Sweet and Salty (Marshall My Heart #1)

19. Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

J esse

I chase after her through the rain, our feet splashing water and muck into the air, the umbrella doing absolutely nothing to keep us dry. I don’t care. Her laugh as she holds the broken umbrella aloft despite its futility makes me feel warm and dry.

She throws open the kitchen door and I shuffle in beside her, toeing off my muddy, wet boots. “I’m so sorry, I’m dripping all over your floor,” I say.

She tosses back her soaked hair. I turn away toward the door, pretending I’m watching the rain instead of ogling her in the soaking T-shirt that clings to every sinuous curve. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll go grab some towels.”

The rain pounding on the roof drowns out the sounds of her walking away, her bare feet slipping across the smooth faux hardwood of her kitchen floors. This is a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here. Bringing propane for her generator seemed like such a good idea, such an innocuous and neighborly thing to do. Now it feels like I somehow wormed my way into her house.

Maybe I can make myself useful. I stride across her kitchen to the electric kettle. I fill it and click the button, then rummage through her cabinets for mugs and tea bags.

“Here you go.” Laura stops beside me and hands me a towel that’s as soft and fuzzy as the robe she’d worn that other day.

Which is also something I shouldn’t think of. I dry my hair with the towel and then use it to fight a losing battle with my wet jeans.

Outside, lightning flashes, followed immediately by thunder. In what seems an unconscious gesture, Laura grabs my bicep then releases it almost immediately. Her touch burns in the best way. “Storm’s right over us,” Laura says softly.

“Yeah, I guess so.” The kettle whistles, interrupting the moment. I turn it off and pour hot water over the tea bags. “Is tea okay?”

“It’s great.” Another beat of thunder cracks across the sky. Laura stares out the window, shivering despite the towel wrapped around her. “I’m glad the animals are in the barn. Thank you for your help.”

“Any time.” Damn it, that sounds far too much like I mean it. “I mean, I like animals. It’s nice to spend time around them.” That’s absolutely no better. It says nothing about how much I enjoy spending time with her. Just being in her orbit soothes my soul. “I should be going. Before it gets too late.”

I turn toward the door, but Laura stops me with a hand on my arm. “Wait, don’t go.” She drops her hand almost immediately, like my touch scalds her. She glances down at her mug of tea. “The roads will be awful. Especially by your house. You’re going to get stuck in the mud. Why don’t you just stay here tonight? There’s the apartment over my garage, or my couch is comfortable.”

She’s conveniently ignoring that I could just run through the rain and trees to my house, though that idea is even less appealing than driving.

Every nerve ending in my body stands upright, tingling with the nearness of her. This is possibly the worst idea. Well, not the worst idea. I’m already so drawn to Laura, more than anyone else I’ve ever met. Maybe it’s loneliness. Maybe it’s forced proximity or the constant adrenaline high from hiding out. Whatever it is, Laura Marshall is like a drug, and I’m very much already addicted.

“Are you sure?” I ask. There’s a lock of wet hair hanging over her forehead. It would be so easy to brush it aside, if I could just narrow this gap between us. “I can easily go home.”

“I’m sure.” She lifts her gaze to mine and holds it, every inch of her bravado sparking danger beacons inside of me. Strong women are definitely my kryptonite. “Stay. This storm is awful, and it’s the least I can do after your help with Lucretia Borgia.”

“That is quite the name for a donkey. It suits her.”

She beams, as though this is the nicest possible thing I could have said. Did I google who Lucretia Borgia was? Maybe, and I’m not sorry about it at the moment. Anything to make Laura smile like that is worth it.

“Let’s make some dinner before the power goes out,” she says.

She cooks pasta while I find her flashlights and ensure they have workable batteries. Then we eat and play board games until the electricity spits and frizzles a few hours later. She is relentless at Clue.

I help her collect sheets and spare pillows from her linen closet and make myself a bed on her couch by the glow of flashlights.

“Do you have everything?” She tugs at her ponytail and shifts from foot to foot. She has on the fuzziest slippers I have ever seen, bright pink fluff balls with little monster talons around the toes. “I’ll just be upstairs. Make yourself at home.”

“I will.” I remain standing, afraid that if I sit on the couch in her presence, I will be too tempted to pull her down onto the cushions with me. “Good night, Laura. Thank you.”

She glances between me and the staircase leading to her bedroom loft. “Good night, Jesse.”

I wait until she leaves before finally tugging off my wet jeans. Then I slip beneath the sheets, letting the sounds of rain pounding on the roof overhead lull me into a tortured sleep, full of dreams of Laura.