Chapter 8
BEA
“Are you sure you’re not too cold?”
Indy looks down at me, concern darkening his eyes to a stormy blue. “We can turn back,” he adds. “It’s mainly just trees out this way. So you won’t be missing anything special.”
It’s the ninth time he’s asked me the same question, not that I’m counting.
I’m not annoyed by it. Amused? Yes. But not annoyed.
After all, he means well. And it’s kind of cute how he keeps checking on me, asking if I’m too cold. Too tired. If my legs are getting sore. If the weak beams of sunlight filtering though the canopy of branches overhead are hurting my eyes.
I’m not too cold, for the record, thanks to the layers of clothing Indy insisted I wear before agreeing to take me on a walk around the property. Not the clothes Eden picked out for me, but ones I ordered using the credit card Indy gave me to use.
“It’s not that much,” he argued when I complained about him paying for my clothes. “And you can’t exactly buy them yourself. I don’t mind paying. But,” he added with a disappointed downturn to his lips, “if you’d rather call it a loan, that’s okay, too.”
I haven’t decided yet, honestly.
Part of me wants to insist on paying my own way.
At least for the things I can afford, like food and new clothes.
I know I can’t afford the services Blade and Arrow is giving me, that’s for sure.
Indy wouldn’t tell me how much they usually charge their clients, but I cornered Tyler the other day and pressured him into telling me.
It’s a lot.
A lot.
Like more than my entire yearly salary just for a few days of protection.
“But you’re a pro-bono client,” Tyler insisted. “So we won’t charge you for anything. That’s how B and A works. We take on higher paying jobs so we can afford to provide services for the people who really need them.”
I felt kind of weird about that initially. Like it was charity. But when I mentioned it to my mom during our phone call this morning, she got kind of snippy and said, “They didn’t exactly give you a choice, now, did they? So I don’t think you should worry about paying them.”
She’s glad I’m safe. And she’s not mad, exactly. Indy joined in on the first call with my parents to explain the situation, which, honestly, earned a lot of points with me.
Facing two very protective and worried parents, telling them that you smuggled their only daughter across the country to keep her from going to jail?
I’m not sure there’s a good way to present it.
But once Indy outlined the team’s plan and detailed all the ways they’re protecting me, it mollified my parents a little.
But before the call ended, my dad sternly warned Indy, “We’ll go along with this plan of yours for now, but if I get any inkling of Bea being mistreated, I’ll come out to get her myself. ”
To me, my dad is a big softie. But while he was talking to Indy, I could see my dad’s military background come out. It was in the commanding tone of his voice and the set of his shoulders, so similar to Indy and his friends.
It got me thinking; my dad and Indy have a lot in common, really.
They were both in the military—my dad the Marines and Indy the Army—and they both lost a limb in battle.
My dad lost his right leg below the knee when his Humvee hit a mine, and Indy lost his hand and lower arm when the building his team was searching collapsed.
They’re both protective, too—something I’m discovering about Indy the more time I spend with him.
In the week I’ve been at B and A, as I’ve taken to calling it, Indy’s gone above and beyond to take care of me.
Checking on my concussion all the time, bringing me food, buying me clothes, arranging to get all the accessories for my implants, and even cooking with me, which, I have to say, might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
Tough, tattooed, heavily muscled Indy, meticulously chopping vegetables and watching sauce cook with the intensity of a hawk?
Listening to him pepper me with questions about the difference between regular olive oil and extra virgin, or why we use whole bay leaves in sauce instead of crumbling them?
And being gently led back to my seat whenever I try to help, accompanied by a gentle but stern warning that I need my rest?
Cute.
So cute.
A man like Indy shouldn’t be cute. But to me, he is.
So, yeah, I guess I’m really not mad at him anymore.
“Bea?” Indy catches my gloved hand and tugs me to a stop. “Do you want to turn back?”
Before I answer, I just stare at him for a second, admiring.
The blue fleece he’s wearing brings out the color of his eyes, and his cheeks are flushed from the cold.
His hair looks extra wavy today, probably from the dampness in the air, and his beard is neatly trimmed so it accentuates the angles of his jaw and chin.
I have to tilt my head back to look at him, given that he’s a good six inches taller than my five-foot-seven, and if I wanted to kiss him, I’d have to go up on my tiptoes to reach.
Not that we’ve kissed. Or come even close to it.
But as the days pass, and the initial shock of everything has faded into a dull acceptance, I’ve spent a good amount of time thinking about it.
Kissing Indy. Finding out how his lips feel against mine.
Being held in his very muscly arms and pressed against an impressively broad chest. Running my fingers through his hair.
Tasting him. Feeling his arousal growing the longer we kiss, jutting hard against my belly. My core aching for him, throbbing—
“Okay, we’re going back,” Indy announces. He wraps his arm around my waist and turns me back towards the direction we came. “I knew this was too far. And it’s much too cold.”
“I’m fine,” I reply hurriedly. “I was just…”
Thinking about kissing him? Wondering how big his muscles really are? Thinking about how much I’m attracted to him and wishing things could be different?
I can’t give any of those as a response.
“Appreciating the scenery,” I finish after casting about for something appropriate to say. “It’s so pretty out here. Never having been on the West Coast, I didn’t realize how nice it is.”
“It is nice, isn’t it?” Indy rests his fingers on my cheek for a moment. “Still. You’re definitely chilled. We should probably head back.”
Instinct makes me want to lean into his touch. To soak up the sensation of his skin against mine; to memorize how good it feels.
But that’s not why he’s touching me. And I’m not here for a relationship.
Indy just brought me here out of some sense of obligation—a way of paying me back for helping him. He’s protective, yes. But he’s protective of his sister, too.
Although. Would he hold Eden’s hand? Put his arm around her waist? Touch her like he’s handling spun glass, with a dark, unreadable expression in his eyes?
I don’t know.
Logic tells me it doesn’t matter. That I’m a client, and nothing more.
But my heart? My heart remembers how it felt when I first met Indy.
How the vulnerability he was desperately trying to hide just caught me.
It remembers the little jolt of happiness I’d feel whenever I’d see him.
And it remembers the ache when our sessions were over and I had no reason to see Indy again.
“It’s not that cold,” I protest, not quite ready to go back inside yet.
Don’t get me wrong, the B and A headquarters are nice, with the large but cozy living room and a kitchen plucked straight from my dreams. And that’s not even counting the gym I’ve seen but not yet used, and the panic room in the basement Indy made sure to show me.
“You won’t need to use it,” he assured me. “But I thought it might make you feel safer. Knowing it’s here.”
It does. But what makes me feel even safer? Indy.
“You’re still recovering,” Indy shoots back.
“A little chill in the air isn’t going to set me back,” I reply with a smile. “And I grew up in Pittsburgh, remember? We got plenty of cold weather and snow there.”
Indy looks at me, his gaze assessing. “I just don’t want you pushing yourself too much, Bea. I brought you here to keep you safe. Not for you to get hurt. Or make yourself sick.”
The intensity in his eyes makes my heart do a little flip.
It’s just out of some sense of duty, I remind myself. Don’t read into it. Don’t hope for things that will never happen.
“How about this,” he offers. “We’ll take the long route back to the house. Check out the stream on the north side of the property. And we can get the fire going once we’re back. Have something warm to drink. How does that sound?”
It sounds lovely, actually.
And if the circumstances were different, I might even think of it as a date.
Is that bad, thinking about dates and my attraction towards Indy when there’s so much to worry about? When I should be mourning Jenna’s death and not indulging in hopeful fantasies?
Although, I think Jenna would understand.
Jenna, ever the romantic, would probably tell me to make the first move.
I can practically see her, sitting in a booth at Calliope’s, little hearts dancing in her eyes. Telling me, “Bea. You haven’t been on a date in ages. And you’ve thought about this guy for years. Maybe he’s the one you’ve been waiting for. How can you not see where it leads?”
The loss comes crashing into me again, making my throat thick and my nose prickle with threatening tears.
“Bea?” Indy wraps his arm around my waist, drawing me closer to him. His expression is creased with worry. “What’s wrong?”
Glancing around, I realize we’ve started heading back to the house without me noticing.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I reply. “I was just thinking.” Do I tell him the rest? “About Jenna,” I add after a brief hesitation.
He hugs me closer to him. “Ah, I’m sorry, Bea. I know it’s got to be hard. If you want to talk about her, I’m always here to listen. Or Eden, if you’d prefer—”