Page 107 of Hate To Be Mine

I looked out at the deluge. “Yours is closer.”

We made a run for it, both of us clutching our supplies as rain pelted down. The wind had picked up, whipping palm fronds and sending spray sideways. By the time we reached his bungalow, we were completely drenched.

Sebastian fumbled with his key, finally getting the door open. We stumbled inside, dripping water all over the floor.

“Damn,” he muttered, setting down his armload of supplies. “That came on fast.”

I was shivering, my wet clothes clinging to my skin. My hair was plastered to my face, and I could feel mascara running down my cheeks. So much for looking professional.

“Here.” Sebastian disappeared into the bathroom and came back with towels. He tossed one at me. I started drying off as best I could.

“You can borrow some of my clothes if you want,” he offered. “Get out of those wet things.”

I should have said no. But I was freezing, and the idea of standing around in soaked business casual while a storm raged outside seemed ridiculous.

“Thanks,” I said.

He went to his room and came back with a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “These will be huge on you, but at least they’re dry.”

I took them and went into the bathroom to change. The shirt hung to my mid-thigh, and I had to roll the waistband of the sweatpants several times to keep them from falling off. I caught sight of myself in the mirror—makeup smeared, hair a disaster, drowning in Sebastian’s clothes.

I looked like a mess. Again.

When I came out, Sebastian had changed too. He was wearing joggers and a hoodie, his hair still damp and sticking up in every direction.

And of course he’d never been more handsome.

He’d been so in charge today. Making everyone feel safe and calm. Stepping up in the face of an emergency in a way that proved every doubt about him wrong.

He looked beautiful. And capable. And exactly like someone I could fall completely in love with.

Actually, scratch that. I had already fallen completely in love with him.

I realized there was a second storm forming.

In my pants.

Inappropriate timing? Absolutely. But my body apparently didn’t care about being appropriate.

37

SEBASTIAN

The rain hammered against the windows of my bungalow like it was trying to break in and join the party. There was enough nervous energy to power half of Miratoa.

Bernadette was sitting in one of the chairs, her legs curled up under her as she stared at her phone and snacked on chips. And she’d never looked hotter.

I had to physically restrain myself from reaching over and touching her. That would be crossing a line we’d drawn, and I was trying—really fucking trying—to be a gentleman about this.

Even if it was killing me.

“Any news?” I asked.

She looked serious. “The radar looks like it’s going to miss us. We’re just getting the outer bands.”

“That’s good, right?” I asked, even though I’d refreshed my own weather app about forty times in the last hour.

“Good is relative when you’re talking about tropical storms.” She tucked a strand of copper hair behind her ear. I watched it immediately fall back out.