"I don't care what you want," he says, and there's an edge to his voice that wasn't there before. "You're not leaving in that car when everything's wet. You'll have an accident."
"Eli—"
"Turn. Around."
The rain is coming down even harder now, if that's possible. The road ahead looks more like a river than anything meant for cars. I look at him. He's staring back at me with an expression that says he's not arguing about this.
I sigh.
"Fine."
He nods once, then drives ahead, turning his truck around with the kind of ease that comes from knowing these roads in every kind of weather. I follow, much less gracefully, my little sedan fishtailing slightly in the mud.
Eli parks and gets out, jogging up to the porch. I follow, and by the time I reach the steps, I'm completely soaked. He's holding the door open, clearly not happy with me being there.
"Get inside," he says.
And because I don't have any other options, I do.
Chapter 4 - Eli
She's standing in my living room, dripping water onto the floorboards, and I'm trying very hard not to look at her.
Because she's soaked.
Completely soaked.
Her flannel shirt is plastered to her skin, clinging to every curve, and I can see. I can see everything. The outline of her bra. The swell of her breasts. The way her jeans are molded to her thighs.
I turn away so fast I nearly give myself whiplash.
"Stay there," I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intend.
"I'm sorry," she says, and she sounds miserable. "I didn't think—"
"Just stay in the living room."
I move to the fireplace, focusing on that instead of the fact that there's a woman in my house. A soaking wet woman who brought me lasagna and asked to watch me chop wood and is now standing in the one place I've kept clear of people for six years.
Ridge is already at her side, of course, because he's a traitor with no sense of loyalty. I can hear her talking to him softly, telling him she's okay, and I grab logs from the stack beside the fireplace and start building a fire.
My hands know the motions. Paper, kindling, logs stacked just right so the air can flow. I light it and the flames catch, spreading warmth into the room.
But I can still feel her presence behind me. Can hear the small sounds she makes, the drip of water hitting the floor, the soft sigh as she wraps her arms around herself.
I should give her a towel. A blanket. Something.
I should do a lot of things.
Instead, I stay crouched in front of the fire, watching the flames, trying to get my head straight.
No one's been here. Not since I moved in. Frank offered to help me move furniture that first week, and I told him no. A couple of guys from the lumber company wanted to come out for a poker night once, and I shut that down before it could even start.
This place is mine. My space. The one corner of the world where I don't have to be anything other than what I am.
And now she's here.
I stand up and force myself to turn around. She's still standing where I left her, hugging herself, water pooling at her feet. Her hair is plastered to her face, and she's shivering slightly. When she looks at me, there's something in her expression: embarrassment, maybe, or apology.