In His Keeping (Slow Burn #2)

“You can’t possibly want it more than I do,” he said, sliding his fingers up the length of her arm that was still flung across his body.

“Do you mean that?” she asked hesitantly, instantly searching his gaze for any sign of the veracity of his words.

He looked confused and then worried. He turned on his side, his hand wrapped around her arm so it stayed anchored around him when he moved. Then he reached to trace a line from her temple to her cheek, sending shivers of sheer contentment coursing through her veins.

“How can you doubt that?” he asked. And then faint alarm registered in his eyes and he stared intently at her, as if doing the exact same thing she’d been doing to him. Trying to see into her thoughts, to understand or discover her thoughts, her feelings. And her fears.

“Ari, do you doubt that I want to be with you? That I want you with me? And not just temporarily. Not days. Not weeks. Not months.”

“How long then?” she whispered, dodging his question of whether she doubted his words. She was much more interested in the last things he’d said.

Hope made her pulse flutter and then speed up. She held her breath for seemingly an eternity as she waited for . . . confirmation? Something more? Commitment?

Love?

Oh God, she couldn’t go there. Could not set herself up for devastation. She had to learn to steel herself. Not to take so much to heart. To be able to shrug off the negative things and embrace the good.

His cheeks puffed as he blew out a long breath and his hand slid from her face to capture the arm lying over his chest. He took her hand, lacing their fingers, and then simply placed their joined hands over his heart.

“This is where you are, Ari. Here. And this is where you’ll stay. And because you’re here,” he said, pressing her hand harder against the steady thud of his heartbeat. “That means that I want you here.”

He gestured to the bed. And then swept his arm to encompass the room.

“Everywhere,” he said softly. “Everywhere I am is where I want you to be.”

He leaned forward, still keeping her hand trapped solidly between their bodies and he fused his mouth to hers in the sweetest of kisses. He was still treating her gently, as though he feared she would break or that he’d somehow cause her more pain.

“Forever,” he whispered into her mouth, the word swallowed up as she inhaled the scent, the taste, the feel of him surrounding her. “I want forever.”

And that one word, so simple but utterly sincere, gave her contentment such as she’d never known or experienced.

Love finds you when you least expect it. Under seemingly impossible circumstances, but it was there. Young and blooming still. Unwavering and constant.

Love truly did conquer all. Love required trust, unconditional faith in the face of adversity.

Some of the overwhelming fears of losing her family dimmed, because, in this moment, Ari knew without a doubt that Beau would find her parents and that Ari and Beau’s love would be as steadfast and true as her mother and father’s and that they too would withstand the test of time





TWENTY-THREE

BEAU’S expression blackened and he emitted a soft curse when a firm knock sounded at his bedroom door. He rolled to his back with a groan and slapped his palm to his forehead in a signal of frustration.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Now? Someone’s going to interrupt us now of all times? Swear to God, the house better be on fire.”

Ari smothered a smile and tried to summon irritation equal to his, but he was too funny with his pouty sullen look of a boy who’d just been denied his favorite toy.

When the knock persisted, Beau rolled, sliding his feet to thump on the floor, and then rose to stalk to the door, yanking it open with enough force to rip it from its hinges.

“What?” he barked

Ari turned, curious as to whom would brave Beau’s wrath to interrupt them so early in the morning. She frowned. Or at least she thought it was morning. Yesterday was a fog bank, and she had to struggle to part the veil of mist in order to remember all that had happened.

She shivered with the bone-deep cold that always assailed her after a psychic burst—a word she’d made up on the fly because, well . . . it was appropriate—because Beau was no longer there to warm her and the bed was suddenly chilly. She dug her feet deeper, seeking residual warmth from the imprint of his legs and feet.