Taken by Storm by Angela Morrison

You’re going to freeze.” i push her into the passenger’s side, slam the door. i get dressed behind the truck, throw my bag in the back, and get into the driver’s side. “Keys.”
     
    She points at the ignition where they swing, lets me try to start it a couple of times, then reaches over, slaps my hand out of the way, and turns the key. She jams her sopping shoe on my foot and pumps the gas pedal twice, holds it down halfway: the motor roars to life.
     
    i back up, swing the truck around, and drive up the hill. Left, right, right and we’re in Gram’s driveway.
     
    “Just leave it r-r-running.”
     
    “You can’t go home like that.” i’m steamed at her, but she’s too cold. It could get serious if she doesn’t change fast. “You looked after me yesterday. My turn. Come in and get dried off.”
     
    “Your grandmother will freak.”
     
    “Asleep, remember?” i try to add something calm and reassuring to my voice. “Come on. Let’s get you into something dry.”
     
    “What do you mean let’s ?” The scowl isn’t cute this time.
     
    i crank the keys, and the pickup’s engine dies. “Get inside before you’re hypothermic.” i open the driver’s door and get out.
     
    She slides into the driver’s seat. “i’m already hypothermic.”
     
    “You’re right.” i grab her arm and tug. “Your lips are blue.”
     
    That scares her enough to let me pull her out of the truck. The wind hits, and as she stumbles against me, the shaking gets worse. i take her arm, support her to the door, open it, and flick on the light. Air, warm and yellow, flows out, embracing us in the dark.
     
    She puts her hand against the doorjamb. “I can’t go in there with you.”
     
    “What?”
     
    “I can’t go in there with you.” She clenches her jaw but can’t keep her teeth from chattering.
     
    “What are you talking about?” i seize her wrist and push her inside, shut the door. “Go in the bathroom and take off that wet stuff before you get sick. i’ll get you something to wear.”
     
    She turns to face me and takes a step back like i’m going to attack her. “I’ve got to go.” She’s dripping a puddle on Gram’s worn linoleum floor. “I can’t be in a house alone with a guy. Family rule.” She’s too cold to blush but would if she could.
     
    She’s more into me than i thought. “Gram’s here.” i keep my voice normal, matter-of-fact, consciously fight my reflex to drop into seduction mode.
     
    “B-b-but—”
     
    i push her down the hall. “Go get in the shower. Turn it on warm, not too hot.”
     

chapter 12
     
    THAWING
     
    MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #8
     

    When i come up from checking on Leesie’s clothes, she’s finally emerged from the bathroom. She sits on the couch, her mouth a straight line, her hair twisted up in a towel. She looks good in my sweatshirt, swims in the pants, but the pale gray around her face is nice.
     
    “Your stuff will be dry in a half hour or so.”
     
    “Thanks.” She leans forward and untwists the towel, rubs her hair.
     
    Part of me wants to just get her out of here, but another parts says, “Hey, go sit next to her.” My shirt touching her body is getting to me. Her cheekbones seem higher. Her face looks smaller, delicate. Unearthly. i get this primal protective urge—like on the bus. But after the fit she threw at the door?
     
    i take a chair on the far side of Gram’s small living room. Be decent. That’s all i have to do. “Are you warm enough?”
     
    “Fine.” She stands up and folds the towel.
     
    i take it from her and hang it in the bathroom. She’s sitting on the couch again when i get back.
     
    “Do you want some cocoa or something?” i ask to ward off the evil eye she’s drilling into me.
     
    “What’s going on with you? Why do you keep doing this to me?”
     
    i stare at my hands.
     
    “What were you thinking?”
     
    None of your business. i glance at Gram’s shrine of family pictures on the