Page 5 of His Stormy Seduction

And then, as quickly as that, the overhead lamps flicker and go dark, plunging us into pitch blackness.

Chapter 3

Bonnie

The cabin plunges into total darkness, and for a few disorienting seconds, all I can hear is the hammering of rain against the roof and the crackle of flames in the woodstove.

"Damn generator must have kicked off," Garrett's gruff voice rumbles out of the blackness, closer than I expected. I can't help but startle a little, my heart giving a traitorous thump at his proximity.

There's a rustle of movement, and then a soft glow appears as he produces a flashlight, sweeping the beam around the small interior. "Probably overloaded from this storm..."

I blink against the harsh glare as it passes over me, trying in vain to see his expression. "So what do we do? Just sit here and wait it out?"

"I'll need to at least try to get the generator going again. Make sure we've got enough power to get through the night."

"Where's the generator?" I ask, glancing around as if it might randomly appear.

"Outside in the shed," he answers. "You can wait for me here."

Well, fat chance of that. "I'm coming with you."

The beam of his flashlight swings back toward me, casting his chiseled features in stark relief. I can see the muscle ticking in that clenched jaw, the slight narrowing of those dark, intense eyes.

"Absolutely not," he growls in a tone that brooks no argument. "It's dangerous enough for me out there. You're staying inside where it's safe."

My own eyes narrow right back at him, irritation flaring. It’s just another version of the same old song and dance—some alpha male trying to put the fragile little lady on a shelf where she'll be out of harm's way.

Yeah, no thanks.

Pushing up from the makeshift bedding, I rise to my full height and square my shoulders, meeting Garrett's penetrating stare head-on. "I'm coming to help, and that's final."

His jaw works furiously as we engage in a heated staring contest, the tension stretching into a smoldering haze. I can practically see the wheels turning behind those stormy eyes as he considers digging in for a fight.

But after a few charged seconds, some of the hardness seems to bleed out of his expression. He lets out a low, resigned breath, shaking his head. "You're the most bullheadedly stubborn woman..."

I shoot him a look. "And don't you forget it, Rambo."

A muscle twitches in his cheek like he's fighting a grin. Then he turns on his heel and heads for the door, tossing a curt "Let's go" over his shoulder. I hurry to grab my boots and follow after him.

The wind and rain are still raging in full force, and sheets of stinging precipitation instantly soak my hair and exposed skin. He pauses under the slight overhang, squinting through the downpour with a look of intense concentration. "Stay close, and for God's sake, be careful," he orders.

Something in his eyes stops my snarky retort—that intense, burning need to keep me safe and protected that I glimpsed in the cabin. Maybe it's not about doubting my capabilities so much as an innate, primal drive hardwired into his very being.

So instead, I settle for a slight nod. "Got it. Lead the way."

He does, marching down the creaky steps, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the gloom. We wind our way around the cabin to a shed in the back, barely visible through the overgrown brush. I hold my jacket over my head as he pulls aside some of the vines and then eases open the shed door, ducking inside to shine the beam around.

I hover just inside the doorway, eyes squinting as I try to make out the space beyond. It's a humble setup—a few dusty shelving units stocked with supplies, some heavy-duty toolboxes, and the boxy shape of the generator itself squatting in the far corner.

Garrett is already moving toward it, circling around to the front. His broad shoulders flex beneath his soaked shirt as he props open the casing and starts fiddling with something inside.

"You, uh... need an extra set of eyes or anything?" I call over the howling wind and pounding rain.

"Just stay there and keep that light on me," he tosses back, voice raised to be heard over the din.

I nod, carefully adjusting my position to shine the beam directly over his hunched form. It illuminates the sharp angles of his chiseled profile, and I find myself studying his face's sharp, rugged lines, tracing the contours and grooves with my gaze. He really is strikingly handsome in a raw, unvarnished way—like the mountains themselves given human form.

My eyes drift lower to the roped cords of muscle shifting beneath his shirt with each movement. The way the wet material clings to and outlines those impressive ridges and valleys, leaving very little to the imagination.

---