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Just openly watching.

“You really notice everything, don’t you?” I murmur before I can stop myself.

Something shifts in his expression then.

Sharper.

More focused.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”

And somehow that answer feels a lot more dangerous than the storm outside.

Chapter Six

Rhett

By the next morning, the storm finally eases enough that I can see the road again.

Barely.

Snow still covers most of the mountain, thick white drifts piled against the cabin and trees, but the wind died sometime before sunrise, leaving the world too quiet in the way storms always do after they finish wrecking everything.

Nora’s already awake when I come back inside from checking the generator.

She’s standing in my kitchen wearing my socks and one of my thermal shirts rolled at the sleeves, her dark hair loose around her shoulders while she squints suspiciously at the ancient coffee maker like she’s considering filing a formal complaint against it.

Something low and possessive settles hard in my chest at the sight.

Mine.

The thought comes fast.

Instinctive.

Dangerous.

“You’re staring again,” she says without turning around.

“Yeah.”

“You ever get tired of being unsettling?”

“No.”

She glances over her shoulder finally, one brow lifting. “At least you’re consistent.”

I move toward her slowly, stopping close enough to smell the coffee and soap and her skin warming the fabric stretched across her body. The shirt hangs loose on her everywhere except her legs.

Bad fucking problem.

“You make it too weak,” I tell her.

“It’s coffee, not motor oil.”

“It’s weak.”

“It’s drinkable.”