His to Protect
. . .
Butch
I spot her the moment I step into the bookstore.
Little thing perched on a ladder like she belongs in a fairy tale, not this dusty shop in Hickory Ridge.
Stretching for a book on the top shelf, her skirt riding up just enough to show the pale skin above her knee.
My cock twitches hard against my zipper.
Fuck. One look and I'm already halfway gone.
The bell above the door announces me before I'm ready. She turns, startled, nearly toppling off that rickety ladder. My body moves before my brain can catch up. Three long strides and I'm there, my hands around her waist, steadying her.
Jesus Christ. My fingers nearly circle her completely.
"Oh!" She gasps, those wide doe eyes meeting mine. "I—thank you. I didn't hear you come in."
Her voice hits me like a shot of whiskey. Soft. Sweet. Makes my fucking chest ache.
I set her down. My hands don't want to let go. They stay on her waist a beat too long. "You're gonna kill yourself on that thing."
Pink floods her cheeks. She looks down, tucking a strand of wavy hair behind her ear. "I'm Julia Carter. You must be from Hale Security?"
I grunt in response. Words aren't my strong suit on a good day. Today, with her scent filling my head—books and something flowery and fuck, is that vanilla?—I'm lucky I can remember my own name.
"Butch," I finally manage. "Here for the install."
My eyes track her as she steps back, putting distance between us. Smart girl. But it won't be enough. The second my hands touched her waist, something primal clicked into place. Mine. The thought is so clear, so fucking certain, it's like it was engraved in my bones.
"Yes, of course," she says, gesturing around the small shop. "Pages & Petals isn't much, but it's mine, and after the break-in at the bakery next door last week..."
I tune out her words, not the voice. That voice could talk me through the gates of hell.
She's tiny—barely comes up to my chest. Curves in all the right places beneath that cardigan and flowing skirt.
Innocent. Untouched. I can tell just by looking.
And fuck if that doesn't make me harder than I've been in years.
"I'll need to check all entry points," I say, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Windows. Doors. Back entrance."
She nods, leading me through the shop. Shelves packed with books create a maze of narrow aisles. Close quarters. Every time she passes me, her scent hits me again. Every time she looks up at me with those wide eyes, my cock strains against denim.
"It's just me here," she explains, unlocking a door that leads to a small office and storage area. "I opened six months ago. It's been quiet until the break-in next door."
Just her. Alone. In this shop with its shitty locks and ground-floor windows facing an alley. My jaw tightens until I hear my teeth grind.
"You work here alone every day?"
She nods, oblivious to the danger. To how easily someone could—
My fists clench at my sides. Not while I'm breathing. Not fucking happening.
"Need a full system," I growl. "Motion sensors. Camera at each door. Silent alarm direct to police."
"Oh, I don't think I can afford—"
"You can't afford not to."
Her eyes widen at my tone. Too harsh. Too demanding. I don't give a shit. This little bookworm with her innocent eyes and soft curves isn't getting hurt on my watch.
"Let me show you the back door," she says quietly.
I follow her, watching the sway of her hips, the way she runs her fingertips along book spines as she passes. Each touch gentle, reverent. Christ. I imagine those same delicate fingers tracing the tattoos on my arms, the scars on my back.
The back door is a joke. One good kick would take it down. The lock isn't worth the metal it's made from.
"This gets replaced today," I tell her, not asking. "I'll call my supplier."
She bites her lower lip, and my cock jerks in response. "That sounds expensive."
"Safety's not cheap." I step closer, towering over her. Can't help myself. "But I'll work something out with you."
Her chest rises and falls faster. She can feel it—this thing crackling between us. This inevitability.
I spend the next hour measuring, making notes, calling suppliers, all while keeping her in my sight. When a customer comes in—some asshole in a business suit who stands too close to her—I find myself across the store in seconds, looming nearby until he backs the fuck off.
She doesn't say anything about it, but I catch her watching me, confusion in those innocent eyes.
By the time I'm ready to start the install, I've memorized every detail of her. The way she tucks hair behind her ear when she's nervous. How she hugs books to her chest before shelving them. The little hum she makes when she's concentrating.
I'm forty-two years old. Been with my share of women. Never felt this—this fucking certainty. This need to claim and keep.
"I'll start in the back," I tell her as I haul in my toolbox. "Stay up front with the customers."
She nods, but looks at me with curiosity now. "You're not what I expected, Mr. Hale."
That "Mr. Hale" shit makes my cock twitch again. Christ. "What'd you expect?"
"I don't know. The company website just said 'expert security installation.' I pictured someone..." She trails off, eyes darting away from my tattooed forearms, my scarred knuckles.
"Someone smaller? Less ugly?" I've never been one to bullshit.
"No!" Her eyes snap back to mine, genuine shock there. "Not ugly at all. Just…intense."
Intense. That's one fucking word for it. If she could hear the thoughts in my head—the ways I want to claim her, protect her, keep her—she'd be running for the door.
"Security's a serious business," I mutter, turning away before I do something stupid like push her up against the shelves and taste that mouth.
I work in the back room, but my senses stay tuned to her movements in the store. Each time the bell above the door rings, my body tenses until I confirm it's not a threat. Not to her. My tools nearly slip from my hands when I hear her laugh—a sound so sweet and light it makes my chest ache.
By the end of the day, I've replaced her back door, installed new deadbolts, and mounted the first camera. Tomorrow I'll bring the rest of the system. And the day after that, I'll find another reason to be here. And the next day too.
Because the second I laid eyes on Julia Carter, something primitive and absolute took over. Some men spend their lives searching for purpose. Mine just walked into focus wearing a cardigan and a smile that could bring a man like me to his knees.
She's mine. She doesn't know it yet, but she will. And God help anyone who tries to get in my way.