I shout her name, and she lifts her bowed head, the hood of her jacket flipping off. Even at this distance, I can see her face is twisted from pain or maybe the cold. And then her foot wobbles beneath her—is she wearing high heels?—and she falls, landing on her ass and then going prone on the ground.

Taking off at a run, I get to her side in ten of the longest seconds of my life.

My horror increases as I realize her legs are basically bare beneath her coat. She’s wearing tights and heeled boots, and I’m guessing some kind of too-short, inappropriate for the weather dress.

I yank off my parka as I bark her name.

She doesn’t respond.

I lift her up like she weighs nothing and wrap her lower body in my jacket. Her hands flop against my chest, and those are bare, too.

“When you wake up, we’re going to have a long talk about weather-appropriate clothing, young lady,” I mutter to her as I march back up the hill. My pulse is pounding erratically in my chest—and not from the effort of carrying her.

That wasn’t hard at all, except for how right it felt to cradle her in my arms.

You sick fuck. She’s barely conscious, so I can’t disagree with the voice in my head. I am a sick fuck when it comes to Neely. I have no right to the thoughts I’ve entertained, the desire I indulge in during the darkest hours of the night.

When I arrive at the lighthouse, I have to shift her in my arms so I can open the door, and her jacket bunches up. My hand tightens down on her thigh, practically bare in only a thin pair of tights, and she whines at the contact.

If she’s gotten herself frostbite, I will—

Do nothing.

I’m not in charge of her; I’m not her parent. I’m just a guy with opinions about how a girl should dress. Though I’m a social hand grenade, even I know it’s not cool for an old man like me to have opinions about how she should dress.

Except for when it’s a matter of life and death.

Jesus. I push inside and slam the door behind me.

In my arms, she rouses a little. “Ford?”

“It’s me, baby.” I think about putting her down on the couch, but I don’t have any throw blankets or shit like that.

She needs to warm up.

She needs to be in my bed.