Burned Hearts (3 page)

My smile widened. It was an alluring sentiment. Still … “I suppose we'd have to eat from time to time.”

“Maybe Rosa will agree to room service.”

“Not a chance in hell,” I scoffed. The efficient woman who'd basically run our home while Dane and I had been 24-7 Lux pre-launch preparations was not about waiting on anyone hand and foot. Fine by all of us, particularly since Kyle and I liked to do the cooking. But that pretty much meant no holing up in our suite for Dane and me.

Darn.

He eventually withdrew from me and slipped out of bed to tidy up in the bathroom. I, of course, admired the view. As he walked away and when he returned, strutting toward me. I sighed dreamily. My heart fluttered. My stomach felt as though butterflies had taken flight.

He gave me a sexy grin. “You can devour me with a look.”

“And my mouth.”

“Yes,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he climbed in next to me. “That talented tongue of yours knows a few tricks of its own.”

“My body parts are quite partial to yours. What can I say?” I snuggled close to my husband, his arms around me, my head on his. I absently trailed a fingertip over one of his scars, the constant reminder of the devastation at the Lux and how it'd significantly altered our lives.

I let out a long breath, hoping to expel the anxiety that instantly besieged me when I thought of all we'd been through and all that still needed to be done.

“Someday, we'll get our honeymoon, right?” I asked.

“I promise.”

I was quiet for a few moments, a little lost in thought. Mostly lost in how wonderful it was to be in his loving, reassuring embrace and to be able to touch him. Even just hearing his steady breathing warmed and comforted me.

Eventually, I said, “I don't even know where you go or what you do when you're with the FBI.”

“It's not just the FBI. This is a global problem the society sparked by using my intellectual property for their personal gain. The Feds are labeling it conspiracy, terrorism, and attempted murder if they can prove these assholes were behind the destruction of my hotel. There were forty people inside when the timer on that bomb started ticking.”

I knew most of this, yet my head popped up and I stared at him, not missing the fury and the agony in his voice. The bunching of his muscles all around me.

Dane gently eased me back into his arms, though his hand stroked my hair. “Ari, sweetheart. The only reason I'm away from you and our son is because I already know the impact these people can have on the worldwide economy. I don't want anyone to suffer again. Not like in '08. Jesus. All those lost jobs, all that despair. There were suicides because of financial strains and destitution. Retirements imploded. Foreclosures forced bankruptcy and homelessness. Families—
children
—went hungry. And there are so many still trying to recover from that.”

I understood this wasn't just about Dane and the loss of the Lux. His dream. The poli-econ society he'd secretly been a part of had possessed the ability to effect positive change—that had been the goal for generations. Unfortunately, with the sort of intel they'd collected and dissected it was also possible to incite financial ruin, because some members' greed overrode their good sense and intentions.

He said, “The society put extensive effort into keeping disaster from striking again. But all that information—all the tracking, trending, analysis, forecasting…” He let out a strangled sound that was full of agitation … and torment. “In the wrong hands, it starts the vicious cycle of economic downturn and the struggle for recovery all over. To the benefit of those who are pulling the strings.”

I'd always found the concept of “Billionaires' Clubs” difficult to wrap my mind around. A conglomeration of the elite could throw hundreds of millions of dollars at someone in the position of political power and influence in order to advance personal agendas. Not those designed for the greater good but for individual gain.

Dane had once said money was like a drug for some. It was an addiction only sated by building bigger empires, amassing more and more wealth—and, again, gaining power and using it to one's advantage.

His purpose within the society had never been self-serving. What Dane and the legit members of the Illuminati bloc had attempted to do was maintain a sound economic environment. There would always be an ebb and flow, but a dramatic downward swing could spiral out of control. As we'd all experienced not too long ago.

Frankly, I never wanted to see people in such dire straits again. Nor did Dane. Hence the reason the generational society had dissolved. Now it was just Dane, Ethan Evans, Sultan Qadir Hakim, and Nikolai Vasil who attempted to right the wrongs.

Something I admired greatly. Even if it did mean my husband was mostly sequestered and rarely lying next to me.

I said, “You know I support what you're doing. And though I'm thrilled you're here with me, remember that you have faith in Kyle and Amano looking after me. I don't want to cause any problems with these indictment cases you're helping to build.”

“I'm grateful for that.” He kissed my forehead. “But when you're so scared that
Kyle
calls me … That's when I know where I have to be—what my most important priorities are.”

“Then I have to keep from freaking out. Because you have serious work to do. And I want it wrapped up soon. So that you can come home to me.”

His fingers stroked my cheek as a few tears tumbled along them.

“Soon, baby,” he murmured against my hair. “I promise.”

*   *   *

I slept soundly in Dane's protective embrace and woke feeling much more composed. Safer. Saner.

He made love to me once more; then we showered. We headed into the kitchen and I poured orange juice while Dane went straight for the coffeemaker and popped in the bold French roast pod he favored. The aroma wafted through the air and must have drawn Kyle, because he came in seconds later.

He wore a tank top and gym shorts. His hands clenched the ends of the towel wrapped around his neck, and perspiration beaded his hairline. I assumed he'd just finished another P90X workout. He'd had muscles to strain the hems and fabric of his short-sleeved shirts from the time I'd met him, but now, he gave Marky Mark in his immortalized Calvin Klein boxer ads a run for his money.

My husband scowled. Clearly, he didn't like Kyle flaunting his biceps in front of me. I bit back a smile. Although Kyle proved swoon worthy to most women,
everything
about Dane riveted me. At six-three and with his broad shoulders and prominent features, he knocked the wind out of me every time he was near.

Lucky me, all Dane wore this morning was a pair of black drawstring pants. His hair—as dark and luxurious as polished obsidian—was a sexily tousled mess. His emerald eyes always glowed seductively when he looked at me. Even when he crooked a brow, as he did now, as though to ask,
Does Kyle always walk around all buffed out when I'm not here?

I ignored the burning question in Dane's gaze and kissed him on the cheek. “Behave,” I murmured. To Kyle, I asked, “Are you cooking or am I?”

“I'll do it. You two”—he waved a hand at us—“spend time together. Or … whatever.”

“Thanks for calling him,” I said. “I needed a little extra assurance to keep me from imagining rattling tails all night long.”

Dane took a sip of coffee, then set the mug on the Italian marble counter. “Won't be long before this is all over. There'll be another indictment any day now—Keaton Wellington the Third. That only leaves one other society member out there. And trust me, he's shaking in his Gucci loafers.”

I could see Dane gleaned a bit of satisfaction that his former investors were tormented by the full-court press put on them recently. Rightfully so on my husband's part.

“So when do the trials begin?” Kyle asked as he yanked open the door on the Sub-Zero fridge and reached for the carton of eggs. He did the most amazing things with breakfast, and I hoped he had his thick, decadent, melt-in-your-mouth French toast on the menu this morning. I could practically smell the rich Mexican vanilla and he hadn't even made his way to the spice rack yet.

“The FBI and IRS criminal investigations are still under way. Corruption and tax evasion are substantial charges on their own. The heartier chunk of the puzzle is tying them into the bombing of the Lux. That'll nail their coffins shut.”

Dane's strong jawline set and his eyes flashed with the need for revenge. It set me on-edge when he looked so formidable, so intimidating. But the razor-sharp vibe was warranted when it came to his luxury resort having been blown to bits. Not to mention the treacherous situation we were all in.

Kyle cracked eggs into a bowl as he asked, “Then what? More of our version of witness protection until all the convictions are made—if they're made? Not sure if Ari got around to mentioning it, but she wants to go back to the creek house.”

I shot him a sardonic look for broaching the subject ahead of me. “Thanks so much.”

“I'm not opposed to that,” Dane said as he slid onto a high-backed upholstered stool at the island where Kyle worked. I joined Dane, draping my arm along the top of the stool next to his and propping my hip against the seat. “That location is securely monitored. It's also a bit smaller than this estate. Easier for surveillance.” His tone held a contemplative tinge, so I deduced he wasn't wholly convinced moving was a good idea at the moment, but at least he considered the possibility. I appreciated that.

Being under Amano's and Kyle's watch made me infinitely happier than if I'd been secreted away somewhere by the FBI because I was Dane's wife. It was difficult enough giving up some personal freedoms for the sake of protection.

Kyle carried the empty carton of eggshells to the trash can, tossed it, then popped into the pantry. I studied Dane.

“I feel safer at the creek house,” I told him. “Calmer. I can't explain why. I just do. And I never would have left if I wasn't having so much trouble with the morning sickness and dehydration my first couple of months with the baby and needed Macy's medical retreat.”

Turned out to be a wise decision to seek professional, holistic help, and I was glad Kyle had suggested I consult Dr. Macy Stevens, his aunt. Her physical rehab facility also offered inpatient care for four people. I'd been one of the four, and the entire experience had been wholly beneficial, possibly even lifesaving, given that I'd lost weight rapidly at the beginning of my pregnancy, not gained. And dehydration was never something to fool around with. Nor was the extreme grief I'd suffered when I'd believed Dane had been killed in the Lux destruction.

Now here I was entering my third trimester. That likely lent to my desire to return home.

Dane said, “I know you like it there.” He brushed away a plump curl from my temple. “And you know that I'd grant you any wish. As long as I don't think it puts you in jeopardy.”

“Yes.” I leaned toward him and kissed him softly. Against his lips, I said, “I also know that, sometimes, I have to coax you into granting my every wish.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “This ought to be interesting.”

“Well.” I splayed my palms over his sculpted pecs. He was too fantastically built not to touch every chance I got. “We do have baby planning in the midst of all of this mayhem. I want the world's most amazing nursery, Dane. I want our son to open his eyes every time he wakes and see the extreme his parents would go to in order to make him happy.”

Tears suddenly prickled the backs of my own eyes. Maybe I was hormonal. Or perhaps it was that I suffered from long absences from my seriously sexy husband and the fact that nothing about my pregnancy had been commonplace. I wanted everything following the delivery to be perfect. And I wanted our son to have stability in one home—not be moved from location to location because of extortion, explosions, high-speed car chases, and the like.

Dane's handsome face became a mask of hard angles. I'd seen the expression before. He went to a very dark place in his mind when dealing with this terrifying nightmare we all endured.

“Baby—”

“I'm not complaining about this house,” I was quick to say. “The estate is incredible. It's just … not home. Not
our
home, even if you did have it built for us. We both know where we belong, Dane. And I want He-Who-Will-Hopefully-Be-Named-Soon to have roots. Not a transient life.”

“I agree. If you want to go back to the creek house, we'll make it happen.” He kissed me tenderly, making my toes curl. “Whatever you want.”

“You and this kid will suffice,” I said with a smile as my fingers swept through his hair.

Dane did his usual schooling of expressions to erase the tense one. “FYI, though. Kyle's not going to live with us. Not after I'm done with the FBI.”

“I don't know,” I mused. “He's really gotten into this bodyguard stuff. I think he might self-appoint for a gig looking after our so—”

“Not a chance,” Dane grumbled.

I laughed softly as I reached for my glass of orange juice and sipped while Dane seethed over his mug of coffee.

I turned back to him and said, “We do have the space, that's for cer—”

“Hey,” Kyle interjected as he returned from the walk-in pantry, his voice sharp, tinged with just enough
holy shit
to send a dark shiver through me. “What the hell is that red dot on Ari's forehead?”

 

chapter 2

Dane's gaze snapped up from his cup and he apparently saw the dot, too, because his ceramic mug went sailing across the room and he leapt to his feet, whirling around. I stood paralyzed where I was, staring at Tom Talbot, head of the watchtower security detail. He held a high-tech rifle in his hands with a scope on top. The barrel was pointed right at me.