Weathering the Storm by Brynn Paulin

 

 

 

Chapter Two

~ Becca St. Claire ~

“Oh my God,” I exclaimed, staring aghast at the man delivery my dinner. His lips were blue, his hair was plastered to his face and his clothes were literally dripping. “Did your car break down?”

“N-n-no,” he replied. “B-b-bi-k-k-ke d-deliver-very.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered again. “Come in. It’s warmer in here.”

He shook his head, his gaze pinned on me. Though I saw his recognition and the way his eyes ate me up, he didn’t scare me the way so many other men did. When they stared, I got the heebie-jeebies. But not with this guy. Who didn’t want to come in. Weird. Not that he didn’t want to enter my apartment, but that he didn’t creep me out.

I glanced down at my white flannel jammies covered with flying pigs. Sexy. And I wasn’t wearing my makeup. Yeah, so no, he probably didn’t recognize me. On the other hand, I couldn’t stop staring at him. He looked like he’d been caught in a tsunami, but he was utterly drop-dead gorgeous.

Taking my order from him, I set it on the table by the door. “Let me grab my purse and give you a tip anyway. The door will slam in your face if you don’t hold it, so…” I waved him in.

He stepped forward so the door rested against his shoulder, but came no farther in. “I’m s-s-sorry I’m g-getting your floor all w-w-et.”

My floor wasn’t the only thing wet. Damn, Becca, get a grip.

“Don’t worry about it. Are you sure you won’t come in and warm up a little. You’re going to get pneumonia, and I’ll feel guilty forever.”

Not that I’d know, which he kindly didn’t point out.

He shook his head. I wondered if his clenched jaw was to keep his teeth from chattering. A guy like him, it probably embarrassed him to sound as if he were stuttering.

That was making assumptions. I probably shouldn’t. But I had a weird way of getting invested in things… Usually, homeless animals and people who needed someone to care about them, whether they were the billionaire heiress who stopped through the studio to see her inattentive husband, the homeless man who’d been near where I’d done my last outdoor report, or this guy. I didn’t know anything about him, but I sensed…a hole in his soul. It was a weird empathy thing I had. It had shown up when I was little and never gone away.

Pulling out a bill, I walked back toward him. Our fingers brushed as he reached for the tip and lightning flared through me. He froze, but I soon realized it wasn’t for the same reason. He stared at the cash, indecision warring across his features.

Finally, he looked up at me. “It’s too much.”

“Not really. It’s twenty dollars, but you had to bike through a storm to get here. Honestly, that deserves an even bigger tip.”

“Becca—” He cut off suddenly while my eyes widened. He did know who I was.

“Just take it,” I urged.

That indecision again, then he sighed and shoved it into his pocket.

“What’s your name?” I asked, feeling at a slight disadvantage.

“Heller.”

“Heller,” I repeated, liking how it felt on my tongue. I also liked how he seemed comfortable to me, if not with me. That would come. He didn’t frighten me. “What are you doing tomorrow? I know that’s probably a bit forward of me, but…”

His eyes flared with surprise. “Working.”

Oh… “How late?”

“Eleven. Like today.”

“Hell of a Friday night, but I guess someone has to do the deliveries. I have to deliver my weather reports in the evenings, so I guess someone has to do that, too, right?” God, I was babbling. “Um… Afterward, though… Would you like to go to the midnight movies over at the mall?”

He gave a slight shake of his head, and my stomach plummeted. I’d read that all wrong. I’d thought he’d looked interested. Chalk up another one for Sunday School Becca. I had zero experience, and everyone, even viewers commented on how wholesome I seemed.

“I don’t have a car,” he said, cutting through my disappointment. “Just the bike. I’m getting new wheels next month.”

“No more biking through thunderstorms,” I commented. As if I’d brought it on, I huge boom of thunder crashed nearby. When my head swiveled toward my windows, I saw several forks of lightning. A moment later, more thunder cracked. The storm was right over us.

“Okay, look,” I said, tugging on Heller’s arm. “First of all, I can drive us tomorrow, if you want to go and the transportation is your only reason for declining. Second, you can’t go back out in that right now. Not only will you get soaked—more, anyway—but you could be killed. Trust me. I’m a meteorologist. It’s kind of my job to know these things.”

We were still standing in my open doorway, the door held ajar by his body, but he seemed to be warming up a little. His teeth had stopped chattering while I’d gotten the tip.

“All right, weathergirl. How long is this supposed to last?” He crossed his muscular arms over his chest, and even though he wore a raincoat… Holy arm porn. I didn’t even mind that he called me weathergirl when he did that. It distracted me from snapping at him about it, anyway.

“At least until three.”

“Crap.”

“Is someone waiting at home?” I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe, he wasn’t single.

“No. Nothing’s waiting at home. I’m just thinking I won’t get any sleep tonight.”

“My couch is yours. Do you need to let the restaurant know where you are?”

“No, this was my last thing then I was going home.”

“Well…” Suddenly, I wasn’t sure what to say. Here was Sunday School Becca again. I so should have gotten some experience before now, just so I could shed the whole sweet, innocent air around me. I glanced at Heller, suddenly knowing exactly what I wanted. “Heller?” I asked, stepping closer. “Are you single?”

That burning lit up in his eyes again as he studied me. “Yes.”

My fingers trailed along his bicep, only inches between us. My tongue swept over my bottom lip as I stared up at him. God, he was almost a foot taller than me. I hadn’t realized until I’d gotten this close.

“Stay,” I whispered. “I’d like you to deliver something else.”