His chuckle is dark, knowing. "No, you're not."
One of his hands moves to my hair, surprisingly gentle as he tucks a strand behind my ear. The simple gesture shouldn't make my breath catch, but it does.
"So fucking soft," he murmurs, more to himself than to me. "Everything about you is soft."
I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. "We should…we should check if the phones are working."
"They're not." He sounds certain. "Storm this bad knocks out cell towers. We're cut off."
Cut off. Alone. The thought should terrify me, but instead it sends another jolt of heat through my body. What's wrong with me?
Lightning flashes, briefly illuminating the bookstore in harsh white light. In that instant, I feel Butch's arms tighten around me protectively.
"I've got you," he says, his voice dropping to a register that vibrates through me. "Nothing's going to hurt you while I'm here, Julia."
The way he says my name—like it's something precious and rare—makes my stomach flutter.
"I'm not usually this…this frightened of storms," I admit, embarrassed by my trembling.
"It's not the storm you're afraid of." His hand moves to my chin, gently tilting my face toward his. In the lantern light, his eyes are dark pools I could drown in. "Is it?"
I can't look away. Can't lie. "No."
His thumb traces my lower lip, the callused pad rough against the sensitive skin. "Good girl. Honest."
Good girl.The praise hits me like a shot of whiskey, warming me from the inside out. No one has ever called me that before, not in that tone—part approval, part possession.
"You like that, don't you?" He's watching me closely, missing nothing. "Being called a good girl."
I should deny it. Should be offended. Instead, I feel myself melting against him, my body betraying me with its honesty.
"I don't…I don't know what I like," I whisper.
His smile is slow, predatory. "I do."
He shifts me in his lap, and I feel it—the hard ridge of him pressing against my hip. Unmistakable proof of his desire. My eyes widen, and heat floods my face.
"Don't act surprised," he growls. "Been like this since the first day. Watching you stretch for books on high shelves. Bend over to pick up dropped papers. Every fucking innocent move you make drives me crazy."
My heart hammers so hard I'm sure he can feel it. No one has ever spoken to me this way. The few college boys I dated were fumbling, awkward. Nothing like this man who states his desire as simple fact.
"I'm not…I haven't..." I stumble over the words.
His eyes darken further. "Haven't what, sweetheart? Been touched? Been filled up?" His large hand spreads across my stomach, fingers splayed wide. "Been stuffed so full you forget your own name?"
I gasp, the crude words sending a shock of pleasure-pain through my core.
"That's what I thought." His voice drops lower, a gravelly rumble that reminds me of thunder. "Such a good, sweet girl. Saving yourself for me.”
There it is again—good girl—making me squirm in his lap. The movement causes his hardness to press more firmly against me, and he sucks in a sharp breath.
"Careful, baby," he warns. "Don't start something you're not ready to finish."
Baby.The endearment in his rough voice does something strange to me—makes me feel small and protected and desired all at once.
"I don't understand what's happening," I admit, my voice barely audible over the rain.
"Don't you?" His hand moves from my stomach to my waist, his grip firm but not painful. "Your body understands just fine."
