I fight the urge to apologize. I don’t owe this guy anything. And yet I do. He’s done more for me in the short time I’ve known him than anyone else in my life has.
“I can be more help here than in Colorado.” This is the truth. Well. Part of it, anyway. I don’t live in Colorado, but I can’t tell Beau that. I can tell him Javier’s next move and his next. He used them on me and he used them on the others who came after me. And now he’s using them on Marie.
“I’ll be careful,” I add. “I’m not fourteen anymore, and I’m not helpless.”
He considers me for a long moment, then takes my hands in his, stilling their nervous fidgeting. “No, you’re not. But I don’t know what I’d do if he hurt you again.”
His words shoot deep inside me, piercing what was left of my resistance to him. I tug him closer and he leans in until our breaths mingle and the only thing in my line of sight is him. I tilt my head and slowly narrow the space between us. He doesn’t move away this time. Our lips brush once, then again. I glance up to gauge his reaction. The look in his eyes is intense and thrilling. His hand goes to the back of my head, and then he takes over, kissing me like he never wants to stop. I wrap my arms around his neck and bring him even closer.
We’re knee to knee, lips to lips. He tastes faintly of coffee. Sensation spirals through me and I want more. More of him and the way he makes me feel. This is what it’s supposed to be like. His kiss is too much and yet not enough. His lips on mine are all I want, all I need. I started this. That’s shocking on its own. Add to that I don’t want it to stop. He’s a great kisser. His mouth and tongue are a seduction, coaxing a low moan out of me, which jolts the kiss into a whole other stratosphere. He brackets my face in his hands. That’s it. He doesn’t press for more. This kiss is all he wants, and it’s everything I need.
He eases us out of the kiss and puts his forehead to mine. We’re both a little winded, and I wonder if he’s as shocked as I am at what we’re like together. It started as an experiment on my part. I had no idea how swept away I’d be. I don’t feel overpowered at all. I feel empowered. He has no idea what he’s done, granting me this gift. Maybe he never will.
“That got…out of hand,” he says.
“I’m not sorry.”
He closes his eyes and exhales heavily. “I’m not either.”
“But you don’t want it to happen again.”
“It shouldn’t happen again.” He still holds my face in his hands and isn’t showing any sign of letting go.
“But it will.”
He opens his eyes and stares at the way our thighs are bracketed side by side—his, mine, his, mine. His are so much larger and taller than mine. I imagine our limbs twined together and wonder if he pictures it too. If we’d been standing instead of sitting during the kiss, what would that be like? How would it feel to be pressed fully against him?
“It shouldn’t.” He moves, disconnecting from me…again. He shakes his head. “I can’t do this.”
“It was just a kiss.” No, it wasn’t, and I can tell by his expression that he doesn’t believe that either.
“Vera…” It’s like he doesn’t know where to look. His gaze skips around as though he’s searching for a lifeline.
“It was just a kiss,” I insist.
“I…can’t.”
His gaze finally lands and I follow it to its resting place—on a small photo of Cassandra tucked between the phone and his monitor. I wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t drawn my eye to it. I don’t know what to say. I’m in competition with a dead woman? Not that this is a competition or even the start of anything. Except that it is and we both know it. The message couldn’t be any clearer than if he threw up a big, giant, blinking STOP sign.
“You’re still in love with her.” I can’t hide the shock from my voice.
His nod is slow and filled with regret. Misery alters the lines of his face and his body just sort of sags. This is the part of Beau he tries so hard to hide from the rest of the world. The part of him that died the day Cassandra did. He was smart not to grant those interviews. The camera would’ve picked up what I’m only just now seeing when he thinks about her. How would he transform if he talked about her? His grief is a thick fog, hanging heavy in the room. Not only is he still in love with her, he’s mourning her.
I don’t know what to say. What is there to say?
“I should go.” I grab my bag and start to rise.
He grips my wrist, stopping me.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask, flapping my free hand at my side in frustration. I’m not equipped to help him. I’ve never done this before, and I don’t have the energy to fight a losing battle with a ghost.
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry. It was just a kiss.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I’m trying to make it be true.”
“Okay. It was just a kiss.”
I sit down again. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“No, it wasn’t.”