Monica was thankful that she didn't have to spend hours in her car waiting for a tow truck to arrive. Deacon Remy's prediction had been correct. By the time they made it across the county lines, the rainfall had gone from a light sprinkle to a steady drizzle. The streets of Aspen Valley were clear with only a few stragglers here and there rushing to get to various destinations.

When Deacon rolled up to the gate of her subdivision, he flipped his visor and looked over his shoulder at her.

"How do I get you inside?"

"I left my remote on the visor, so I'll have to type in a code. Pull the bike up to the keypad," she called out over the sound of thunder rolling in overhead.

When he parked the bike, she jumped off and rushed over to the keypad. By this point, her clothes were drenched. As she typed in the numbers, lightning cracked violently behind them, causing her to scream and jump. She didn't hear any laughter, but she was certain that Deacon was mentally laughing at her reaction. She pushed in the code and dashed back over to the motorcycle as the gates opened.

Her body trembled when a wave of cold air tumbled past them. She tugged on her helmet, jumped back on the bike, and wrapped her arms around Deacon once again. They weren't going fast or anything like that, but this stranger—Deacon—gave her a sense of security.

"You okay?" Deacon asked.

She nodded and pressed her chest against his back, realizing that his warmth had been keeping her from being cold while the rain pelted them. She only shivered against him a couple of minutes before his heat radiated into her. He was warmer than most people she touched. And with a background in nursing and pediatric care, she concluded that he was either running a fever or incredibly worked up trying to get them to safety before the brunt of the storm hit. It had to be the latter as there had been no sign when she first encountered him on the side of the road that he was ill.

Deacon rode his bike down the neighborhood streets—slower this time. In fact, he paid attention to the speed limit signs quite well here. On the open highway…not so much. But he handled his motorcycle like a pro. The ride was smooth and she never felt frightened with each tilt of the bike or every acceleration of the engine.

When a curtain of rain cascaded down on them, he put more pressure on the gas as his GPS directed him right to her doorstep. The outdoor light was on which meant her dad was still up and possibly even waiting for her to return home. He worked odd hours and rotating shifts as an ER doctor, contracting his services between two area hospitals.

Although she'd just met Deacon Remy, there was no way that she could run to the safety of her home while he waited it out in the storm.

When he rolled the bike to a stop in her courtyard, she tore off the helmet and said, "Come inside until the storm passes."

He shook his head and then helped her off the bike.

"I'm all good. Your husband must be waiting inside," he said.

“I'm not married. You're not going to ride off in the storm, are you?"

He grinned. "I've ridden in storms before. I'm an experienced driver. I'll be okay. Plus, my next stop isn't far away from here. Go on inside. It's pouring."

She placed her hand on his shoulder. "Please just come inside. I'd be worried all night if you left in this mess." She could barely see three inches in front of her as rain drained down her face. She wondered how he had seen anything at all in the mess. He must have had excellent eyesight.

Deacon looked at the front door worried. He seemed more worried about entering her home than injuring himself trying to maneuver through a storm on a motorcycle.

"I can ditch my motorcycle and take cover in the woods. It's no problem. You, on the other hand, need to get inside. You're freezing cold," he told her.

"Will you just come on inside until the rain stops?" she urged, wrapping her arms around herself and not moving from the spot.

"I'll walk you up to the door," he said, reluctantly.

He turned the engine off and they hurried up the walkway. She fished her keys out of her pocketbook, jammed it inside the lock, and pushed herself inside the foyer. Deacon, on the other hand, remained rooted on top of the rubber welcome mat. He was drenched from head to toe and she took a moment to check him out. He was breathtaking and the most striking man she'd ever seen. His t-shirt clung to his tanned skin. She could make out every ripple of muscle on him. His jeans were matted to his thick thighs. He had her heart doing flips that she never thought was possible. She wasn't even shivering anymore. She was hot and blushing for him. She realized that she hadn't even given him her name. Strangely, she now wanted to give him whatever he asked for.

"I'm Monica. Now please come inside," she urged again.

He held up both arms. "I'm all wet."

She giggled. "So am I." She held out her hand, palm up.

"Monica…? Is that you? I have been trying to call you for the past hour. What are you doing standing there?" Her dad's voice cut through the thick tension between them.

"Yeah Dad. It's me." She looked behind her to see her dad coming down the stairs in a thick, black robe with his cell phone clutched in his hand. "I broke down on the highway and Deacon gave me a ride."

"Who gave you a ride?" Her dad's voice trailed off when he looked outside to find Deacon standing there. "Who is this?"

"Hello sir," Deacon said. "I'm glad I could give you lift, Monica. Now I'll just be on my way." He tugged on his helmet and turned around.

"No, wait," Monica called out. She was almost over the threshold when her Dad grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Don't," her dad warned. "Do you see that lightning? We're in the middle of a storm. Someone just reported seeing a tornado out west."

"Yes, I see it. It's because of Deacon that I'm here and not on the side of the road in the storm," she said, jerking her arm out of his grip.

"Alright, alright," her dad said, throwing his hands up. "I'm being rude." He looked out after Deacon, who had reached his bike. "Hey Son! Why don't you come on in? The Mayor has warned everyone to stay inside until they lift the threat."

"I don't want to be a bother," Deacon said.

"It's no bother. You gave my daughter a ride home and she's safe. The least I could do is invite you inside so you can get warmed up and into some dry clothes."

Deacon nodded and came back up the steps. "Thank you, sir." He crossed over into the threshold and looked around the home.

"Call me Dr. Collins," her Dad said, holding out his hand. "You live around here, Son?"

Deacon shook hands with her dad.

"I used to. I was born here. I'm just visiting. I'll only be in town for a couple weeks," he said. "You can call me Deacon. Deacon Remy."

"Remy…" her Dad said, biting the corner of his lips and furrowing his brows.

Deacon's gaze swept over to Monica. His eyes were the color of moonlight blue—with a hint of violet. The combination was odd—she'd never seen a tone quite like it before. He surveyed her swiftly before glancing away and then down at the plush white carpet. He took a single step back so that his boots were back on the wood in the foyer.

Her dad shook his head after giving Deacon's name some thought. "Never heard of any Remys around here. Well, why are we all just standing here? Let me go grab some clothes for you and uh…" He looked behind him at Monica who was drenched from head to toe as well. "Monica, please cover yourself and change into some appropriate dry clothes. I don't want you to get sick."

It was only then that Monica realized that she was still in workout clothes that comprised of tight spandex. The storm warning had taken everyone by surprise. The gym, which included all changing and shower facilities, had closed prematurely and the manager had advised everyone to go home. Not only were there goosebumps on her arms but her nipples had made a clear impression against her fitted top. She was wondering if her reaction was from the cold or from being near a man that could give some of the guys at the gym a run for their money with the way his body was toned to perfection. She just couldn't stop looking at him.

Her dad cleared his throat.

Monica stiffened, momentarily abashed. "I'll be right back."