Chapter 3
three
. . .
Butch
The skies open up without warning. One minute I'm finishing the last security camera install, the next it's like God upended a fucking ocean over Hickory Ridge. Lightning cracks across the sky, followed by thunder that rattles the windows of the bookstore.
Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. Now I have an excuse to stay.
Julia stands at the front window, her delicate fingers pressed against the glass like she's trying to hold back the storm herself. "I've never seen it come down this hard."
I grunt in agreement, but my focus isn't on the weather. It's on the way her cardigan has slipped off one shoulder, exposing a strip of pale skin I want to mark with my teeth.
The lights flicker once. Twice. The third time, they stay off.
"Oh!" She jumps, a small sound of surprise escaping her lips.
I'm beside her in two strides. "Got emergency lights?"
"In the back office, I think. But my phone—"
I pull out mine, turning on the flashlight function. The beam catches her face, those wide eyes reflecting the light. Innocent. Frightened. Something primal stirs in my chest.
"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?"
She doesn't answer, but I feel the shiver that runs through her body. It's not from cold.
My hand tightens on her hip. I could span her waist with my hands. Could pick her up and position her exactly how I want her. The thought makes my cock throb painfully against my zipper.
"You know what happens when a man and woman get trapped together like this?" My voice drops lower, rougher. "In movies, books?"
She swallows hard, the sound audible even over the storm. "Those are just stories."
"Life writes better stories than fiction." My lips brush her ear as I speak, feeling her shudder against me. "Especially when there's a storm raging outside and something just as wild building inside."
"I hardly know you," she whispers.
I laugh, a sound with no humor in it. "You know enough. You feel it too."
My hand slides from her hip to her stomach, resting there, feeling her quick breaths. Just a few inches lower and I'd be touching places that would make her gasp my name.
Christ, what the fuck am I doing? I don’t know, but it’s like a dam has unleashed inside me and I can’t stop.
"I've been watching you for three days," I tell her, my voice a low rumble near her ear. "The way you move. The way you smile at customers. The way you touch those books like they're precious. Been imagining those delicate hands on me instead."
She stiffens in my arms, but doesn't pull away. "Mr. Hale—Butch—this isn't—"
"Isn't what? Professional?" I laugh again. "Sweetheart, professional went out the window the minute I laid eyes on you. You think any man looks at you and thinks about business? They don't. They think about ruining you."
The words hang in the air between us. Her breathing has quickened, her body trembling slightly against mine.
"But they'd ruin you wrong," I continue, my control slipping with each word. "They'd be gentle when you need rough. Careful when you need to be claimed. None of them would know how to handle something as perfect as you."
Lightning flashes again, thunder following almost immediately. The storm is directly overhead now. She jumps at the sound, pressing back against me instinctively. My cock strains painfully against my jeans.
"I'd ruin you right," I whisper against her skin. "So thoroughly you'd never look at another man again. So completely you'd feel me for days afterward. Every book you picked up, every customer you smiled at, you'd be thinking of me and what I did to you."
Her pulse flutters visibly at her throat. I want to put my mouth there, feel her life force under my tongue.
"You're saying terrible things," she manages, but her voice catches on the words.
My hand slides up to rest just below her breast. "Tell me to stop then."
She doesn't. The silence stretches between us, filled only with the sound of rain and her quick breaths.
"That's what I thought." My lips ghost against her neck, not quite a kiss. "From the second I walked into this store, you've been mine, Julia. You just didn’t know it yet."
The storm rages outside, but the real tempest is building inside me—a primal need to claim, to mark, to possess. To make sure that when dawn breaks and the waters recede, nothing between us will ever be the same.
She's mine, and by morning, she'll understand exactly what that means.