by Macy Beckett
“Aw, now.” He gave a sympathetic tilt of his head. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Devyn gasped before she could stop herself. How was she looking at him? Because the only thing more pathetic than rejection was showing how much it hurt. She scrambled off the dresser and lunged for her pants, which lay on the floor with one leg turned inside out. She’d wanted Beau so badly that she hadn’t taken the time to undress like a normal person. No, she’d torn the clothes off her body like they were made of acid. Devyn cursed herself as she punched an arm through her khakis in a desperate attempt to right them.
“Stop.” Beau snatched away the pants and tossed them over his shoulder. He was in full uniform, and when his gold-embellished coat brushed her bare stomach, she felt naked in an exaggerated way, like she was standing in Times Square in nothing but her birthday suit. “Look at me, Dev.”
When she shoved against him with both hands, he wrestled her until she was facing the mirror, then wrapped his powerful arms around hers and held her immobile. Her breathing was heavy as she glared at his reflection, but she didn’t bother to struggle. Beau was a tank—six and a half feet of solid muscle. Any attempt to wriggle free would be a waste of energy.
“Let go,” she ordered. “You’re the one who told me to get dressed.”
“Not like this. Hear me out first.”
“Okay, talk.”
But of course he didn’t do that. He stood there and watched her, easy as you please, until she calmed down enough to unclench her shoulders. Only then did he begin.
“It’s not that I don’t want you,” he said. “Because I do.”
She scoffed at him. “Like I care.”
“I care.”
As if to demonstrate, he gathered her hair aside and placed a kiss on her shoulder, holding her gaze as he did. Then he smoothed a rough palm over the outside swell of her hip and continued past her waist, all the way up to her rib cage. Gently, he massaged one breast through her bra before pulling down the stretchy lace to expose her nipple. It pebbled against her will, proving how very much she cared.
With a low grumble of appreciation, he circled the puckered tip with his thumb. “I want you more than I want air.” And he showed her by pressing the evidence against her backside. “But I’m not a teenager anymore, Dev. I want more than a few minutes with you inside a dark closet. I want everything.”
When he licked his fingers and used them to tug at her nipple, Devyn sealed her lips to trap a moan. But that didn’t stop wet heat from pooling in her belly, radiating downward until the flesh between her thighs ached.
“I want to spread you out on my bed,” he went on, “and strip you naked. Then I’m going to kiss you here.” Lightly, he pinched her nipple. “And here,” he said, winding a southbound finger over her belly button. “And especially here.” His hand dipped into her panties, where he stroked her halfway to oblivion.
As much as Devyn tried to hide it, desire played across her face, lowering her lids and bringing a blush to her cheeks. Beau’s breaths quickened against her neck as he watched the reflection of his fingers playing between her legs. He felt so good—too good—and she hated that only Beau had the power to make her lose herself.
“After that,” he said, “I’m going to make love to you, and I’ll take my sweet time. Then we’ll fall asleep while I’m still inside you—and the next time you wake up, you’ll already be moaning my name.”
At that moment, with Beau rubbing hot tension into her core, she would have agreed to anything if it would make him keep going. And he must have known it, because he pulled his fingers free and took a moment to suck them clean.
“But until then,” he told her, “I won’t settle for quick and dirty sex.” He held her gaze in the mirror as he bent his mouth to her ear. “Just knock on my door when you’re ready for the real deal. I’ll make you glad you came.”
Several minutes later, long after Beau had left her alone and unsatisfied, Devyn stared at her reflection and tried to pinpoint what was bothering her . . . aside from the ache of desire between her legs. There was something else needling at her consciousness, but it was just beyond her grasp.
Realization hit a while later, when she was in the education center waiting for the kids to return from lunch. Beau had cut her off and issued an ultimatum—exactly like she’d told Ella-Claire to do. Which implied Devyn had done something wrong. She was the fickle partner.
But she hadn’t seen herself that way.
She didn’t fear commitment or monogamy. Devyn could totally see herself settling down someday and having children. In holding back from Beau, she was only protecting herself from a proven flight risk.
There was nothing wrong with that.
And much like the trouble brewing between Alex and Ella-Claire, there were two sides to the story, two valid reasons for each partner wanting a different outcome. In demanding that she spend the night with him, Beau didn’t realize how much he was asking of her. Or maybe he understood and simply didn’t care. Either way, she wouldn’t be knocking on his bedroom door any time soon.
“Or at all,” she clarified to herself. “Like, ever.”
Because much like Pandora’s box, once she opened that door, there would be no closing it.
Chapter 12
In the two days that followed, Devyn spent her evenings in the galley under the pretense of helping her sister with the baking. In truth, she needed to stay busy. Idle hands were the devil’s playground, and if left to their own devices, Devyn’s hands would soon find their way into Beau’s pants like magnets to steel.
Steel.
That described him all too well, and suddenly she blushed at the recollection of how magnificent he had felt inside her, so hard and deep. She shut down that train of thought and put more weight behind her rolling pin, flattening the pastry dough for tomorrow’s breakfast turnovers.
“Hey,” she said to her sister. “Can I ask you something?”
“No.” Allie shook her head and eyed her sarcastically over a bowl of blackberries. “You’re not allowed to talk while providing free labor. Shut up and get back to work.”
Devyn snagged a berry from the bowl and tossed it into her mouth, earning her a reproachful look. “Let’s imagine that the unthinkable happened, and you lost the bakery and all your income. No insurance money, no emergency fund. You’ve got nothing to cushion the fall except a paycheck or two.”
Allie frowned. “Okay.”
“Now imagine that the restaurant of your dreams offered to make you head pastry chef, but they won’t give you the job until you graduate from culinary school. And they won’t help pay for the tuition or any of your living expenses—it’s all on you. Would you do it?”
“Go back to school?”
Devyn nodded. “Knowing that you wouldn’t have two nickels to rub together for the next four years, and you’d be up to your neck in student loan debt by the time you graduated.”
Allie blew out a low whistle and thought about it for a while before saying, “I don’t think so. I’d probably spend more time on the Belle. Our dining hall manager is retiring soon, so maybe I’d take over that position.”
Devyn didn’t know why, but her sister’s answer disappointed her. “You wouldn’t miss the bakery?”
“Sure I would,” Allie said, adding a scoop of sugar to her berries. “But I can still do that here.”
“What if you couldn’t?” Devyn asked. “If being a pastry chef on the Belle wasn’t an option, would you go to culinary school then?”
With her lips pursed, Allie considered the question before shaking her head. “Probably not. I like baking, but I don’t have to do it for a living. I could cook at home for my family and not feel like I’m missing out. Besides, I like working here on the boat with Marc. It keeps us close.” She giggled to herself. “And he loves nooners. I wouldn’t get any of those if I went away to school.”
Devyn was beginning to see that comparing her situation to Allie’s was an apples vs. orang
es kind of thing. Allie was a Dumont now, which meant she had a guaranteed job aboard the Belle. She was invested here, so supporting the family business was satisfying enough—in more ways than one.
But Devyn wasn’t a part of anything larger than herself, which was both liberating and scary in equal measure. She had the freedom to go wherever the wind took her, but no safety net if the wind quit blowing and dropped her out of the sky.
“Why do you ask?” Allie said. “Do you want to go to culinary school?”
“No. Just thinking, that’s all.”
“About wh—” Allie’s eyes went round with realization. “Oh, my god. You’re thinking about getting your teaching degree! Devyn, that’s great! Do it!”
Devyn held up a floury hand. “Take a chill pill. I’m not seriously thinking about it, just giving it a teensy-weensy bit of consideration.”
It was only because Beau had planted the bug in her ear. Now that he’d cut her off from the good stuff, she had more free time to kick around those types of thoughts.
“I’m not actually going to do it.”
“Why not?”
Devyn scoffed. She couldn’t believe her sister had to ask. “For the same reason you wouldn’t do it if you lost the bakery. I’m already broke as a joke. With a tuition bill and no way to work full-time, I’ll be flat-out destitute—for at least four years. And then there’ll be student loan debt after that.”
“But they have programs for that,” Allie said. “One of my wedding cake clients last year was a teacher. We got to talking, and she told me the government paid off half her student loans because she taught science in a qualifying school.”
“A qualifying school?” Devyn asked with an arched brow. “In other words, the kind no one else wants to work at?”
“Oh, please.” Allie flapped a hand. “You could handle the toughest students. Besides, those are the kids who need you most. You could make a difference in their lives. Isn’t that what you always wanted growing up?”
Yes, it was. And the unique challenge of teaching at-risk students appealed to Devyn more than she let on. That kind of work would never be dull, and the rewards would extend way beyond a paycheck. She felt a brief glimmer of hope—a faint stirring of warmth within her breast—that her dream had come back to life.
But then reality set in.
Four long years of classes, homework, exams, and internships. That subtle stirring of warmth grew cold. In order to become a teacher, she’d first have to be a student. The whole thing was too overwhelming to consider.
“I’m not going back to school,” she said in a tone that closed the topic for debate. “It’s too late for that.”
“Okay . . .” Allie dragged out the word, clearly not letting Devyn off the hook so easily. “But what about the haunted cemetery tours? It’s none of my business how much Warren Larabee offered to pay you, but is this a career? Or is it just a job? Because if it’s only another temporary job, you’re going to find yourself facing this same problem next year. And the year after that. At some point, you have to settle into an occupation for the long haul. Which means you might as well finish your degree now.”
“You don’t have a degree,” Devyn pointed out.
“I don’t need one,” Allie said. “But if I did, I’d suck it up and go back to school.”
Devyn pretended to focus on cutting the dough into strips while reflecting on Warren’s salary offer. The amount had seemed generous at the time—considering she’d just come home to an overdue rent notice stapled to the front door—but was it enough to support her in the long term? She imagined herself in forty years, hunched over and leading the haunted tour with a walker. Not a pretty sight. Maybe she should negotiate for a bigger piece of the pie.
She was brainstorming ways to ask for a raise when Nick poked his head inside the galley. She knew it was him because a few days ago, she’d noticed that his left eyebrow arched a bit higher than the right, giving the illusion that he always had something naughty on his mind. Which, knowing him, was probably the case.
“Hey, Dev,” Nick said. “The boss man wants to see you.”
“Great.” Devyn blew out a breath, not bothering to ask which of her bosses had summoned her. She knew. “What does he want?”
“Dunno.”
“Where is he?”
“Where else? In the security room.”
Devyn brushed the flour from her hands and untied her apron. “All right. I’ll head up there in a minute.”
“He’s in a shit mood,” Nick warned. “Just sayin’.”
A flicker of concern passed through her. It took a lot to get Beau riled up. Devyn wondered what had happened to ruin his mood, and she found herself quickening the pace to wash her hands so she could get to him faster. Maybe she should take some iced tea and his favorite dessert, too.
“Do we have any pecan pie left from supper?” she asked Allie.
Her sister grinned knowingly. “In the fridge.”
Beau liked his pie warm, so Devyn heated up a slice and topped it with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, then filled a travel cup with iced tea and set off for the casino. As usual, he saw her coming through the one-way glass and already had the security room door open for her when she arrived.
Beau might have been in a dark mood before, but when he spotted the rich ice cream melting over warm pecan pie, his eyes brightened. “Is that for me?”
Devyn held it out to him, along with the cup. “This, too. I heard you’re having a rough night.”
When he took the offerings, he watched her for several charged moments with so much gratitude that Devyn tingled all over. She knew she shouldn’t be sending mixed messages, but she couldn’t bring herself to not care for him. Making Beau smile like this—especially after a hard day—brought her a deep sense of satisfaction, similar to the way she felt after a grand slam lesson in the education center.
“Thanks.” He took his pie to the swiveling chair parked in front of the observation window and sat on half of the seat, then motioned for her to share the spot beside him. “This’ll take the edge off.”
There wasn’t much space next to his big body, but Devyn settled in best as she could and peered through the glass. The casino was at half capacity, probably because the theater shows were in progress, so she could see all the way to the craps table at the rear of the room. While Beau ate his pie, she studied the passengers, some laughing at their losses while others sat at the gaming tables with the laser focus of seasoned gamblers. Muffled noises of electronic chirps and cheers filtered into the room to punctuate the occasional scrape of Beau’s fork against the plate. It was kind of nice sitting there beside him, enjoying his body heat and a few minutes of quiet company.
Once he’d finished his pie, Devyn asked, “Feel better?”
“Much,” he said as he wrapped a casual arm around her and pulled her in for a hug. “That was real sweet of you.”
“What happened today? Want to talk about it?”
He huffed a sigh and pointed out the window. “See the employee manning the roulette wheel?”
Devyn brought the man into focus—tall and lanky, mid-thirties, brown hair. He wore a red staff polo shirt and a natural smile that said he genuinely enjoyed his job. “What about him?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s skimming chips. I’ve been watching him for days, and I can’t figure out how he’s doing it,” Beau said, setting down his cup with enough force to shake the computer table. “It’s driving me crazy.”
That came as a surprise to her. Devyn didn’t know the guy, but he had one of those honest faces, the kind she tended to trust automatically. “How do you know it’s him?”
“Because his table has been underperforming.” Beau explained how part of his job involved tracking each table and gaming machine to make sure they generated the predicted income. “There’s only one reason for a steady drop like that.”
“But how do you know he’s the one stealing?” she asked.
“He’s t
he only one who mans that table.”
“What about during his lunch break?”
“We shut it down for the hour,” Beau said. “The casino doesn’t see much action during lunch, so it doesn’t pay to get another employee to cover it.”
Devyn leaned forward to study the man more closely. Compared to the other dealers, all business with their tight mouths and their chilly gazes, he seemed so friendly. He even bent down to pick up a woman’s handbag for her when she dropped it—a sweet gesture, but a bit naïve as it left the table unsupervised for a split second. That made Devyn wonder if someone else had noticed the man’s helpful nature . . . and taken advantage of it.
“What if it’s a passenger?” Devyn asked. “Or more than one passenger working together?” She could envision it: one partner distracting the dealer while the other covertly palmed a handful of chips from the table. If they did it right, they could bend over the chips to hide the act from the ceiling cameras.
Beau grunted in doubt. “I don’t know. These folks aren’t breezing in here from off the street. They’ve paid a shitload of money for their tickets. I can count the number of times on one hand that we’ve busted a guest for stealing.”
Devyn shrugged. “Rich people steal sometimes. For the thrill of it.”
“Yeah, but still.”
“Couldn’t hurt to check out the footage again,” she said. “Look at it from a different perspective. You might notice something you missed before.”
“I guess,” he said, peering down at her, so close to her that their lips nearly touched. His gaze dropped to her mouth, but he made no move to kiss her. Devyn didn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed. She liked kissing him. “Want to help?” he asked.
When she didn’t answer right away—because she was too busy brooding over why he wouldn’t kiss her—he saved the moment by adding, “I miss having you around.”
“Yeah?” she asked, a smile flittering across her lips.
“That’s the real reason I sent Nicky to get you,” Beau said as he coiled a lock of her hair around his finger and flashed a crooked grin that made her stomach flip. “Just because we’re not sleeping together doesn’t mean we can’t hang out.” He made his eyebrows bob. “Though I’m happy to correct that first part whenever you want.”
