Beautiful Distraction(11)

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I stare at him, my body frozen in shock. I’m so stunned, for a moment I’m rendered speechless as we continue to eye each other.

Meeting him here, in the middle of nowhere, feels surreal.

His chest—all hard muscles—is clearly defined and emphasized by the light bulb dangling over my head. A black snake tattoo adorns his left arm, which is stretched against the doorframe, as though to block my way, while the other is clutching at the door, as though ready to slam it in my face. I look up into eyes the color of storms and realize that’s exactly what he’s considering doing.

“This is private property. You’re trespassing.” His voice is raw and gritty, with a strong accent. No ‘How can I help you?’; no ‘Please come in.’; not even ‘Hi, how are you? Hey, I remember you. You look great, by the way.’

I stare at him, dumbfounded, until I remember that Mr. Expensive Shirt has no manners.

He demonstrated it before, and he’s doing it again. My hands ball into fists, and for a split second, I consider turning around and heading elsewhere. If only he weren’t the only person around. I can’t afford to offend him. Not when he’s the only person who can help us.

I grit my teeth and force myself to take slow, measured breaths.

“I need help,” I whisper, my voice slightly hoarse.

“Say again?”

“Our car’s stuck down the road,” I say and point behind me in a broad circle because suddenly I can’t remember which direction I came from.

His shrug is almost unnoticeable as he regards me in silence. I open my mouth to explain my situation, when he leans against the doorframe, his posture hostile.

“What do you want?”

“Isn’t that obvious? A hurricane’s coming,” I say slowly in case he missed the countless weather and safety alerts. Or the pitch-black sky on an otherwise fine afternoon.

“There are no hurricanes in Montana. Only storms.” He eyes me with a frown, as though he suspects me of making up some bullshit excuse to get inside his home and then burgle him. Yeah, I watch the movies.

“This storm’s the reason we’re in trouble,” I mutter. His gaze travels to my umbrella. I hide it behind my back before he utters a snarky remark and I won’t be able to hold my tongue, after which he’ll most definitely kick me to the curb.

“In trouble?” He sounds unconvinced.

Seriously?

“We got lost and need help.” Maybe even a hot cup of coffee, which I don’t mention because, judging from the deep frown lodged on his stunning face, he doesn’t strike me as the welcoming type.

“The next town’s just a few miles down the road. Just take two right turns. You can’t miss it.”

I look at him incredulously. He can’t possibly have said what I just heard, and yet his stony expression speaks volumes. The muscles in his biceps flex, which is probably a sign that he’s about to slam the door in my face.

For real.

He can’t do that; he’s our only chance at surviving the night.

“Wait,” I say before he closes the door.

“What now?” he asks.

I inch forward and plant my foot right next to the doorframe so the door won’t close if he shuts it, and moisten my lips, suddenly aware of the wet strings of hair covering half of my face. I can’t blame him for not wanting to help when I probably look suspicious as hell.

“Look.” I grant him a tentative smile. “I had no idea you lived here.”

His brows furrow and his expression darkens, but he says nothing.

“Honestly, I had no idea,” I add. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have knocked, but we need help. We really do. My friend, Mandy and I—” I make sure to emphasize Mandy’s name in the hope he’ll be more inclined to help once he realizes my traveling companion is female “—we’ve been driving for hours. We don’t know our way around this place, and our phone’s not working. Worst of all, the car’s stuck in the mud, and we have no idea where we are. Is there any way we could use your phone to call for help?”

“Lines are down.”

Socially inept and not a man of many words. What a fine combination.

I cringe inside, but force myself to smile again. I really don’t want to ask for what he should have offered five minutes ago, and yet I have no choice.

A strong wind tears at my hair, whipping wet strands of it against my face. The gust is so strong I tumble forward and almost stumble into him.

“Would you mind if we stayed for a few hours, just until the storm’s over?” I ask.

His stare turns a few degrees colder, if that’s even possible. Holding my breath, I almost expect him to say no and turn on his heels, but to my surprise, he just nods and opens the door a little bit wider, though not enough for me to squeeze through.