Page 11 of Beau

A stab of guilt hit Beau square in the gut. Now would be the time to own up to his real role in the night’s event. But he’d promised her father to keep that secret for now.

“Your father must love you a lot to look out for you like he is,” he said softly.

She turned away, her arms wrapping around herself again. “He’s been that way since my mother died. Even more so since he announced his reelection campaign.”

“I’m sorry about your mother,” he said. “What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Aurelie looked over her shoulder. “She died in an automobile accident.” She turned away again. “I was in the same vehicle. She died, and I lived. You don’t know how many times I wished it had been me, not her. I told my father how I felt one time. He went ballistic. I’ve never told anyone how I felt since. People who haven’t lived through something like that don’t understand.”

Beau’s heart squeezed so hard in his chest that he could barely breathe. His eyes burned as he reached out, wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her back against his front. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t try to turn her to face him, afraid she’d see her emotions reflected in his eyes. Afraid she’d see his tears.

If he could, he’d take away her pain. If he could, he’d take the place of her mother. Die in her place to free Aurelie of the guilt she felt for living when her mother had died.

If he could, he’d take the place of all his teammates, his friends, his battle buddies who’d died in that helicopter crash.

Holding Aurelie in his arms, he began to realize he’d lived for a purpose. And that purpose was to keep this woman safe.

God, he was even more afraid than ever. Afraid he wouldn’t be enough to protect Aurelie Anderson.

CHAPTER 3

Aurelie leaned into Robin Hood, letting him shoulder her burden, if even for a moment. After her father had lost his shit when she’d told him she’d wished she’d died instead of her mother, she hadn’t told anyone the same, not even the therapist her father had hired to help her through the trauma of the accident and the grief of losing her mother.

Yet, here she was, spilling her guts to a man whose name she didn’t know. A stranger who’d been there when she’d needed a hero to fish her out of the bayou. The man who’d sent her up the ladder before himself with an alligator within striking distance.

She let him hold her. And it wasn’t in a sexual, I-want-in-your-pants kind of way that was so often how men treated her. He held her like a friend comforting another friend with no expectation of her returning the favor. No obligation.

He held her like he understood her pain. Her guilt. The man didn’t try to make her feel better with platitudes or tell her she shouldn’t have those thoughts. He didn’t judge. He only held her.

And she let him.

A minute passed. Maybe two. Or five.

Aurelie lost track of time. All she knew was that she didn’t want it to end.

The frogs and crickets were once again singing at full throttle. Moonlight shimmered on the water.

“Magical,” she murmured.

“The moonlight on the water?” he whispered, his lips so close to her ear she could feel the warmth of his breath.

She nodded. “Magical from up here.”

“Otherwise, deadly,” he added.

“Yeah.” As much as she wanted the moment to go on, they were both wet. Her feet were probably shriveling in her water-logged boots. If she was feeling uncomfortable, she could imagine how he must be feeling in those tights.

“I should get back to the ballroom. My father will be worried.”

His arms tightened around her. “And he’ll be even more worried when he discovers you’ve been in the bayou.” He released her and took a step backward.

She turned to face him. “At this point, it might be good if I knew your name, other than Peter Pan.”

His eyes narrowed. “Robin Hood,” he corrected. “And I would like to know Amelia Earhart’s real name.”

She held out her hand. “Aurelie Anderson. But I’m guessing you already knew that since your discussion with my father, Senator Anderson.”

He dipped his head. “I did. Since you are the senator’s daughter, do you want me to call you Miss Anderson?”

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