Hot and Haunted by Megan Hart, Saranna DeWylde, Lauren Hawkeye

every word. “But I don’t see what harm opening them a tiny crack will do. I need some air, and I need it now. I feel like I’m suffocating.”
    I was sure he thought about telling me that, if I needed some air, I could feel free to step outside, where there was plenty, instead of ruining his upholstery. But if he had learned anything in the past hour, it was that the difficult woman was always right.
    The difficult woman. Me.
    Turning his key so that the power windows could be used, a sliver of wind sliced through the inch that Brody allowed between the glass and the doorframe, and the relief on his face admitted that the wind and rain felt amazing. Tilting his head back against the seat, he let the air rush over his face—his temperament visibly improving.
    Watching him, I remembered, vaguely, a study I had read in my first year of college, something about heat increasing aggression. Recalling his fit of temper when he dragged me into his lap, I decided that the researchers must have had it right.
    I was further convinced when, in a much-lighter-seeming mood, he asked, “What do you do, Holly?”
    I didn’t reply. I was still pissed off about his condescending comments from moments earlier. Even if he was, maybe, a little bit right.
    “For a living?” he prodded, but I was still feeling too stubborn to reply even though I knew that it was ridiculous since this whole situation had been my idea. Rolling my eyes at myself, I wondered if the yin and yang of nonstop chatter and stony silence was typical of all women, or if I was just extra perverse.
    “What about hobbies? What do you do for fun?”
    I pretended not to pay attention, resting my head against the cool glass. It left smudges wherever it touched, as if reinforcing the fact that I was, indeed, there.
    That I was affecting Brody, in some way. Leaving some kind of mark on his life.
    The silence inside the car was so loud that my ears rang with it. Reaching forward, I tried to turn on the radio. It didn’t work, and the silence inside the vehicle combined with the never-ending noise made by the onslaught of the storm was starting to drive me slightly wild. When he answered his own question, just to hear a voice, it seemed, I wondered if he felt the same way.
    “I like to read, myself. I mean, I know that I’m a doctor and all, but really, all day I deal with science. It’s all a bit dry, but I’m good at it.”
    Did he do it because he was good at it, and only for that reason? Or did he like what he did as well? I shook my head, releasing the thought so that it would melt away into the heat. What did it matter to me, after all?
    “I like to read fantasy, mostly. I’m actually kind of a geek about it.” I caught him sneaking a peek at me and made a show of still not listening. Subsiding into silence, he chugged more wine, probably wishing that he had a book to pass the time with rather than an emotional, confusing female.
    Nausea rolled through my gut as I remembered why I was feeling so emotional. I was so angry, nearly blind with it, and layered on top of that anger was betrayal. I needed to release it all somehow, or I would explode. What kind of person was I, though, to take it out on somebody else rather than on Kyle, the bastard who had started it all? Would continuing on this path make me feel any better at all, or would I just feel worse for destroying another as I felt so destroyed?
    That I had to weigh these emotions at all brought my anger to the surface again. Though my temper hadn’t factored into my earlier planning, the confusion that I was causing him had. And in a snap decision, I decided to throw another twist into the night—to begin to speak again, pretending nothing had happened.
    “And dirty magazines, of course.” My voice startled Brody, and he started sharply; he hadn’t thought that I’d been listening. He chuckled at my wry tone of voice.
    “Of course.” He rubbed a hand through his hair, a surprised smile lighting up