The wind had picked up again, and branches of the trees alongside the cottage brushed the windows. The lights flickered a few times as he paced the living room. He needed to get home, needed to be at work early in the morning, but he didn’t want to leave until the water turned off, until he knew Summer was in bed and safe.

She was a grown woman, he reminded himself. There was absolutely no reason to tuck her in, to make sure—

“Oh, good,” she said softly from the doorway. She was wrapped in a light peach terry cloth robe, her long hair combed and dripping, her feet bare, her eyes unusually dark and solemn. “You’re still here.”

“I was just leaving—”

“I think the power’s going to go.”

Indeed, it flickered and she looked around uneasily.

“You’re used to being without power,” he reminded her. “You’re outside for weeks at a time.”

“Yeah.” She bit her lower lip. “But it’s not exactly the dark I’m afraid of.”

Against his better judgment, he moved close. She had a light sunburn on her nose, and a small smile on her naked lips. Even as he looked, her tongue darted out and nervously dampened them. Her eyes were clearer now, her earlier joviality replaced with far more complicated things. “What are you afraid of?” he asked quietly.

“Being alone.”

A drop of water ran from her jaw, down her throat, and into the robe. He thought about the body beneath the terry cloth and felt his knees wobble. “Look, I’m trying to be the good guy here. You’re under the influence—”

“You ruined that buzz with the icy shower.” She slipped her hand in the robe pocket and came up with a condom that made him want to groan.

“I’m leaving,” he said, feeling like a damn saint because hell if he wasn’t every bit as head over heels for her as he’d always been. But he couldn’t let her do more damage, not when she had one foot out the door.

He couldn’t live through that again.

A gust whipped around the outside of the cottage, and again the branches brushed the windows. Summer jerked and stared wide-eyed at the dark windows. “I wish there were shutters here.”

“It’s just the trees—” He frowned at how pale she’d gotten. “This isn’t you, you’re not jumpy over a storm. You love storms.”

“Yeah.” But she eyed the bare windows uneasily.

“Red.” He put his hands on her shoulders and waited until she looked at him. “Talk to me.”

“I’d rather…” She glided her hands up his chest, wound them around his neck, and tugged, then planted her mouth to his, making him groan. He tensed, planning on pulling away because hell if he was going to let her distract him with sex again. Hell if—