. Or, at the very least, she thought trying to be kinder to herself, someone afraid to date.
She went to the bathroom and hung her wet clothes on a hook to drip into the bathtub. Then she slipped into her white terry robe, tied the belt, and dried her hair with a towel, taking her time. Should she get dressed? she wondered. Or go out in her robe? What kind of signal would that send? The current between them in the truck had been so real. The tension had grown stronger the closer they got to the beach house. And when they stepped into the house, so dark and empty, the aura of expectation was as thick as any pheromone. She still felt the tingling in her body.
She wasn’t totally na?ve. She’d dated men before . . . a few, anyway. They’d kissed and more, but she’d always been able to stop when she wanted to. She was shy, yes, but in control of her reactions. But Lord help her, none of them had ever made her feel the way Bo did. She’d never fully understood the power of desire. This wasn’t a girlish infatuation, or even a twenty-six-year-old’s curiosity about sex. This was a woman’s need. Heather wanted to feel Bo’s lips on hers. His hands on her body. To see where their passion might lead them. It was both a frightening and an empowering physical reaction to the man. And her desire made her feel even more vulnerable.
Removing the towel from her hair, she stared at her reflection. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but her face had gained some color from the morning spent fishing. Faint freckles peppered her nose and upper cheeks, giving her a natural, fresh appearance. Her hair was tousled . . . sexy? Heather shook off the thought. She picked up her brush and slowly eased out the tangles as she worked through her thoughts, her feelings. When her hair was straight and smooth, she headed back out to Bo.
He was already in the living room, looking at photographs on the mantel. He was wearing a ratty old navy terry robe that was clearly a few sizes too small for him. The sleeves stopped halfway up his forearms and the hem ended well above his knees.
She put her hand to her mouth but couldn’t stop her laugh at the sight in front of her. But she had to admit that she’d never been so attracted to anyone in her life, miniature robe and all.
BO LOOKED UP when he heard a noise and turned to see Heather walking into the room wearing only a bathrobe, her hair combed away from her face and just begging his fingers to run through it. She took his breath away. He thought of her naked beneath her robe, and it made him feel suddenly nervous. He wanted her too much.
She drew nearer, a teasing smile easing across her face. “Nice robe.”
“Hey, at least there are no flowers or lace,” he retorted, his easy tone belying the roiling chain of thoughts racing through his brain.
Another short laugh escaped her. “Where’d you find it?”
“In the back bedroom.”
“That used to be her brother’s room. But that was forever ago.”
“Coulda been. This robe looks like it’s been there forever.”
For the first time that day, he sensed nervousness between them. A sexual tension that was both unnerving and exciting.
“Would you like me to open up that bottle of wine now?” he asked after a loaded pause.
“Oh. Yes, that would be lovely,” she replied eagerly, curling her toes. “I’ll get the glasses.”