Page 4 of Never Let Me Go

He could barely hear her words until suddenly, everything was quiet.

In the distance, tornado sirens still wailed, but here in the basement the eerie absence of sound made the hair on his arms stand up in dread.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, stroking her hair and petting her as if comforting a child. But Marisa wasn’t a child. She was a fascinating, talented, sexy woman. And at the moment, she was in his care.

“I think the building may have collapsed,” he said.

Marisa pulled back, her expression aghast. “Your beautiful home? Oh, Jeff. Surely not. It’s stood on this spot for a hundred years.”

“We’ll see,” he said, not ready to release her. Not yet.

Despite their uneasy relationship, she made no move to step away from him. “How soon will it be safe to get out of here? It’s gone, isn’t it?”

“Well, this isn’t the eye of a hurricane. Tornadoes don’t last long,” he said wryly. “You know that. The damage is done in seconds. And they don’t come back for a second round. Unless we have a cluster of storms.”

“Was that in the forecast?”

“I don’t think so.” In retrospect, he should have paid more attention to the day’s conditions.

In this moment of postdisaster stress, he took the time to savor the way she felt pressed up against him. They fit together well. He’d noticed it the first time they slow-danced at the Peach Pit.

Blossom Branch’s legendary bar and grill had been decked out in pink streamers and red tulle for the holiday. The first fifteen minutes of the blind date had been awkward, as blind dates usually were, but then he and Marisa had clicked.

They had the same taste in books and movies, the same sense of humor, and my God, the sexual attraction had been off the charts. It was as if he’d been struck by lightning.

Laughter had led to flirting. Flirting had led to kisses.

Then he had taken her home with him...

Marisa interrupted his trip down memory lane. She wriggled free of his embrace and looked around the storm cellar. “This is a great panic room—and I mean that literally—but can we please get out of here now?”

He exhaled, relieved they had survived. “Sure.”

When he released the locking mechanism and pushed on the door, nothing happened. “Must be jammed,” he said. “It gets damp down here in the summer.” He checked to make sure he had unlocked the arm all the way and then pushed again.

His heart thudded hard in his chest.Uh-oh...

Marisa scooted up beside him, right at his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she said. “Why aren’t you opening the door?”

The overhead light used an industrial, long-life bulb that cast a yellowish glow over everything. Marisa still looked beautiful.

Her eyes were wide. “Jeff?”

He rubbed the center of his forehead where a headache brewed. Probably triggered by the weather system. “Well...” He didn’t want to upset her. But there wasn’t a good way to spin this.

She grabbed his arm, her fingernails digging in and making him wince. “Jeff!”

He shrugged, meeting her wide-eyed gaze apologetically. “Obviously I can’t tell for sure. But I think there’s a possibility we may be trapped by some kind of debris.”

Marisa stumbled backward, her hand over her mouth. Now, her skin had a green cast as if maybe she was trying not to throw up. “That’s not funny, Jeff Grainger. Open the damn door. I don’t have time for your jokes.”

“Are you seriously claustrophobic?” he asked quietly.

She was a strong, capable woman, but right now he could see the faint trace of hysteria she was trying to hide.

“Yes.” She wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t everybody to some extent?”

“Not everybody, but this situation is out of the ordinary. There’s no need to panic,” he said. “The air supply is stable. We’re not injured. Somebody will find us and get us out.”

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