In His Keeping (Slow Burn #2) (19 page)

Movement on the video monitor drew his attention and he honed in, watching as Ari stirred restlessly. He started to surge to his feet and leave the room to go to where she lay, but as quickly as she’d exhibited signs of stress, she quieted and went still once more.

Beau let his muscles relax and then turned his attention back to Caleb and Zack, who were both studying him intently. He shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny and suddenly wanted to be away from all of it.

“Zack, get the report from Eliza,” Beau directed crisply, ignoring their intent expressions. “See what pops up and what you can piece together between what you’ve found and what Eliza’s found. Caleb, you and Ramie go back to Tori. I’ve got things under control here. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

He’d effectively dismissed them both. Zack had no issue and turned to walk out of the room, no doubt already focusing on his objective. Caleb, however, looked poised to argue. Beau held up a hand.

“Save it, Caleb,” Beau said quietly. “I need you to back off on this.”

It was the closest he’d come to asking his brother for what essentially amounted to him turning a blind eye to activities the brothers usually shared, worked on together, decided on. Caleb studied him in silence a moment and then seemed to reach a decision or at least heed Beau’s request, which was issued more as a directive when Caleb was unused to answering or deferring to anyone.

Ramie let go of Caleb and crossed the short distance between them and bent slightly to kiss Beau on the cheek.

“Promise you’ll be careful,” she said in a low voice.

He offered her a reassuring smile. “Always.”

SIXTEEN

BEAU
roused instantly from sleep, his neck protesting as he straightened from his awkward position in the recliner where he’d drifted off keeping silent vigil over Ari. He blinked rapidly to bring the room into focus, adjusting quickly to the dim light radiating from the slightly ajar door of the bathroom.

Then he blinked again, unsure if he was seeing correctly or if he was having some bizarre hallucination.

Random objects floated haphazardly around the room. The lamp, which was turned off, bumped the wall and suddenly flickered on. The television remote hovered a foot off the floor beside his recliner. Novels that lined one of the shelves of his bookcase thumped and banged against one another before popping out from the shelf and then dropping suddenly to the floor in a cascade of motion.

Things he couldn’t see, but could
hear
, rattled, knocked and clicked. It seemed the entire room was in motion. He automatically thumped his hands down on the arms of the recliner just to ensure that
it
wasn’t moving, shaking or floating. Then he planted his feet solidly on the floor to regain his sense of equilibrium.

Suddenly realizing just what was going on, he yanked his gaze from the jittering objects to where Ari still lay curled up on his bed. Her brow was creased, deep furrows appearing in her forehead. Her mouth pursed and then opened, a whimper escaping. One arm flailed outward as if warding off an unseen attacker.

Realization was swift that she was in the throes of a nightmare and her power, now unchecked, was like an electric current in the room, zapping and moving objects with no rhyme or reason, reacting to the utter chaos of her current thought pattern.

He lunged to his feet, afraid she’d incur a serious psychic bleed if she continued as she was. Calling her name softly, he slid onto the bed, catching her flailing arm and trapping it against the hard wall of his chest.

“Ari, honey, wake up. You’re all right. You’re safe. It’s me, Beau Devereaux. Open your eyes, sweetheart. Look at me. I’m right here.”

He continued his soothing stream of babble, reaching with his free hand to rub up and down the curve of the arm secured against his chest. Not knowing what else to do, he leaned in, pressing his lips to the deep lines that marred her forehead, all the while murmuring soft reassurances and pleading with her to wake up.

He lifted his hand, brushing his thumb underneath her nose and then over her plump upper lip, emitting a huge sigh of relief that as of yet, she wasn’t bleeding. Now if he could only pull her back from the vicious grasp of her dreams before she
did
start to bleed.

“Ari, please baby, you’ve got to wake up,” he pleaded softly, his breath blowing warm over her chilled skin.

She shivered violently and he pulled away just as her eyes jerked open, the pupils dilated, nearly painting her vividly colored eyes black. Her respirations were rapid and erratic and as his hand lowered to her chest, he could feel her heart beating wildly against his palm.

“Beau?” she whispered.

Just that one word—his name—conveyed so much fear that his heart ached for her.

“Yes, honey, it’s me. You were having a bad dream, but you’re safe. I’ve got you. Do you remember where you are?”

Her nose wrinkled momentarily, and a faint puzzled look flashed in her eyes before she visibly calmed, and then she seemed to wilt before his very eyes.

“Oh God,” she said, closing her eyes. “Please tell me that
this
is a dream. That none of
this
is happening. That my parents are at home—safe.”

Utter helplessness gripped him, seizing his heart and mind, a sensation he wasn’t at all accustomed to. Nor did he ever
want
to be accustomed to such weakness. It was the worst feeling in the world, knowing he had no power to fix this, to make it all go away for her.

“I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry,” he said, regret echoed in his every word. “I’d give anything to be able to tell you that, honey, but you’re not dreaming
now
.”

Her eyes flashed open again, her pupils more normal—and equal—one of the things Doctor Carey had told him was a warning sign of brain injury. Pin prick or uneven or unreactive pupils. It gave him some small measure of relief that despite having used her powers—unconsciously—she hadn’t incurred another bleed, nor did she seem to be ill affected by the incident.

“Are you hurting?” he asked quietly. “Do you need the medicine the doctor prescribed?”

She shook her head in silent denial. She stared into his eyes, seeming to
absorb
him. Awareness slithered up his spine, despite his attempt to quell it. But she felt it too. He
knew
she did, because her eyes widened, and she focused in on him even more intently until he felt as though he were drowning in the pools of her eyes.

They were as two magnets, inexorably drawn to one another by a power that defied explanation or definition. It felt . . . right. So very right. More so than anything else he had ever experienced before.

Her pull was electric. His nerve endings were painfully aware. His skin suddenly felt too tight. Uncomfortable and yet . . . pleasurable. His thoughts were as chaotic as hers had been when she’d been firmly in the grasp of her dreams. Only,
this
dream was one he never wanted to awaken from.

Slowly, as if they
were
in a dream, she lifted her head, her hand sliding up his arm, over his shoulder, lightly caressing up the sensitive skin of his neck to finally come to rest against his jaw. Her lips were mere centimeters from his, her breath whispering softly against his mouth and chin.

Carefully, almost as if she feared rejection, she angled her head just a bit so that their mouths were perfectly aligned, and she pressed her warm, lush lips to his.

It was an electric surge, a jolt to his entire body. He held his breath, his muscles rigid and straining as she explored his mouth, tentatively at first, and then when she met with no resistance, she grew bolder, her tongue dancing over his lips, an invitation for him to open.

He complied with her silent request, relaxing his jaw and allowing her access. The feathery strokes of her tongue against his was driving him insane with want and need. So much need. Like nothing he’d ever felt in his life. With no other woman. Not this overwhelming urge to protect, to dominate, to possess, to cherish, to reassure her and make promises he had no way of knowing if he could keep but wanted to offer nonetheless.

Alarm seared through the haze of mindless pleasure her mouth offered. She was vulnerable. Fragile. In no condition to truly be cognizant of her actions. One of them had to be thinking clearly and at the moment, it wasn’t him.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—take advantage of her. Even as his body and mind roared in unison to take, to possess, to claim.

He hadn’t understood Caleb’s obsession with Ramie. How any man could be so wrapped up in a woman. To be completely without reason or rational thought. But now he realized, that if his brother had felt even a fraction of what Beau was currently feeling, then he understood. It was a nearly blinding moment of clarity, when everything clicked into place, and he experienced the sensation of rightness that only a
specific
woman could bring to a man.

It took every bit of his will and strength to break the kiss. To tear his lips from hers, his chest heaving as though he’d just ran a mile uphill. His heartbeat was every bit as thunderous as hers had been minutes ago when she’d just surfaced from the throes of a terrible dream. Only his was the
sweetest
of dreams, the kind one never wanted to be shaken from.

“Beau?” she whispered, hurt evident in her voice.

Her eyes immediately became shuttered, and she tried to turn her face away, so he couldn’t see what his rejection had done.

Gently he cupped her cheek, forcing her gaze back to his. He forced control into his words, and he made himself look her in the eyes, hoping like hell that she could see the utter sincerity that surely had to be blazing from his.

“We can’t do this, Ari.”

He nearly choked on the words. Why couldn’t he be the selfish bastard he’d always considered himself? Or the cold, blunt bastard he was well accustomed to being? Why now, of all times, did he discover a conscience that demanded he absolutely protect Ari when she was at her most vulnerable and not to, in any way, take advantage of her at her weakest.

When her eyes became glossy with unshed tears, he nearly lost it. Goddamn it, but he hadn’t meant to hurt her. His tongue felt clumsy, thick in his mouth, when just seconds ago it was tasting the sweetest of pleasures. He grappled with the words—the
right
words—to ease the sting of his rejection.

Hell, he wasn’t rejecting her. Far from it. He was rejecting
himself
and the idea of causing her further pain or anguish. And worse.
Regret
. Because it would damn near kill him to ever see disappointment
or
regret in her gaze after he’d just made love to her.

“I can’t take
advantage
of you,” he said in a husky voice. He stroked his thumb over her lips, even as he spoke, remembering the way they’d felt against his. “You’re at your most vulnerable right now. You just awoke from a terrible dream, and you’re shaky and confused. You feel lost. Alone. Your entire world has been rocked. The people you love the most are in danger. It would make me the worst sort of bastard if I made love to you right now.”

She instantly frowned, and her eyes flashed with quick anger. Then her expression eased and she sighed, nuzzling her cheek against his palm.

“Would you consider me an intelligent, capable woman, Beau?”

He blinked, staring back at her, for a moment at a loss as to how to respond. The question came out of left field, but she was staring pointedly at him, waiting for him to answer.

“Of course,” he said, mimicking her small frown. “Why on earth would you ask such a thing?”

She put her finger to his lips to silence him and he went utterly still at her touch. Reaching for that rush of pleasure cascading through his body at something so simple as her fingers against his mouth. Though, admittedly, it was a poor substitute for her mouth, her lips. Her tongue.

He mentally moaned at the torture he was subjecting himself to. He had to be a complete masochist.

“If an intelligent, capable woman is attracted to you.
Wants
you and wants you to make
love
to her, would you consider it taking
advantage
of her to give her what she
wants
? Unless, of course, you don’t want
her
.”

He nearly laughed. Instead he groaned, a sound of frustrated male desire. Then he simply took her hand from his face and lowered it, cupping her palm over his aching groin, where his dick was about to tear a hole in his jeans.

“Does this feel to you like I don’t want you?” he demanded.

Her face was flushed. Not with embarrassment or shame. He could see the heat enter her eyes, her cheeks. Her lips unconsciously parted, emitting a breathy sound that made him hurt all the more.

“Me not wanting you is
not
the issue,” he growled. “Me taking advantage of you
is
.”

A soft smile curved her lips, her eyes glittering more boldly. A distinctly,
delicious
feminine spark of mischief fired in the depths of those expressive eyes. And he knew in that instant he was in trouble. The kind a man didn’t necessarily mind.

Then she heaved an exaggerated sigh, as though she was sorely put upon, even as her eyes held the promise of tender retribution.

“Well, if you aren’t going to take advantage of me, then I guess I’ll just have to take advantage of
you
.”

SEVENTEEN

DESPITE
her teasing words and her brazen manner, Ari was terrified. She only hoped she could pull this off without giving herself completely away. Beau Devereaux was not a man women overlooked. And he likely never had to look far for sexual company, of that Ari was certain.

While not handsome in a sophisticated, pretty and polished manner, as some men of wealth were, Beau was . . . harder looking. Like he’d seen—endured—the other side of the sun. Where darkness and danger lurked. And his confidence was extremely attractive to a woman like Ari who didn’t possess it, but craved it. She admired confidence in others, and one thing she’d noticed about all of the DSS employees or operatives or whatever they called themselves is that they wore confidence like skin. Perfectly fitted. That kind of assurance couldn’t be faked. She ought to know, because she sucked at faking anything.