"I'll get the lights. Stay here."
In the office, I find a battery-powered lantern and a weather radio. I turn it on, catching the edge of an emergency broadcast.
"—flash flooding across Hickory Ridge. All residents advised to shelter in place. Do not attempt to drive on flooded roadways. Repeat: do not?—"
I switch it off. The message is clear enough.
When I return to the front, Julia's still at the window. The rain is coming down in sheets now, turning the street into a rushing river. She turns to me, worry creasing her forehead.
"The creek at the end of Main Street floods when it rains like this," she says. "I'll never make it home."
"No one's going anywhere tonight." My tone leaves no room for argument.
Her eyes widen. "You mean...stay here? In the store?"
"Unless you prefer drowning."
Lightning flashes again, illuminating her face in harsh white light. In that split second, I see something cross her expression—not just fear of the storm, but awareness. Of me. Of us. Alone together.
Good. She should be a little afraid. What I want to do to her would make those innocent eyes even wider.
"I need to secure this place," I tell her, setting down the lantern. "Storm like this brings out opportunists."
I move methodically through the store, checking each window, each lock. The back door I installed yesterday is solid, but I stack boxes in front of it anyway. At the front, I pull down the security gate, lock it, then push a heavy bookshelf in front of the glass door.
"Is that really necessary?" she asks from behind me.
I turn to find her hugging herself, the lantern casting long shadows across her face. "Yes."
It's not just the storm I'm keeping out. It's every other fucking man who might see her through that window. Tonight, she's mine alone.
"Come away from the window," I order, gesturing her toward the back of the store. "Glass breaks, you don't want to be near it."
She follows me to the reading nook—a small area with two armchairs and a coffee table. The space is tight, intimate. I set the lantern on the table, casting a warm glow that softens her features.
Thunder cracks overhead, making her jump again. Without thinking, I reach for her, pulling her against my chest. She fits there perfectly, her head tucked under my chin.
"Just the storm," I murmur into her hair. Christ, she smells good. Like flowers and woman and fear-sweat that hits something primitive in my brain.
Her small hands press against my chest, but she doesn't push away. I can feel her heart racing, a hummingbird pulse that matches the quickening of my own blood.
"I should...check if there's any food," she says, her voice muffled against my shirt.
"Later." My arms tighten around her. Having her this close is making my cock harder by the second, but I'm not letting go. Not when she fits against me like she was made for exactly this spot.
The wind howls outside, rain lashing at the windows. I guide her to the armchair, pulling her down with me so she's half on my lap.
"Mr. Hale?—"
"Butch," I correct her. "And it's for warmth. Power's out, gets cold fast."
It's bullshit and we both know it. The store isn't cold yet. But she doesn't argue, just shifts slightly on my lap. The movement sends blood rushing straight to my groin, and I have to bite back a groan.
"You're safe," I tell her, one hand moving to her hip to steady her—or maybe to keep her exactly where she is. "No one's getting through those doors tonight."
"I'm not worried about that," she says quietly.
"No? What are you worried about then, little bookworm?"
