Tall and broad, his chestnut hair was plastered to his scalp, his jeans molded to his thighs, his T-shirt to his chest.
Her neighbor, Samael-the-ass.
He surveyed the situation, then zeroed in on the drain.
She started moving forward, intending to tell him that it was no use, that he couldn’t possibly beat the water. But he was already pulling the metal grate free, gravel and all, tossing it to one side to allow the water and gravel to surge into the channel beneath the grate.
He didn’t wait to see if his radical surgery had had the desired effect. He turned to her, jerking his chin toward the house.
“You got another broom?” he yelled over the sound of the wind and rain.
She blinked the rain from her eyes. Tried to get her brain to connect with her mouth. “Yes.”
He plucked the broom
