I didn’t either but I can’t say I’m upset about the forecast. I shrug out of my wet jacket and hang it on one of the metal hooks by the door. I toe out of my soggy shoes as well.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me for a while.”
EMMA
Crap, crap, crap. What the hell am I supposed to do with Tank Marshall in my house?
After giving Tank a towel and pointing him in the direction of the bathroom, I change clothes into an ancient pair of jeans and a tank top. He still hasn’t come out yet so I flit around the living room, picking up stray items of clothing and fluffing the pillows on the couch. I glance over my shoulder nervously awaiting the moment he’ll appear.
After depositing my armful of junk in the hall closet, I race back to the kitchen. Poochie is still crouching in her carrier, watching me move around the room with her golden eyes. I unzip the carrier so she can come out when she wants to but she doesn’t seem interested in venturing any further just yet.
When I hear the telltale squeak of the bathroom door opening down the hall, I lean casually against the counter. Tank rounds the corner and I have to struggle to hold in a sigh of appreciation. He’s cuffed his pants and removed his sweater, revealing a simple white shirt. It’s tight enough to show the definition of his arms and shoulders. The muscles hinted at under his leather jacket are on full display now.
I force my eyes away from his chest and focus on the wall behind him. “Do you want some coffee or tea or something? I could put on a pot.”
He runs his hands through his hair, the dark strands standing on end. “A cup of tea is fine. As long as it’s no trouble.”
I take a mug down from the cupboard and fill it with water at the sink. I’m all too aware of Tank watching as I move around the small kitchen. His gaze sears into my back and I have to fight the urge to yank my shirt down to cover my bottom.
Just as I’m about to put the cup in the microwave, the lights flicker. We both look up at the light fixture above us. Please tell me this is not happening.
The lights flicker again and a second later we’re plunged into darkness.
“Emma?” Tank's voice comes from my left.
“I’m here. Don’t worry, this happens during every storm. The lights will come back in a second.” I put a hand out in front of me tentatively, walking forward slowly until I touch a hard surface. The counter. I place the cup of water down carefully.
I tap my foot impatiently, willing the electricity to come back. Usually when the lights go out it’s only for a few minutes. It’s strange standing here in the darkness but I’m not going to complain. The last time the power went out I was in the shower. This is a breeze compared to being in the dark while wet and naked.
A series of clicks sounds somewhere to my left before a small flame appears, floating disembodied in the dark. A moment later another flame appears, then another. Tank has obviously found the small lighter and candles I keep near the window for just this purpose.
In the light of the candles I can see him standing next to the window. He flips the small lighter closed and leans against the wall, staring out at the rain. In profile, he looks almost regal.
“This is surprisingly relaxing,” he murmurs.
“Yeah it is.” I clear my throat and looked away from the temptation that is Tank. The universe seems to be conspiring against me, determined to throw us together until I lose all resolve. Between ignoring him at the law office, and now being stranded together in the dark, part of me wants to just give in, rip my panties off and let the universe have the last laugh. But I’m not a femme fatale and seducing a man isn’t something you can study in school.
Sasha taught me to dress up to play a part. At the Black Kitty, it was all about the costume. The illusion. But I don’t want illusions and I don’t want a fantasy. No one can teach me how to be sexy in real life. I’m woefully out of my element.
“Well, I suppose I can’t offer you anything to warm you up. Unless you want a real drink.” I gesture to the row of liquor bottles lined up on a sideboard against the wall. I still have brandy and scotch. They were my father’s and the bottles haven’t been touched since he died. The thought darkens my mood. I really should get rid of those. I’m not much of a drinker but occasionally like a glass of something when I curl up reading. Or when I’ve had a hell of a day.
“Brandy would be good. Only if you join me though.” He looks at me, his dark eyes intense. “It’s not good to drink alone. So they say anyway.”
His eyes follow me as I walk to the sideboard and select a bottle. “One day I would really like to know who ‘they’ are. For people who don’t exist they seem to have a lot of influence.”
His soft chuckle rumbles through me as I pick up the bottle of brandy and stack two glasses together. I carry them over to the table and pour a small portion in each glass. In the dark the beauty of the storm is revealed, the rain and lightning putting on a private show of water and light. I take a sip of the brandy, enjoying the way it warms on my tongue.
“I haven’t done this in ages.” I sit in one of the wooden chairs by the window. “I used to love watching the rain. Whenever there was a storm my parents used to cut off all the lights and we’d all pretend we were camping out in the living room.”