Sea Haven 01 - Water Bound

eyes and let the music of the rain soothe him. He could feel her breath, hear the soft variations in her breathing when she changed each chord, when she played one area differently than another. He began to sort the various sounds and rhythms. It was an orchestra of drops, a miracle performance. He would bet his last dollar—and he was fairly certain he had a great deal of money—that the farm was doing extremely well thanks to Rikki’s ability to call the water and change how hard or soft it fell.
    He turned his head again to watch her face. She was so caught up in the musical aspects of her orchestration, the actual sounds of the drops, he doubted if she was fully aware of what she was doing—if at all. And he doubted, even if anyone else observed her, that they would recognize what she was doing, the enormity or significance of it. Who would ever suspect she was manipulating the rain?
    He turned the idea over and over in his mind. She “called” water to her.
    She couldn’t manufacture the water—it had to be available—but she could control it. Rikki was so lost in the wonder of playing that she didn’t notice when he got up and went to the window, shoving it open so he could see the silver sheets of rain falling from the sky. The sight was breathtaking. He 86

    turned back to look at her. She was breathtaking—extraordinary. She was such a rare phenomenon that he could barely believe he’d discovered her.
    A gust of wind drove the rain into the house and dotted his chest, shoulder and arm. He knew he’d felt rain a thousand times, yet it felt like the first time. The wonder Rikki experienced when she touched water spilled over to him through their strange connection. The raindrops were sensual against his skin, velvet tongues lapping at him. The liquid was cool, his body hot. He could feel each individual drop.
    More than the sensation on his skin was the way the liquid felt as if it seeped deeper. There was first a tingling along nerve endings, and then a rush, like a dam opening inside of him. He went very still and allowed the phenomenon to engulf him, to spread like a tidal wave inside of him. He felt renewed, happy, clean and balanced.
    Lev turned back to the bed, leaving the window open. He loved the sound of the rain and knew he’d always associate the sound with Rikki. Her face showed signs of exhaustion. She’d worked hard beneath the water, hauled him out of the sea, given him CPR and been up most of the night.
    Even playing as she was, manipulating water took tremendous energy. He knew she hadn’t eaten anything since she’d brought him to the farm. It was no wonder she was so thin.
    He stretched out again, shaping his body around hers, careful not to touch her or disturb her, but he sent a “push” to get her to sleep. He used a very delicate, gentle touch, one designed to allow her to drift off slowly, unknowing. While he waited for his suggestion to work, he contemplated the tragedies in her life.
    If someone had deliberately set those fires—and it was too much of a coincidence to think it wasn’t intentional—was her ability to control water the reason? Had someone realized Rikki was an element with tremendous power, even when she was just a child? She hadn’t said how old she was when the first fire had occurred, but she’d been in two foster homes and then was in a state-run facility. Someone had killed her fiance using fire, the opposite of water. Who wanted her dead? He was convinced someone did.
    And if so, why the long gaps between the attacks, and why fire?
    Her hands dropped to her side and her lashes fluttered. He smiled down at her. “You’ve come back to me.”
    She looked around her. “You’re still here.”
    Her voice was drowsy, her eyes slumberous. She’d definitely crawled inside of him and wrapped herself tightly around whatever was left of his soul. He wanted to look at her all night—the rest of his life, for that matter.
    He found peace in her.
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    “Yeah. I’m here. I don’t think I’m going anywhere soon.” If ever.
    He should go . Whatever he was, he was violent and deadly, and definitely trouble for her, but . . . He looked around the room. She had a bed, a dresser and a night-stand. The bare minimum. It was that way in every room.
    “How long have you lived here?”
    She thought about it. “We closed the deal on the farm just before Lexi’s nineteenth birthday and she just turned twenty-three, so just about five years.
    The orchards