And when she focuses on me, I know she appreciates my hurt. She swallows hard, nods, takes my hand and squeezes tightly, then heads for the bedroom, and although I’m desperate to be with her—hold her, support her—I know I must step aside and let her do what she needs to do. Comfort her friend.

  I go out onto the patio and get an ashtray, returning and taking a stool next to Danny, helping myself to a Marlboro and lighting up. I should be encouraging Danny from his seat to get him outside before the whole villa in engulfed in smoke, but I don’t think an excavator would shift him. And what the fuck should I say? Again, I don’t know, so I just sit here watching him pull hard on his cigarette in between sips of his Scotch, his gaze set on the floor, his hands still shaking.

  Ten minutes later, he’s on his second Marlboro and drink, and he’s still not murmured a word. I get up and take two steps toward the bedroom, but just as quickly halt, wondering how I’m going to handle what lies beyond. I’ve got a girlfriend who’s gone from happy to haunted in the space of a phone call, a best mate who looks like he’s on the edge of a breakdown, and his wife, my girlfriend’s best friend, who is in that room distraught. I can hear her sobbing over Beau’s soft hushes.

  Fuck.

  I resolve myself to getting my arse back on the stool and waiting, my mouth shut until I have something productive to say or useful to do. Right now, it’s simply being here.

  “Want another?” I blurt, feeling restless and helpless, as Danny turns his glass in circles on the counter.

  He shakes his head and looks up at me. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “Calling Beau.” Shoving his glass away, he sets his elbows on the counter and drops his head into his hands. “Fuck, I wasn’t thinking.”

  “She wouldn’t have it any other way.” My attention is pulled to the bedroom when I hear the door open. Beau appears, and I breathe in, bracing myself for the imminent meltdown. It won’t happen now. Not yet. Not until we’re away from Rose and Danny, and she can let down the shield currently helping her keep relatively together.

  Danny looks up and stands, and I join him. “The baby’s okay,” she says with little emotion. Not relief or happiness, not anything. “Doc’s monitoring the heartbeat for a while for peace of mind.”

  “What?” Danny runs past Beau into the bedroom, while I stand, a statue, searching for the calm this news should bring. It’s nowhere to be found, and it’s not likely to be. While this is the best news for Danny and Rose, and while I know Beau will be happy for them, as I am, I also know this whole situation will set her back again. Bring back memories. Hurt. Heartache.

  Losing our baby.

  “Okay?” I ask like a total dick.

  “She’ll need a few days bedrest,” Beau says stoically, emotionless. “She needs to calm the hell down, but she’ll be all right. The baby will be all right.”

  “I wasn’t talking about Rose.”

  She blinks, frowning, looking like she’s silently asking herself how to respond. “Sure.” She forces a smile and passes me. “I’m going to take the beach path home.”

  I breathe in, my mouth loading and preparing to fire a refusal, but I hold my tongue and let her leave. It’s tough and it fucking hurts, but throwing my weight around is not the answer. My own agony right now comes second to Beau’s. Let her be.

  Except, I can’t.

  I can’t stay away at the best of times. So now, when I know her heart will be aching?

  I go to the bedroom and tap lightly on the door, waiting for an okay before popping my head around the wood. Danny is on the bed with Rose, stroking her head as she snoozes, and Doc is adjusting the straps around her tummy.

  “Talk tomorrow?” I ask, because there is so fucking much to discuss. Even more now. Our plan to return to Miami in the morning might have to go on ice. At least, for Danny. I, however, must start solving the problem.

  Laying a tender kiss on Rose’s forehead, he breaks away and gets off the bed, constantly looking back as he makes his way to me. I move, giving him space to step out of the room, pulling the door closed quietly behind him. He casts an eye around the villa.

  Looking for Beau.

  “Where is she?” he asks.

  “Walking home.”

  His eyes dart to mine, worried. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Mate, I’m sorry.” His eyes close, his wince harsh. “I . . .”

  “I can’t shield her from the unexpected.” It pains me, but nothing would have prepared us for this. Truly, I don’t think anything will begin to heal this particular trauma for us. Her period is due. We don’t even know if she can conceive anymore. A bullet in a woman’s abdomen is bound to affect her fertility. Right? “I need to go,” I say, backing away. “I’m glad Rose and the baby are okay.” I turn and leave, pulling the door closed behind me and taking a moment to gather myself. Pull myself together. Calm my building anger.

  I fail.

  “Fuck.” I swing around and bury my fist into the door, and pain radiates through my hand. I rest my forehead on the wood, squeezing my eyes closed. Why the fuck does peace keep eluding us? Giving us a taste and then leaving us hungry for more? Running away, hiding, pretending to not exist feels more appealing than ever before.

  It's wishful thinking, I know that.

  I push myself away from the door just before it swings open. I don’t look at Danny. I don’t need to see the concern on his face. Nor the guilt. “I’ll call you in the morning.” I pace away, praying calm finds me before I find Beau.

  I kick my shoes off, toss them in her Jeep as I pass, and take the trail to the beach. The black water sparkles under the moonlight, and I scan the shoreline for her. I don’t see any shadows, detect any movement. I make another scan of the length of beach from here to our beach hut. Nothing. I start to trudge through the sand, pulling my phone out as I go and dialing her, my eyes constantly casting back and forth up and down the beach. Her phone goes to voicemail. “Don’t make me worry more, Beau,” I warn quietly, trying her again. Voicemail. Again. I hang up on a curse as I reach the water, and the calm rush of the lapping waves does nothing to ease me. I turn on the spot, searching every bit of the beach, my heart starting to beat faster. “God damn you, woman,” I whisper, heading in the direction of our place, the water splashing my feet in calm, foamy rushes. “B—” My eyes land on a pile of clothes on the sand before darting out to the ocean. I exhale when I see the silhouette of a body immersed to the waist in the water. “Beau,” I breathe, knowing she won’t hear me. I would know her shape anywhere. The specific shade of blonde of her hair, even in the restricted light. Her bun has come loose, leaving endless strands of hair splaying her naked back.

  My light.

  Ever shrouded in darkness.

  And as ever, I am drawn to her.

  I remove my jeans and boxers, pull off my T-shirt and drop them with my phone to the sand next to Beau’s clothes before walking into the sea, making sure she hears me coming. She doesn’t look back, doesn’t check it’s me. She knows. My front meets her back, and I wrap my forearms around her upper body, pulling her back and sinking my face into her hair. I feel her soften against me, her cold skin warming against mine, her hands coming up and wrapping around my forearms, holding on.

  “What if it never happens for us again?” she asks the water as my eyes squeeze shut and my heart squeezes in pain. So lost.

  “It will happen.” I set my lips on her shoulder and kiss her salty skin.

  “Do you want it to happen?”

  “Of course I do.” But I’m worried. Worried about her body’s strength. Her mental strength. The journey. “I know I’m a hard man to be with, Beau.”

  “You’re actually very easy to be with.” She shifts, and I loosen my hold, allowing her to turn and face me. I look down at her breasts, my hand lifting of its own volition and stroking softly over the cold, solid nipple, before I exhale and tug her into my body, helping her get her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck. I put my mouth on hers as I sink us under the water to our necks, feeling her tense and squeeze me tighter.

  “It will happen,” I say, pushing my tongue into her mouth and swirling slowly, relishing the sound of her sighing happily. Savoring the feeling of calm settling within her. Accepting what I need to do. What I have to give her. My hand slides up her back and encases her nape, securing her to me. “It will happen.” Because life surely can’t be any crueler. Her mouth becomes firmer on mine, her boobs compressed into my chest, her spine lengthening to bring her closer, forcing me to drop my head back to accommodate her.

  “I want you now.” She locks her arm around my neck, rolls her hips into me, her passion becoming frenzied. Desperate.

  “Beau,” I say quietly, trying to bring her down a few levels as blood flows into my dick. She doesn’t hear or doesn’t listen, her purpose getting the better of her. Not to try and get pregnant, but to relocate her serenity. “Beau, baby.” I turn my face, and her head drops into the crook of my neck, her hot breath burning my skin. “Easy,” I whisper.

  I feel her nod, feel her acceptance, as I lift her and reach between us to position myself at her entrance, ignoring the ache of my hand. She slowly sinks onto me and we both suck back air as we join, the feeling fucking beautiful. “Good God,” I breathe, fighting the urge to withdraw and thrust hard. “Okay?”

  She nods, biting at my shoulder, clawing at my back. “I’m okay.”

  And I do that. I make her okay.

  Kissing my collarbone, she drags her lips across my skin to my jaw, kissing me there too, before pecking her way across my rough cheek and plunging her tongue into my mouth on a broken moan. It’s my undoing, and I find my feet, pushing us out of the water with her curled around my body. I need an anchor. Some weight behind me.

  Her hands in my hair, gripping, my hands on her waist, holding, I start to move her up and down, struggling to keep our kiss steady as I enter and leave her, plunging, withdrawing, building us up gradually. The friction, the warmth, the mind-blowing kiss, it’s all at our usual level on intensity. I feel as consumed as I always do when I am at the mercy of our joining, and yet something is being communicated here, and I’m struggling to find the headspace past the need to work out what.

  But as the pace quickens, the desperation increases, and the pleasure climbs, I realize.

  She needs me.

  My fierce, independent, former cop girlfriend needs me. She’s strong but needs my strength. Determined but needs my encouragement. And during those moments of peacefulness, she still needs my peace. We are one. Incomplete without the other.

  My lips push harder to hers, my fingers clawing into her hips, my eyes squeezing tighter.

  “Look at me,” she gasps, making my eyes snap open. Our stares meet, and everything seems to still and become quiet, despite our bodies still moving and our breathing still loud. I’ve looked at this woman closely endless times. Stared so deeply into her eyes, I’ve seen a reflection of myself. And yet now, all I can see is hope.

  I can’t kill that hope.

  I end the never-ending kiss and push my forehead to hers, needing to maintain this vision as we both find our release. I swear, she becomes more beautiful with each second I spend watching her. I thrust on, studying her as she studies me, seeing her teeth sink into her lip, her grip of me becoming harder.

  I don’t need to ask.

  I pull out and thrust hard, my jaw tight, eliciting a cry from Beau, and her head becomes limp, all strength seeming to go to her internal muscles and wring me dry. “Fuck,” I cough, my legs shaking, forcing me to my knees, the water reaching my neck again. I kiss her exposed throat, bite it, suck it, shaking as my orgasm tears through me unforgivingly and Beau shudders and moans. I hold on to her for dear life, as we search for the peace past the crazy, our breathing obliterated, the water feeling like a hot bath.

  “When are you going back to Miami?” she pants into my shoulder.

  “In the morning.”

  “Am I coming?”

  “No,” I answer, maintaining our tight cuddle.

  She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t challenge me.

  It’s a novelty.

  * * *

  My sleep was restless. I know Beau’s was too, constantly flipping her body over, huffing, puffing, sighing. She finally gave up subtly expressing her grievance through sounds that didn’t involve explicit words at around five, tucking herself into my side and directing my arm around her.

  Silly, defiant, magnificent woman.

  But while Beau drifted off, I did not. Instead, I spent my time staring at the ceiling as I stroked circles across her thigh, which was lying on my stomach where she’d tossed her leg over me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she woke up with a friction burn.

  I drop my head to the side and reach for my phone, seeing it’s seven, so I drop a kiss on her peaceful face and peel my body from hers. I shower, pack the things I came with, and leave the beach hut. It doesn’t feel good leaving her here. Nothing about this feels good. The Bear is alive, Beau’s emotionally vulnerable. My only comfort right now is that she won’t be alone. And she’s safer here.

  I have plenty of time, so I take the beach path toward the airfield where Danny’s private hangar is, my bag tossed over my shoulder, breathing in the last bit of St. Lucia I’ll have in a while as I call Danny.

  “How is she?” I ask when he answers.

  “Strict bedrest for a few days. Doc’s told her she needs to calm the fuck down.” He sounds truly exasperated, and I smile, hearing him drawing on a cigarette. Calm the fuck down. She really does. Unlike Beau, Rose is quite highly strung. “How’s yours?” he asks.

  “Hovering on the edge of tranquility, as always.”

  “I didn’t help with that. I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing.” I take the right-hand fork in the path, looking out across the ocean. “I’m heading to the airfield.”

  “Yeah, I’m not.”

  “I gathered that.” Understand that. He wouldn’t leave Rose even if she insisted, and I know she won’t.

  “I’ll be in Miami as soon as I know she’s okay.”

  I nod. “I’ll keep in touch.”

  “Make sure you do.”

  “Oh, Danny?”

  “What?”

  “I assume I’m good to stay at your place?”

  He laughs lightly. “Sure. Every other fucker does.” He hangs up as I reach the road and cross over to the airfield, and when I get to the hangar, Danny’s private pilot is waiting for me along with a flight attendant. “Sir,” he says, tipping his hat. “Everyone is already on board.”

  “Thanks, Tim,” I say, climbing the few steps and dipping to clear the doorway. I see Ringo first, looking as miserable as ever, a definite shadow developing under his left eye from Goldie’s right hook. Then Otto, whose eyebrows are as high as me towering over his seated form. “What’s up?” I ask as I pass his seat.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing,” Goldie says too before I have a chance to ask her. What the fuck’s going on? I frown, looking back at them.

  “Morning,” Brad chirps, pulling my attention forward again.

  “Morning.” My frown deepens. “What are you grinning at?”

  “Nothing.”

  I see Fury, who completely avoids my eyes. What the hell is he doing here? He should be staying with Beau. I drop my bag in the aisle, my patience lost. “What the fu—” My tongue catches in my mouth when I spot her looking all relaxed in one of the chairs at the rear, her hair disheveled and piled high, her face free of makeup, her body in some sweats and a T-shirt, flip-flops on her feet.

  Because she didn’t have time to fuck about if she was going to beat me here.

  “Morning,” she says, sounding unsure.

  And so she should. I’m at a loss for words. Actually, I’m not, but my language might spark the fuel tank and blow up the jet if I let it loose. What the ever-loving fuck is she playing at? My eyes nailed to her, I blindly kick my bag aside. “What the hell, Beau?” I take the few steps needed to put me before her, my towering, imposing frame shadowing her petite, seated body. Not that she’s intimidated.

  Her big, dark eyes drop to her lap. She’s probably weighing up the merits of talking at all, and she obviously concludes it’s probably best to keep her mouth shut because she remains mute. Whatever. She’s not staying on this jet. I step forward, dip to scoop her up, taking a hold of her. She doesn’t fight me, doesn’t tense, she just jiggles her arm and the sound of metal clangs in my ear. What the fuck?

  I withdraw and see she’s handcuffed herself to the seat. “Are you kidding?”

  She shrugs. “I thought it was the better of two options.”

  “What was the other option?”

  “Knocking you out.”

  My blood heats, more so when I hear Brad snickering. “I’ll kill you, Brad,” I warn.

  “Oh fuck off.” He chuckles. “You wanted a woman. Now deal with it.”

  “I’ll kill you, Brad,” Beau warns, and the fucker gets his amusement under control in an instant, as if purposely riling me more. For fuck’s sake.

  “Get me some bolt croppers.” I turn to our audience but am forced to face Beau again when she grabs me by the balls, literally, with her uncuffed hand. “Fuck, Beau,” I squeak, my body folding, my stomachache instant.

  Her face close to mine, she loosens her grip slightly and kisses me softly. I swallow, unable to resist falling into the slow motions of her mouth’s movements on mine.

  “You’re still not coming,” I mumble, feeling her sigh into my mouth. “This isn’t up for negoci—”