Burned Hearts (Burned 3)

“With some rest,” I insisted. “You either behave, or I’ll sleep in another room.” Lord knew we had plenty of them.

“You wouldn’t.”

Okay, he called my bluff. He understood how difficult it was for me to sleep without him by my side. If he had work in the middle of the night, I always woke when I subconsciously sensed his absence. I’d snuggle on the sofa with him, in front of the fire, and sleep while he was on the phone with Nikolai in Russia or Sultan Hakim in the Persian Gulf.

Thus, my threat was basically useless. Still, I held my ground. “Do as I say.”

He chuckled. “Only because it’s so sexy when you’re demanding.”

“Don’t mess with me.”

“Right.” He grinned.

I swatted playfully at his uninjured arm. “And don’t patronize me.”

“Why don’t you crawl in here,” he said as he scooted to the other side of the bed so I could slip under the covers. I curled against his side, resting my head on his good shoulder.

“Are you in pain?”

“I’m too angry for that to even register right now.”

“Maybe you should take something to knock you out.” Knowing him, his mind would whirl all night long with thoughts of retaliation and how he was going to help the FBI ensure there were five convictions at the end of the day—the Honorable Bryn Hilliard (what a crock that title was), Dr. Lennox Avril, Anthony Casterelli, former prime minister Keaton Wellington III, and Admiral Robert Bent.

Six, if there was some way to prove Wayne Horton was Vale’s minion and carried out his near-fatal work.

“I’ll be fine,” Dane told me. “I just need you here with me.”

I kissed his neck, my lips gliding along his throat, down to that pulse point at the base, just above his collarbone, that I adored pressing my lips to. “I couldn’t love you more,” I whispered against his skin. “You know that, right?”

“Ari.” He let out a long breath. His arm tightened around my shoulders. “You are everything to me. There are no words for how much I love you—how destroyed I’d be without you. If things had gone differently this morning—”

“But they didn’t. You’re to thank for that. And Kyle, too. Dane, he wouldn’t let anything happen to me if he could help it. You have to accept that and maybe not be so grumpy with him.”

He let out a half snort.

“Fine. Maybe just let him know that you trust him with my safety.”

“I’ve thanked him,” Dane countered.

“And offered him money. Which I appreciate, by the way.”

“He’s operating out of a sense of duty toward you. Probably wished like hell Tom would have taken the shot he had with me this morning so I’d be out of his way.”

“That’s not true. He knows I’d be a lost cause without you. He’s already experienced that. He understands you’re it for me.” That, of course, made it more agonizing to think of Kyle’s earlier declaration. But when we were past all the danger and justice was served, he’d get over me.

When I had Dane’s baby and he saw our son and how this intimate connection strengthened our bond, he’d get over me.

When Dane and I were finally, totally together … he’d get over me.

He would get over me.

The crazy thing about me trying to convince myself of this was that I’d reached the point where Kyle had become such a vital part of my life—of my life with Dane, even—that I couldn’t imagine what our world would be like after the bad guys were in prison, we were all safe, and he no longer had to play secondary hero/bodyguard.

Where would he go from here? The Secret Service?

I winced inwardly. I didn’t like the idea of him purposely putting himself in hazardous situations. Nor did I relish the idea of him leaving our little brood.

It was a complicated predicament all the way around. One I couldn’t help but grind over as Dane and I lay in the dark, each tangled in our own thoughts, yet so highly aware of each other.