A beautiful, thoroughly made love to woman who’d just lost a piece of her heart to a man she’d only known for a very short amount of time. But at the same time, she felt as though she’d been waiting for this moment her entire life.

EIGHTEEN

BEAU quietly left the warmth of his bed the next morning, glancing at Ari every so often to ensure he didn’t wake her. She needed rest, and well, he needed . . . distance. Objectivity. Because the night before had permanently altered the course of his relationship—his supposedly objective, professional relationship—to a woman he damn well should have kept his hands—and various other parts of his body—off of. Maintained a strict level of professionalism. Not compromising his perspective and preserving the contractor/client strict level of impartiality.

Hell, who was he kidding, though. He might think he needed to distance himself, and he might acknowledge that’s what he should do, but it sure as hell wasn’t what he wanted, and he was at least honest enough with himself that he wouldn’t make up excuses or try to rationalize his breach in the professional code of conduct he and Caleb insisted their security specialists maintain at all times.

He was a flaming hypocrite and he didn’t give a flying fuck. Which meant he was in way over his head.

He hurriedly dressed and walked into the kitchen to prepare a cup of coffee, needing the infusion of caffeine to penetrate the haze of contented lethargy that fully encompassed him. What he wanted to do was remain in bed with Ari, his body solidly wrapped around hers so she awakened in his arms, warm and sleepy, that drowsy, contented look in those beautiful multi-colored eyes.

But he had work to do and a hell of a lot of catching up to do. The clock was ticking and they were working on a tight deadline. Every passing hour that Ari’s parents remained missing heightened the chances of them not being safely recovered.

If it were him, and he was the sort of bastard who’d use a vulnerable woman’s greatest weakness against her, he’d kill one of her parents, send her the evidence and then tell her if she didn’t meet their demands she could kiss the remaining one goodbye, too. And he’d take out the father, since he’d be a greater threat than the mother.

It would destroy Ari. It was something she’d never recover from, and he’d bear the weight of that responsibility—his inability to follow through on his promises—for all time. Ari would never forgive him, and he’d never forgive himself.

As he stirred in a dash of sugar in the strong brew to cut the sharpness just enough to make it palatable, his cell phone rang. It was a ringtone assigned to a noncontact, and as he pulled up the phone to check the incoming call, he frowned when he saw “blocked” on the screen.

Normally he wouldn’t answer an unidentified caller with at least some means of tracing the call but given the current status of his latest case, he couldn’t afford to miss anything.

“Hello?” he clipped out, forgoing his usual greeting of “Beau Devereaux.” No sense giving the caller any information he—or she—didn’t already know, and if it was a wrong number, he hardly wanted to relate his name that now had his number attached to it and showed up in the caller’s phone log.

“Mr. Devereaux, you have my daughter, and it’s imperative you keep her safe and out of sight. The people after her will stop at nothing to get to her.”

Beau’s forehead wrinkled, anger nipping at his nape as he tightened his grip on the cell phone. “Gavin Rochester? What the hell? Do you have any idea how frantic your daughter is? What the hell is wrong with you? You’re putting her through hell.”

“I’m not Gavin Rochester,” the caller said wearily. The man sounded fatigued and after Beau’s initial anger, he caught the thread of fear in the other man’s voice. “Ari Rochester is my biological daughter.”

Beau was on full alert now, automatically turning to ensure Ari wasn’t coming up behind him. After ensuring the coast was clear, he strode to the security room, gained access and then secured the door behind him.

The room was soundproof, and all the video feeds tying in the entire security field around—and inside—the house were displayed on the monitors. His main concern was Ari, so he made sure he was standing facing the image of her still curled contentedly in his bed.

“What do you mean her biological father?” Beau demanded, returning his attention solidly on the caller now that he was assured Ari was in his line of view. “Swear to God, if this is some crackpot call I’ll track you down and feed your own testicles to you.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as the other man seemed to be gathering courage—or at the very least the right words.

And then another thought occurred to Beau. How in the hell had this person, no matter his wild claims, gotten Beau’s private cell phone number. A number that only a few people had. His brothers. Dane and Eliza. Zack. Not even Anita had access to this number. He had a work cell and a personal cell. His person cell rarely got used since most of his brothers’ or the other single-digits people who had the number also happened to be co-workers, so usually it was just easier for them—and more natural—to punch in the number to a phone he’d answer no matter what he was doing or what time of the day the call was placed. Although last night? He’d have thrown it through the damn window if it had rung.

“How did you get this number?” Beau asked, his quick temper already displaying signs that his patience was waning. Fast.