by Maya Banks
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.
She applied just a little more pressure to his groin, where he’d placed her hand over his rigid erection. Even through the thick denim and the underwear he wore, she could feel his penis pulsing and straining eagerly toward her touch.
It seemed body and mind weren’t in accord for Beau. His manner was reluctant, but his body wanted her. Even with as little sexual knowledge as she had, she recognized the signs of lust and desire, and it gave her an infusion of badly needed confidence.
She didn’t know how to be a siren. A temptress out to seduce a man with body and words. But she was about to get a crash course, because there was no way she was passing up the opportunity to see Beau Devereaux naked, beautiful. And hers. At least for one night.
Her possessiveness surprised her. The fact that she wanted to lay claim to this man, put her brand on him so others would know to back the hell away or incur her wrath. Who knew she could be so jealously greedy? She quite liked this undiscovered side of herself.
More than her powers were now unleashed and operating at inhuman speeds. Her sexuality was unfurling like the petals of a flower in spring. Her body ached for this man. Her soul ached for him. The touching of two hearts, two spirits, becoming one.
A stuttered hiss escaped his lips and she glanced up to see his jaw tight and quivering, his eyes closed, head thrown back even as his pelvis lifted, arching into her touch greedily.
“Do you want me, Beau?” she whispered, the words catching in her breathy excitement. “Because I want you—this. I need you. Right here, right now.” She paused for a microsecond, held her breath and then said, “Please.”
It was too close to begging for her liking. Yes, she was pampered and spoiled. She readily admitted that. But she had pride. And the truth was, she’d never had to beg for anything in her life. This was completely new and foreign and she was fraught with uncertainty even as her pulse raced in delicious anticipation of having Beau’s body above hers, inside her, feeling the hardness currently filling her hand and nearly delirious with wondering how he would feel sliding into her most intimate recesses.
“God, yes I want you,” he said through clenched teeth. “Have mercy, honey. You’re killing me here. There is no need to ask me to give you what you want—what you need. If you’re sure—if you are absolutely positive that I am what you want, then I am more than happy to comply with your sweetly worded request.”
She moved her hand up his muscled body and curled it around his nape, pulling him down to her mouth, desperate to feel his lips on hers again. Then she shivered, imagining his mouth on other parts of body. Her breasts . . . the throbbing, clenching lips of her vagina.
It was simply too much to process all at once. Her mind was alive, brimming with erotic images of the two of them, tangled up, moving as one. Him coming inside her, on her, marking her as though he owned her.
Chill bumps erupted, doing a tantalizing dance over her skin. Her nipples puckered and her breasts were heavy and aching, swelling with need for his touch. She was suddenly impatient, wanting to be skin on skin, no barriers between them.
“Show me,” she whispered. “Show me what to do. How to do. How to please you. I want to see you, Beau. Take your clothes off. Please.”
This time the please wasn’t her begging. It was a demand of lover to lover. She shivered delicately again. The word lover had never had such an impact on her, because she hadn’t experienced the essence of having a lover. Of being someone else’s lover.
Beau rose up from the bed, nearly tearing his clothing as he stripped down to his underwear. Then, as if sensing her heightened excitement, he took his time with his underwear, inchi
ng it downward to expose his thick, distended cock, inch by delicious inch.
He was a feast of pure alpha male and she wanted to touch and explore so much that she didn’t even know where to start.
“Now you,” he said in a gruff voice. “Sit up on the edge of the bed so I can help you. You aren’t going to get so carried away that you hurt yourself. I must be insane for agreeing to this. You were shot for God’s sake.”
She was poised to launch an argument, but he leaned over her on the bed, his arms on either side of her body, his mouth just inches from hers, even as he slowly began divesting her of her clothing. Before she knew it, before she even acknowledged how he’d been able to do it so quickly without her registering the fact, she was naked, and he still loomed over her, his gaze raking over her, his expression absolutely intense.
“You may have instigated and you may have had to talk me into this, but that’s the extent of your control. This is my show now and I’m going to take my sweet time showing you just how much I want you. Which means we do things my way. And you’re going to lie there and not do a damn thing to put strain on your stitches while I do all the work.”
Oh my . . . She swallowed hard, her heart nearly leaping up her throat. He nuzzled his mouth against her jaw and nibbled his way down to graze his teeth over the delicate skin just below her ear.
He nipped, followed it with a leisurely swipe of his tongue and then he fastened his mouth and sucked gently until her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. In fact he had to catch her as she swayed precariously and that had nothing to do with the pain medication rendered earlier. Beau was a hundred times more potent than any drug.
She leaned her forehead on his chest, the top of her head grazing the underside of his chin, and she inhaled deeply, absorbing his scent, enjoying the feel of her skin against his heart. She also got a prime view of his straining erection and she gasped softly.
Unable to stop herself, she pulled slightly away and let her fingers wander aimlessly down his midriff, trailing through the brisk whorl of hair at his groin. He went completely still when her hand brushed up the length of his cock. She was fascinated by the fact that he was utterly rigid and yet the skin, stretched so tightly, was like velvet over steel.
She pressed inward with her thumb, finding the plump vein that ran the length on the underside of his erection, and traced a path upward, surprised when moisture suddenly welled and beaded at the tip, slipping onto the tips of her fingers like silk.
Her hand left him and she lifted her index finger to her mouth, wanting to know what he tasted like. Beau let out a groan that sounded as though he was experiencing extreme pain, and yet when she looked into his eyes, they burned fiercely with pleasure and desire.
He looked like he was about to eat her up and devour her whole and she wanted it all and she wanted it now. She was simmering with impatience, wanting to experience everything she’d read about but had never gained firsthand knowledge of. This was like . . . a fantasy, a scene from the sexiest book, only it was real. And it was happening to her!
Sending him what she hoped was a sultry look of invitation, she slowly reclined back and stretched her arms over her head in a symbol of submission, hoping it would drive him as wild as he was driving her.
His eyes glittered dangerously, raking over her body like a blowtorch. Immense satisfaction marked his features at her acquiescence, her obedience to his demand that she lie back and allow him to do as he wanted.
He crawled slowly and deliberately onto the bed, over her, straddling her body with his own. When he’d slid to just below her waist, he dug his knees into the mattress and sat upward so he looked down on her, his beautiful, muscled body like a work of art draped over her skin.
He skimmed a hand over the bandage on her side, frowning slightly as he examined it. She was determined that he not change his mind and decide she was too “injured” for sex so she arched upward, deliberately drawing his attention to her breasts instead.
It worked because his gaze immediately smoldered and his hand moved from her side and over her breast. He added his other hand to the other side and pushed them toward one another before leaning down and running his tongue in a swirling motion around one nipple and then the other until they were rigid, straining peaks, begging for attention. His mouth. His lips. His tongue. She wanted him to suck, wanted to feel the delicious tug that she instinctively knew would blow her mind.
As if reading her thoughts or perhaps his restraint was wearing down, he tugged one puckered ridge between his teeth, gently grazing the ultrasensitive nub and then sucking the entire areola into his mouth.
She emitted a strangled cry, arching up, her hands flying to his head, holding him firmly against her so she didn’t lose the exquisite suction. A growl rumbled through his throat, almost a purr of pleasure that gave her delicious satisfaction.
Her fingers dug through his hair, reveling in the sensation of so much skin-to-skin contact. Her senses were ablaze, consumed by fire. His fire.
He very quickly discovered her pleasure points, knew just how to make her insane with the need for release. He discovered places she hadn’t realized were erogenous zones as he conducted a very thorough head-to-toe perusal with his hands, his mouth and his tongue. God, his tongue.
She was mindless, boneless, helplessly sliding further and further into sweet oblivion. So many times she’d thought she’d simply break apart and float away and yet he always seemed to know the exact moment to pull her back, preventing that free fall into space.
She was ready to scream, to beg him to give her relief from the ever-increasing tension, boiling, simmering, stoking and fanning until she was a seething cauldron of ecstasy. Just as she reached her breaking point and parted her lips, trying to draw in enough oxygen to voice her plea, he raised his head from his sensual exploration of her throbbing clitoris, dug his fingers into her hips, roughly nudging her thighs apart with a knee and thrust into her with one forceful lunge.
Her lungs caught fire as pain burned through her swollen passageway. Beau froze, his entire body going rigid as he stared down at her in shock. Her eyes were wide as she stared helplessly up at him as she processed the bombardment of conflicting sensations snaking through her body.
She didn’t know how he managed it, but he leaned down, so carefully and tenderly, and leaned his sweat-beaded brow against her forehead.