Storm (Elemental 1)

Then she remembered how she’d fought to evade him in the yard. “What about when I was trying to get to my car? I should have you arrested for assault.”

He slid the phone across the table. “Go ahead.”

Now she wanted to punch him with the keys and it had nothing to do with self-defense. “You’re kind of a jerk, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’m such an ass**le. Trying to keep an upset kid from flying out of here in the middle of a rainstorm.” He rolled his eyes. “They’d better lock me up for sure.”

Now she had to look away. She kind of felt like an idiot, but she hadn’t imagined his aggression, his threatening tone.

Michael let the silence stretch out for a moment, until she wanted to squirm, and she had to focus to remember why she’d even come here.

She refused to look at him. “Is Chris home?”

“Yeah. Top of the stairs. Make a left.”

He expected her to just go up to his room?

She remembered going to Drew’s house once, last May. Drew’s mom had made sure they stayed in plain sight in the den. The woman had seemed to know every time Drew’s hands found Becca’s knee or the curve of her waist. At the time, Becca had wanted the woman to go the hell away and mind her own business.

Now, in retrospect, she owed Mrs. McKay a hug.

“You want an escort or something?” said Michael. He was already looking at his laptop, his fingers striking the keys.

She shoved herself out of her chair and headed for the steps.

Five doors were on the second level, but she never got to make a left. A bathroom was just to her right, the door wide open. One of the twins stood in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth.

Shirtless.

Breath left her lungs in a rush and she almost stumbled on the last step. Loose button-fly jeans hung low at his hips, exposing just the edge of a pair of boxers. She could clearly see the clean muscled line of his back, the smooth tapering of his rib cage into a tight waist.

He caught her eye in the mirror and grinned around the toothbrush before ducking to spit. He turned off the faucet and wiped his mouth on a towel before turning to face her.

“You’re back,” he said.

She looked at him—a huge mistake, because it put her eyes right on his chest. The guy was no stranger to a bench press. “Ah ... yeah. Are you Nick or Gabriel?”

He stepped close, until she could smell the spearmint in his toothpaste. “Does it matter?”

Her cheeks were burning. It was a lot harder to maintain independence and indifference when a hot guy was standing half-naked in front of her. She gulped and grasped at the banister. “I was looking for Chris’s room—but, ah—you know, I’ll just see him tomorrow—”

“No way.” He grabbed her hand. “Come here.”

He dragged her around the corner. His fingers were warm on hers. She stared at the beige walls, at the neutral carpeting, anything but the guy attached to her arm.

He knocked on a door. “Hey, Chris. There’s a girl here for you.”

Something heavy hit the door. “Shut up, Gabriel. I’m busy.”

She stared at the doorknob, unsure whether to be dismayed or relieved. But at least she knew who had hold of her arm.

Gabriel knocked again. “Hurry. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold her.”

Angry footsteps, then the door flew open. Chris glanced from her to his brother and back. “Oh.”

She stared back at him, knowing her face was still flushed, her eyes desperate for a fully clothed target. Luckily, Chris fit the bill with sweatpants and a tee shirt. She could see into the room behind him: nice, really. A double bed that hadn’t been made that morning, with a navy comforter haphazardly thrown across the bottom. The floor was mostly clean, though his laundry sat in a pile in the corner, under a rather impressive fish tank. It had a fluorescent light and everything, and reminded her of something a little boy would have. Finding it in his room was somehow ... charming. A desk sat by the open window, almost an afterthought. The tiny halogen light was on, books and notebooks strewn across the surface.

“See?” said Gabriel. “A real one. Breathing and everything.”