Sweet and Salty (Marshall My Heart #1)

20. Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

L aura

I am a big ole Liar McLiar Pants.

I hate storms and always have. Sure, I’ve been brave for my siblings, but the older I’ve gotten, the more the sound of thunder freaks me out. I thought Einstein would help me, but the dog is just as much of a scaredy-cat as I am, and he vastly prefers sleeping in the barn with the other animals, curled up in the hay by the pigs.

Having Jesse here is impetuous, but I couldn’t let him drive home in this weather. His driveway will basically be a river. I couldn’t live with myself if he was carried downstream.

Still, I wish I was brave enough to ask him to sleep upstairs. There is a spare room just down the hall from my primary bedroom. Chris used it as his office, where as far as I could tell, he either played video games or watched porn on his computer. Now it’s empty. It would have been easy to pull a mattress in there.

But then he’s too close. Too tempting.

Lightning flashes outside my window, illuminating the outlines of the barn and the trees beyond, where Jesse’s house stands. I tense in my bed, awaiting the clap of thunder.

Instead, there is a sudden, harsh pounding on the roof, far deeper and heavier than rain. Hail. I hate the destruction hail causes. The last hail storm, I had to repair the barn roof and fix water damage in the cellar.

Outside, there is a sudden, thunderous crunching crash and, despite myself, I yelp. Coward. I am a darn coward.

Footsteps pound on the staircase and my bedroom door flies open. “Are you okay?” Jesse asks, panting.

I can’t find my voice, torn between staring at him standing shirtless and—oh heavenly goddesses, pants-less?—in my door frame. If I thought he had a good body before, this is better than anything I’ve dreamed. He is full lumberjack, the lines of his muscles carved in the dim light from the battery-operated lantern I have on my bedside table. There’s a smattering of dark hair on his broad chest and he has this I Will Protect You look on his face that’s making me squirm.

Jesse takes one halting step into the room, and my breath catches in my chest. “Are you okay, Laura? I heard a crash.”

“It was outside,” I say through sandpaper lips. I lick them, swallow, and try again, but I’m unable to tear my gaze from his chest. I’ve never touched a body like his. What would it feel like, pressed to mine?

“You cried out. I—I was worried.”

Oh no. My ovaries tingle and warm my entire pelvis, which is already aching at the very sight of him. I need to rein it in. This is pointless, lusting after my neighbor. He’s just a man. A very handsome, very fuckable, and very unavailable man. In ocean-blue boxer shorts that hug his UFC-fighter-worthy thighs. “It’s childish. I heard the sound, and I got scared.”

“Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair, which only gives me a good view of a thick patch of his underarm hair. He has triceps too, goddamn him. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I am.” I swallow and stare out the window, because he has to feel objectified with the way I’m ogling him. Even if he can’t see me, I have heat lasers practically bursting from my eyeballs, and there is only so much male beauty I can behold before I spontaneously combust. “I wasn’t totally telling the truth before. I don’t like storms. Especially hail.”

As if to prove my point, the sounds of hail mercilessly spanking my poor roof into submission intensify. I glance up, unable to conceal my anxious shudder.

“I can stay in here, if that would make you feel better,” Jesse says, still not moving from the doorway. Conflicting zings of desire and concern swing through me. Jesse in my bedroom? Technically, he’s already in my bedroom, but in my bed, comforting me during a storm? No, I’m definitely not going to be able to control myself and will inevitably end up having sex with him.

Which isn’t a bad thing. Except. If I suspected that it would be bad sex, terrible sex, the kind of sex I’ve had with Chris and most of my other boyfriends, I wouldn’t care because it would be forgettable.

But I have the sneaking, unassailable feeling that sex with Jesse won’t be forgettable. I have a feeling he will make my body thrum even more than the hail is making my house quake. I won’t be able to bounce back from that.

I also can’t deny wanting to have someone else with me in the room. When I was growing up, having my siblings with me during storms was the one way I could fall asleep.

It’s a quandary, to say the least.

“I’ll sleep in the chair.” Jesse’s voice is soft, and he gestures toward my armchair in the corner, the one with the lopsided afghan Mom knitted for me five Christmases ago. “I won’t be a bother. Promise. But I’ll be here, if you’re scared or if you need me.”

I glance at the chair and then outside the window at the relentless storm. It’s close, but not too close. I can manage my emotions at that distance. And it would be nice, having him here. Having someone watch over me, not wanting anything from me except to exist in the same space. That warms me more than the thought of having sex with Jesse.

Almost.

“Okay.” I nod and sniff. “Thank you. I’d really appreciate that.”

“Okay.” Jesse pads into the bedroom. My floors are always so cold. I’ll have to get him slippers if he stays longer.

Not that he’s going to stay longer.

He settles his large frame into the chair and pulls Mom’s afghan over his body. “Good night again, Laura. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams,” I repeat, more to soothe myself than anything else. Like magic, even with the storm raging outside the house, my bedroom feels cozier, like it belongs to me more than it did before.