her shoulders. He knew firsthand it was the
softest thing he'd ever touched, and she hadn't bothered to style it or fix
herself up the way most of the women he'd known had—like they were embarrassed
to let him see who they really were.
Then
again, he'd never spent real, quality time with any of the women he slept with,
even the ones he'd been with during the calmer times.
Christ,
the way she looked at him could take him down at the knees if he let it. She
was watching him—studying him really—her eyes luminous and wide in the
lamplight, and this time he could've sworn she wasn't doing it for science. But
she was, and he would damn sure figure out her angle. If Haley wanted to play,
he was going to give her her money's worth. Because he should get to have some
fun during all this.
Hopefully,
Mother Nature would cooperate, because he wasn't sure he could handle two
strong women pulling at him at once. A team of tangos, yes, but none seemed to
be available at the moment.
Over
the years, he'd learned how to take better control, knew exactly what was
needed to maintain his tenuous grip on his emotions—and subsequently, the
weather. His rational mind could keep him in check, most of the time, but if he
got injured or let his anger get the best of him, people needed to start
running, because as much as Mother Nature could pull at him, he'd learned that
he could push right back.
Now
was time for that push.
"You
know, they say that the bayou's a pretty magical place, chere ," he
said. "A lot of that weather stuff you're talking about could just be a
built-in part of this area. Mysterious and unexplainable."
"I
don't think so," she said.
"You
don't believe in unexplained phenomenon?"
"I
think everything has an explanation, if you just look hard enough," she
said.
He
thought about pushing the shirt off her shoulders to expose her breasts again,
and a low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. She furrowed her brow,
looked at the barometer, then back at him.
He
shrugged, put on his best I'm-completely-innocent face and watched the color
rise in her cheeks. This one was easy—his being horny didn't cause a storm to
happen, but if there was one in the area when his cock demanded attention, he
ended up drawing the energy in his direction. "I told you the storm's not
over."
"And
you know that how?"
"From
living here for the first seventeen years of my life. From watching all kinds
of strange, unimaginable things occur."
Like
the time Melissa LaRue had taken his virginity—he'd been fourteen, she was
sixteen, and that was pretty much the explanation for the hail that took out a
few cars in front of Melissa's house. The hail in the shape of crucifixes had
just been for practice. He'd also formed hail in the shape of devil's horns
outside a church, just to be fair.
"And
you never questioned them?" Haley persisted.
He'd
never had to. He'd been born with this draw being as much a part of him as his
fingers and toes were, and until recently, he'd managed to coexist with the
sometimes strange electricity that lived inside of him. But lately, Mother
Nature had been behaving like a petulant child, and he'd been repenting like
hell, in hopes she'd ease up.
"I
learned to enjoy what I couldn't explain," he said. It was more than a
partial lie, especially the way these last six months had taken their toll on
him—his life and his career—but she wouldn't know that. He took another swig of
beer as hail began to strum the old roof. The left-hand side of the roof, to be
precise. He watched with amusement as Haley leaped from the couch and hovered
over her weather equipment on the table.
"This
is impossible," she muttered as she scanned what looked like an on-demand
rader image on her laptop, and he had to wonder just who she worked for to have
such advanced satellite technology built into her computer.
"What's
impossible?" he asked, though he knew.
"The
hail," she snapped, probably annoyed that all her scientific crap
softest thing he'd ever touched, and she hadn't bothered to style it or fix
herself up the way most of the women he'd known had—like they were embarrassed
to let him see who they really were.
Then
again, he'd never spent real, quality time with any of the women he slept with,
even the ones he'd been with during the calmer times.
Christ,
the way she looked at him could take him down at the knees if he let it. She
was watching him—studying him really—her eyes luminous and wide in the
lamplight, and this time he could've sworn she wasn't doing it for science. But
she was, and he would damn sure figure out her angle. If Haley wanted to play,
he was going to give her her money's worth. Because he should get to have some
fun during all this.
Hopefully,
Mother Nature would cooperate, because he wasn't sure he could handle two
strong women pulling at him at once. A team of tangos, yes, but none seemed to
be available at the moment.
Over
the years, he'd learned how to take better control, knew exactly what was
needed to maintain his tenuous grip on his emotions—and subsequently, the
weather. His rational mind could keep him in check, most of the time, but if he
got injured or let his anger get the best of him, people needed to start
running, because as much as Mother Nature could pull at him, he'd learned that
he could push right back.
Now
was time for that push.
"You
know, they say that the bayou's a pretty magical place, chere ," he
said. "A lot of that weather stuff you're talking about could just be a
built-in part of this area. Mysterious and unexplainable."
"I
don't think so," she said.
"You
don't believe in unexplained phenomenon?"
"I
think everything has an explanation, if you just look hard enough," she
said.
He
thought about pushing the shirt off her shoulders to expose her breasts again,
and a low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. She furrowed her brow,
looked at the barometer, then back at him.
He
shrugged, put on his best I'm-completely-innocent face and watched the color
rise in her cheeks. This one was easy—his being horny didn't cause a storm to
happen, but if there was one in the area when his cock demanded attention, he
ended up drawing the energy in his direction. "I told you the storm's not
over."
"And
you know that how?"
"From
living here for the first seventeen years of my life. From watching all kinds
of strange, unimaginable things occur."
Like
the time Melissa LaRue had taken his virginity—he'd been fourteen, she was
sixteen, and that was pretty much the explanation for the hail that took out a
few cars in front of Melissa's house. The hail in the shape of crucifixes had
just been for practice. He'd also formed hail in the shape of devil's horns
outside a church, just to be fair.
"And
you never questioned them?" Haley persisted.
He'd
never had to. He'd been born with this draw being as much a part of him as his
fingers and toes were, and until recently, he'd managed to coexist with the
sometimes strange electricity that lived inside of him. But lately, Mother
Nature had been behaving like a petulant child, and he'd been repenting like
hell, in hopes she'd ease up.
"I
learned to enjoy what I couldn't explain," he said. It was more than a
partial lie, especially the way these last six months had taken their toll on
him—his life and his career—but she wouldn't know that. He took another swig of
beer as hail began to strum the old roof. The left-hand side of the roof, to be
precise. He watched with amusement as Haley leaped from the couch and hovered
over her weather equipment on the table.
"This
is impossible," she muttered as she scanned what looked like an on-demand
rader image on her laptop, and he had to wonder just who she worked for to have
such advanced satellite technology built into her computer.
"What's
impossible?" he asked, though he knew.
"The
hail," she snapped, probably annoyed that all her scientific crap
Similar Books
