Page 17 of Falling for the Beast

“Then tell me.”

Her eyes held sincerity, and it tore him up inside. She would not be looking at him that way if she knew what he’d done, yet he couldn’t keep it from her. Not now that she knew what he could do. She needed to know what else he was capable of.

She touched his hand, and he resisted the urge to withdraw it. He would tell her, but not now. “Later. I’m tired.”

She nodded. “Of course. Do you want me to help you to the recliner?”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly. “I’ll be fine on the couch.”

“Then I’ll help you—”

“No,” he said, holding up his hand. She looked stricken, and he softened his voice. “Thank you. I’m fine.” He eased himself up on the seat to show her he had healed enough to do it himself.

She picked up the dirty dishes as he adjusted the pillow and made himself comfortable. By the time she came back in the room, he was genuinely tired. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

When he awoke it was dusk. He listened to her for a while, doing some cleaning in the other room. Then, she walked into the living room. He held still, hoping she’d think he was asleep. She sighed and plopped down on the floor next to the couch. He could feel her gaze burning into the back of his head.

He rolled over and peered at her. “Did you want something?”

“Just checking on you.”

“You mean watching me sleep.”

She wrinkled her nose. “More like watching you pretending to be asleep.”

Oops. Busted. He raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t work, huh?”

“No, not really.”

“What gave me away?”

“Probably the way you stiffened when I walked into the room like you were hoping I’d turn back around and walk out.”

He could see the hurt in her eyes. Guilt made his chest tighten. “Aribelle…”

“No, it’s okay. I understand. You don’t want to talk to me.” She looked down at the floor and picked at some lint.

“It’s not that.” He sat up, cringing when pain flashed through his head. Once the pain stopped, he patted the seat next to him. “Come on.”

She got up off the floor and sank down into the couch next to him.

What could he say to her? He couldn’t explain how his growing feelings for her were making him crazy. Or how he wasn’t sure he could trust himself around her. And he couldn’t tell her that after this, she would have to leave and never come back. He exhaled. “I’ve never let anyone in on this before. It’s not easy for me.”

She stared down at her hands, fiddling with them. “No one knows?”

“Well, Evelyn, but she’s different.” He couldn’t explain how. Evelyn was like a mother to him. “I have to get used to it. Used to talking about me. About anything, really.”

“It’s okay. I won’t push you.” She looked up into his eyes. He saw the sincerity in her mesmerizing gaze.

They sat in silence for a moment before she spoke again. “I’ve been wondering about all these paintings. Are they all your ancestors?”

He smiled, relieved to be talking about something else. “Yes. My great grandfather came here from France. He brought most of the paintings. There’s a family bible in the library that has the family line traced back to royalty.” He waved his hand. “I never really got into researching it.”

“That’s kind of cool, though, right? Makes you feel like you belong to something…bigger than you.”

He shrugged. “I guess. It’s just that…”

She looked up at him. “What?”

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