The lights went out, and I practically leapt out of the tub in shock, sliding my headphones away from one ear.

A moment later, I realized what must have happened, and surprise turned to exasperation. Because, of course, this goddamn house couldn’t stand a thunderst—


“Hello?” A man’s voice came from the darkened doorway. 
In a crouch, dripping wet, with female empowerment in one ear and his question in the other, I grabbed something, anything, in the dark and came up with a shampoo bottle.


“I know tae kwon do,” I said in the general direction of the voice, standing up to wield the plastic bottle.


“I’m sure.” The lights went back on with a click, and I could see the source of the voice.
Fuck.


Dante Crowne. Gray raincoat glinting with droplets of water, finger on the light switch, looking down at me from the top of Mount Six Foot Four. All the Crowne men had light eyes, but Dante’s were deeper set and the iciest blue I’d ever seen.