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Sharp.

Aware.

I look away first and hate myself a little for it.

The storm rattles the windows hard enough to shake the cabin slightly.

Rhett’s attention shifts immediately.

His entire body stills.

Listening.

Watching.

I notice the rifle leaning beside the front door then. Loaded. Ready.

“You expecting trouble?” I ask quietly.

“Always.”

That answer shouldn’t feel real.

But it does.

He crosses toward the windows next, checking each lock methodically before pulling the curtains tighter closed.

“You do this every night?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Because of me?”

“Because I live on a mountain.”

Something tells me that’s only half true.

I watch him move around the cabin for another minute, checking the back door, scanning outside through a narrow gap in the curtains, every movement controlled and practiced.

Military.

Protective.

Paranoid.

And somehow all three make him hotter.

Which honestly feels like a personal attack.

“You can relax, you know,” I say finally.

His gaze cuts toward me immediately. “Can I?”

“You’re acting like somebody’s about to break in.”

“They already did once tonight.”

Fair point.