Free Wild Rain by Donna Kauffman

“I’d put tinnies in the same place myself, so I guess I understand. I’ve gotten used to drinking them cold.”
    “Tinnies?”
    “Beer in Australian. Comes in tin cans. Tinnies.”
    “Of course,” she said dryly. “Silly me.”
    He lost the battle, but stopped his curving lips shy of a true smile. He figured he could relent a little without giving up any real measure of control.
    “How long have you been in the States?”
    It was a realistic question. To be expected, even. Reese just had to get used to talking to someone who asked questions like she really wanted to know the answers. For him, conversation with a woman was usually just meaningless chitchat, soon forgotten once he’d begun the sort of communication he really desired. The sort that consisted mostly of sighs and moans.
    He found himself staring at her mouth, wondering what she’d sound like during sex. Did she make noise? His gaze drifted down over the barely raised front of her shirt. Did she even have sex?
    What the hell did
he
care? He looked down at the table.
    “Never mind. I guess it’s none of my—”
    “I left Australia when I was seventeen.” Now why hadn’t he just let her let him off the hook? Probably to get his mind off of the strange track it had just wandered down. Jillian Bonner in the sack would probably be as exciting as fondling a store mannequin.
    So why did that feel like the biggest whopper he’d told himself yet?
    Jillian stood abruptly and gathered the remains of their meal. “Would you like another?” She nodded at the empty can she held in one hand. “Maybe some water?”
    “Pass. Got a radio?”
    She nodded again and turned away to dispose of the trash, then hurried into the office.
    Only after she’d disappeared from sight did Reese discover that his jaw was clenched shut so tightly, his teeth hurt. He was really slipping. The way she’d leapt from the table made him wonder what she’d seen in his eyes. No way could she have read his thoughts. Nothing of what he felt was reflected there. Not ever. He doubted he could reverse that trait if he tried.
    So what had sent her gladly running for the cover of her office?
    Disgusted with all this exhausting internal debate, he shoved away from the table and stood. Too late, he remembered his thigh. Several creative expletives escaped his lips before he pressed them together. He’d just grabbed the mop from its leaning place against the chair next to his when she came back into the room.
    “I already had it tuned to the local news station, but because of the wind, the reception with the batteries is pretty erratic.” She’d been fiddling with the knobs and only now looked at him. “What are you doing standing up?”
    “I was just asking myself the same thing.” He successfully hid the strain in his voice, but not the frustration.
    “Why don’t we go into the front room? There’s a couch there, you can elevate your leg.”
    Just then the constant noise of the storm exploded overhead with a loud boom, followed by a screeching sound that set his teeth on edge.
    “Holy—What was that?” Jillian was halfway to the back door before she remembered the steel bars and covered window. She spun around to face Reese. “What should we do now?”
    Reese swore under his breath. The short burst of adrenaline the sound had sent spurting through him would probably see him up the stairs to check out the top floor for roof damage. But the price he’d pay after wasn’t worth the risk of expendingthe energy on a probable nonemergency. “I don’t think it was major. If anything had been severely damaged, the sound inside would have increased.”
    She was already at the hallway door. “I’m going to take a look.”
    “No.”
    Her steps faltered, and she looked back at him. “Excuse me, but this
is
still my house.” The fierce set of his mouth combined with that empty, hard stare made her add somewhat defensively, “You said it was probably nothing serious.”
    “I said