Page 36 of Strict Confidence (Rochester Trilogy 2)
I look over my shoulder at Paige, who’s skimming the boat toy over the edge of the tub. “Five minutes,” I say, my voice sounding hollow. Afraid.
When I look back, the beach is empty. That doesn’t make me feel better. Not at all. She wasn’t walking fast enough to disappear. I stick my head close to the window and look up and down the shore. No one’s there.
I drop the curtain and rub my hand over my eyes. It was a traumatic event, the house fire. It’s making my imagination run wild.
A trick of the light. That’s all. Stress, and a trick of the light.
I go back into the bathroom. “Time to hop out and get dried off.”
“Ten more minutes.” Paige clings to the edge of the tub, only her eyes peeking over the side.
“I’m going to get your pajamas ready.”
A new pajama set waits in the top drawer of Paige’s dresser. I snap the tags off one by one and drop them into her little wastebasket.
“Ten more minutes,” Paige calls, though I haven’t been back to warn her. I shouldn’t keep bargaining with her, but it’s hard to be strict with a girl who’s gone through so much. First losing her parents. Then a fire. Let her enjoy her baths, if that’s what she likes.
“I’m almost done,” I answer back.
A shadow darkens the door. His scent follows a moment later. Wind and ocean and… smoke. Beau watches me with dark eyes made darker by his thoughts. “Jane,” he says.
My hands clench around the pajamas. “Paige is having her bath.”
In the bathroom, she makes a noise like a cannon’s blast.
Beau straightens up and clears his throat. Despite the strength of him, the ferocity of him, all contained in that muscular body, he looks… vulnerable.
Like he’s recently been burned through as much as the house has.
“I need to apologize to you for my behavior earlier.” Every word is stiff. Uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I’m sorry.”
Then he nods his head and turns to go.
I should let him. I should let him walk out of here and go change his clothes and stay my cold, distant boss. We could have the kind of neutral boss–employee relationship we should have had all along. His love is dangerous. He proved that to me on the beach.
But there’s something about the set of his shoulders that speaks of loss. He’s bereft. I don’t know of what. The house? His old life? Or some other, more elusive spark?
I don’t know, and I desperately want to know.
I move after him in a few quick steps. “Wait.”
He doesn’t say a word as I catch his arm in the hallway. Beau’s dark eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his gaze slips down to my hand on his sleeve. The salt scent of the ocean is stronger here. His eyes have more depth. The light from the bathroom catches and recedes in their black centers. It’s harder to breathe with him looking at me like that.
Like I’m some monumental decision for him to make.
My mouth has gone dry. “What did the fire chief say?”
His brows knit together into something like pain. He wants to lie. I can see it in his eyes. I can see myself reflected there, too. I’m dressed in all the expensive clothes he gave me. A piece of his world, now. On the surface, I fit in here, but I don’t want him to hold me at arm’s length. I don’t want him to keep me out.
“Tell me the truth,” I demand in a whisper. Halfway through it becomes a plea. “Trust me.”
He brushes my hand away and backs me against the wall in a single pained heartbeat. Beau’s big hand cups my jaw. It’s not like it was on the beach. He’s not pulling away from me. He’s pushing in, hard, his mouth confident on mine. Hot on mine. Possessive. It’s like he takes my words as a challenge, like the truth he offers is in every stroke of his tongue against mine, every ragged breath we share.
His other hand steadies my hip. My heart pounds at the contact. He can’t hide from me like this. He isn’t hiding from me like this. From the rest of the world, maybe. No one can see us here in the dim light of the hall. There’s only the aching truth between us. He needs me. I want him.
Beau shoves a knee between my legs. My head tips back in spite of myself. Keep silent. I have to stay silent, though he’s giving me just enough contact to light my nerves up from end to end. It’s dirtier than touching me with his fingers. More shameful.
Part of me loves that shame. I would rather be ashamed like this every minute for the rest of my life than watch him stalk away from me again.
