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br /> “You watch too many movies.” He yanked off his ball cap and twisted it in his hands like a wet dishrag.
“I don’t watch movies.”
He blinked at her in surprise. “Ever?”
“Not since I was a teenager. It’s not really my thing.” She gave him a hard look. “Stop trying to change the subject.”
“This is crazy.”
“No.” Natalie shook her head, sending the loose hair bouncing. “It makes perfect sense.”
“How’s that?” He tucked the tendril behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the sensitive spot behind her lobe.
Her breath caught and for a split second she forgot what in the hell they’d been talking about as a shiver worked its way up from her core. The man was beyond dangerous.
“Because he’s going to make another move,” she said. “Think about it from his perspective. Uncle Julian promised Carl he’d get the brewery. Instead, Uncle Julian left it to me and my sisters. Then Miranda fires him. And when he decides to pay her back by running her off the road, he ends up behind bars. In the week he’s been out, we’ve already had three incidents—one of which sent two people to the hospital. He’s motivated, he’s knowledgeable about the brewery, and he’s accelerating.”
Sean looked heavenward and sighed. “When?”
Finally. “I’m starting tonight.”
“I’ll be here.” He loomed over her, his feet shoulder–width apart and his arms crossed over his mouthwateringly awesome chest. The curve of the biceps she’d felt last night peeked out from underneath his short sleeves. He may have given in to her argument, but judging by the take–no–shit look on his face, he wasn’t done fighting.
A whole night.
Alone.
With Sean.
Her stomach dropped below sea level, which made sense, because her insides had all gone adrift at the mere idea of spending the night with Sean.
“You don’t have to,” she sputtered. “I’ll watch everything on the security cameras, safe in my office.”
Her hand barely trembled as she slid the cabinet door to the side, revealing a small TV. Images from the four cameras flickered on the screen in quick rotation.
“Those didn’t pick up anything before,” he scoffed.
Like she’d ever leave underperforming equipment in place. “I’ve made some adjustments.”
“What do you mean?”
“See for yourself.” She grabbed the remote out of her center desk drawer and punched a few buttons. The camera zoomed and refocused. The grainy image disappeared, replaced by a screen divided into four boxes with clear footage of a different part of the brewery in each one.
“Damn.”
With the technology upgrade, she’d be able to spot an intruder and alert the authorities without ever leaving the safety of her locked office. “Yep. We have night–vision, motion–sensitive cameras now. So you see, you don’t—”
He took the remote from her hand, his fingers brushing hers and setting off a mini–tsunami of desire. “Where’d they come from?”
“You don’t want to know what all my Uncle Julian had in his garage.” The two–car garage had been filled to the rafters with survival supplies, chain–link fencing, surveillance equipment and more. “It’s like he was prepping for a zombie apocalypse.”
He gave the remote a thorough looking over before handing it back to her. “Well then, I’ll see you tonight.” He pivoted and headed toward her closed office door.
“Sean, you don’t—”
“Forget it, Natalie.” He shoved his hat on his head. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Hungry and bordering on hangry, Sean walked into The Kitchen Sink ready for a pot roast sandwich served with an oversized helping of potato salad and a gallon of sweet tea. If he was lucky—a really big if—there’d still be a slice of pecan pie in the glass display case when he finished.
