“What the hell do you think?” Irritated, Beau’s voice rose and he was aware that the few people in the shop who weren’t watching him, now were.
His brother laughed. “Just checking.”
“You don’t need to worry about me. This is strictly business.”
“Who is she?”
Shit. Now it was going to get complicated because Tucker knew pretty much everything there was to know about Beau.
“Betty Jo Barker.”
“Betty Jo Barker.” Beau didn’t have to see him to know that Tucker was frowning.
“Yep.”
“Betty Jo Barker, the junkie model?”
“One and the same.”
“Betty Jo Barker, the junkie model you screwed and then—“
“Okay, Tucker.” Beau’s irritation grew by leaps and bounds. “Enough.”
He hadn’t meant for things to get out of hand or get her fired. Though he was willing to bet Betty saw things a whole lot differently judging by the cold front he’d seen today. The woman wanted nothing to do with him.
Beau had his work cut out for him.
“What’s your interest in a washed up model with a nose for coke and a reputation that puts a prostitute to shame?”
Beau blew out a hot breath and glanced out the window into the parking lot—and for a second everything inside him stilled.
When had Betty come back? And why was she getting up close and personal with Logan Forest?
Something rough plowed through Beau and he clenched his jaw tight as Logan’s hand ran down her face, fingers sliding across her nose and mouth. Down her arm and then—
Holy hell.
And then patted a rounded, obviously pregnant, belly.
Shit. Triplets. Forest was engaged to Betty’s sister, the hockey girl if he was thinking straight. He just hadn’t expected them to look so much like…triplets.
“Beau?”
“Yeah,” he barked into the phone.
“She’s trouble. Christ, for a while there she was a regular on TMZ and just because she’s disappeared from the scene doesn’t mean she’s still not into it.”
“Why the hell do you watch that shit?”
“Look, I’m just saying. What’s this about?”
Beau’s eyes were trained on Logan and Betty’s sister. Her feelings for the guy were plastered to her face and told everyone that he was hers. The two of them murmured to each other and maybe Beau was acting like a sick pervert, but he couldn’t stop staring.
Something curled inside him when Logan reached down and slid his mouth across Betty’s sister, while pulling her in close, his hand still on her belly—a protective and intimate gesture.
“I want her,” he said without thinking.
“What?” Tucker barked. “Fuck me, but mom will hit the roof. Christ the last time you dated a model or actress or whatever the hell that girl was, I thought mom was going to have a heart attack. And Jack? I’m sure he’ll have something to say about this, or at least his advisors will.”
“Tucker. You know I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks when it comes to the women I sleep with, but you’ve got it wrong.”
“This should be good.”
Beau’s mouth tightened. He really needed to have an intense conversation with his brother when he finally made it up to Muskoka. Arrogant son-of-a-bitch.
“I want her for a role. She’s perfect.”
“Uh huh.”
Scowling, Beau slid his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’m serious. That’s it. Nothing more.”
“Since when does she act?”
Yeah. Well, he couldn’t fault his brother there.
Beau thought of the audition tape he’d stumbled across while searching back through several others looking for another actress’s take. The audition had been done for a movie he’d made a few years back. Betty had come in for the lead and everyone knew it was because she was screwing the director.
She never had a chance.
But from what he’d seen, the tape had been brilliant. Hell, it had been more than brilliant. He thought of the raw emotion, the subtle nuances in her performance—the way her eyes widened, just so, and then dropped down. She would have killed the role.
Beau often wondered what it was that she’d tapped into, what dark currents were concealed beneath her skin, for her to get that much emotion across. It went without saying that the camera loved her, but acting was a hell of a lot more than posing for pictures.
Betty Jo Barker had that something. It wasn’t describable—there was no technique for it—it just was. She was a natural.
Beau had seen it but apparently no one else had, or at the very least, no one was willing to take the chance on a difficult model with a colorful past who’d all of a sudden decided that she was an actress.
She’d been given a small role, a stripper killed off early in the film. But then things had gotten, complicated, and she’d been fired.
That was on Beau. Maybe he was hoping to make it up to her.
He ignored Tucker’s question. “Look, I gotta go. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be hanging around New Waterford, at least for a few more days.”
“Brother, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Beau pocketed his cell. He knew what he was doing. This script that he’d written…it was everything to him. It was his baby and he would do whatever it took to make it work. Beau had put up a considerable amount of his own cash to finance the damn thing and things were already in play. They were scheduled to shoot in the fall.
Beau would direct and act a small yet pivotal role, though the real star of his film was the female lead. The movie was a gritty, emotional portrayal of a woman who’d hit rock bottom. A woman who fights her way back from the dark. A woman who triumphs when all is lost.
Beau wanted Betty Jo Barker for the role and damned if he was leaving New Waterford until she agreed to do it.
Chapter Three
SATURDAY NIGHT PROVED to be as hot and humid as the rest of the week had been. Even with the breeze there was no relief. It only managed to stir things up. Good things. Bad things. Restless things that maybe should stay hidden.
Betty knew a storm was brewing, something strong and fierce, and as she gazed out at the crowds of partiers filling the blocked-off streets of downtown New Waterford, she feared it was coming sooner than later.
The air was too thick. So thick you could choke on it.
Why the hell had she agreed to come and meet her sister? She wasn’t in the mood to be social and when Betty wasn’t in a good mood, things tended to go off. Bobbi knew it. So did Betty.
And yet her sister had insisted she come and Betty had given in. Mostly because she knew Bobbi wouldn’t give up until she got her own way. A trait the two girls shared, but still, it was annoying when it interfered with Betty’s plans to spend a quiet night at home, reveling in the boring, mundane life she was leading.
The Black Top Hop was an annual fundraiser organized by the local firemen, and it drew a huge crowd every year. With a country band thumping across the way in the parking lot of the firehouse, and cold beer flowing like the river Nile from three different beer tents, this one was no different than any Betty remembered.
Except this time she was stone cold sober and nursing a headache.
Betty glanced around, wondering when her sister was going to show her face. Bobbi was nearly forty-five minutes late, which pissed her off. She would give Bobbi fifteen minutes and then she was gone.
She tucked a long piece of hair behind her ear as her gaze moved over the dance area set up in front of the firehouse. The crowd was singing along with the band, bodies moving to the music—some sensual, some barely able to keep any sort of rhythm, and some already drunk and weaving like out of control puppets.
A few eyes moved her way and Betty took a step deeper into the shadows cast from the firehouse. It felt safer somehow. She was in no mood for attention and anyone with half a brain would know it just
by looking at her.
She wore a simple white halter dress, and sure it clung to her curves, but it fell to her ankles—not even a slit up the side—and other than bare shoulders, not much skin showed. With only a hint of gloss on her lips and her hair knotted loosely at her nape, she looked nothing like her usual provocative self.
It was a positively demure look for this Barker, and it suited her mood tonight.
A fresh gust of wind slid across her heated skin and Betty thought she felt a few drops of rain in her face. For a second, she closed her eyes and lifted her face, hoping for more, but a huge swell of voices snapped her head around.
“Beau Simon!”
“Oh my God! He’s hot!”
“He’s here! He’s really here!”
“Can I get your autograph?”
The unmistakable squeals echoed into the night and Betty’s eyes narrowed as she swept over the crowd once more, disbelief clogging her throat.
He was gone. Grabbed his bike and left yesterday.
Hadn’t he?
Her heartbeat rocketed up into the stratosphere when she caught sight of a tall man up near the beer tent. Was it Beau? He wore a baseball cap, but still, judging from the crowd gathered around him, and the unmistakable blond hair peeking out from beneath the hat, she wasn’t taking any chances.
Turning on her heel, Betty cut through the dance crowd and made it through to the other side, before she paused for a look back.
The baseball cap was no longer in sight. Had she imagined the entire thing? Had Beau Simon rattled her that much?
She stood there, like an idiot, breathing hard, agitated, and pissed off. Another glance at her watch told her it was ten. That’s it. She was done.
Betty whirled around and headed for the side street that ran parallel to Main. The loaner car Logan had given her was parked there. She’d taken a few steps past the firehouse when a familiar voice cut through the music.
“There you are, sexy girl. Been looking for you.”
Jesus. Fuck.
Betty spied Mick Valenti leaning against a picnic table a few feet away and she realized she needed to pass him to cut through to the street. He took a long drink from his beer can and then raised it in the air. A toast? Really? He was flanked by Billy Owens and Nate Parsons.
Some things never change.
“Dressed in white are you?” Mick said with a laugh. “That’s a bit of a stretch isn’t it?” He pushed off from the picnic table and studied her with eyes that said he’d had too much to drink.
Mick was a good looking man with his thick sandy hair, perfect jaw and dark eyes. He was tall, athletic—had been a superb hockey player back in the day—but he was also an arrogant bully with a low opinion of women who shouldn’t drink, and the sight of him made Betty’s stomach clench.
“Thought you were in New York with your wife?” She said instead.
He crushed the can in his hands and shrugged. “We’re taking a bit of a break these days. Bitch needs to find herself or some kind of bullshit. I’m home for the next few months while I consider my options. Staying with the old man.”
Did he think she gave a rat’s ass?
He smiled, though it never really made it to his eyes. “How bout we get together? You know…for old time’s sake?”
Billy and Nate pushed each other and laughed, stepping up beside Mick.
“A walk down memory lane isn’t gonna happen,” she retorted moving to the side so that she could scoot by.
“Says who?” Mick said as he mimicked her and took another step forward blocking her escape.
Betty froze. The air seemed thicker. Full of dark things.
She trembled and hated the smug smile that crossed Mick’s face as he leaned toward her. The smell of beer and cigarettes wafted in the air between them, and revulsion made her gag.
“Come on,” he said. “You know you want it.” His eyes narrowed. “You always do…eventually.”
That cold place inside her—the one she kept for moments like these—spread across her skin like tiny fingers and she lifted her chin, the haughty bitch everyone knew so well reflected in her eyes.
“What I want, asshole,” she said carefully, moving another inch to the right. “Is to go home.”
His hand snuck out and grabbed her wrist.
For a moment silence fell into her ears and she heard nothing.
Betty was aware that she breathed, small, jerky breaths. She knew that behind her the music pulsed into the hot, sweaty, night and that a few feet away Nate and Billy watched her with eyes that spoke of dirty things. Dirty, mean, things.
“You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice tipping low and hitting a timber that was all too familiar. “Not really.” He glanced at his friends and grinned. “That’s the problem with women. They never know what they really want.”
He leaned in close. “That night?” He yanked on her wrist, but she dug in and refused to budge, instead shooting daggers at him with her eyes. God. If only she was as strong as a man, she’d smash her fist into his nose and--
His grip tightened. “You remember the one I’m talking about?”
Nausea roiled inside her, but Betty pushed it back. She shrugged, acting as nonchalant as she could. “There were a lot of nights, Mick. You can’t expect me to remember all of them.”
His eyes narrowed and for a second the cool façade Betty sported, cracked a little, and a sliver of fear ran through her as he bent even closer.
“That was the hottest night of my life. You. Me.” His grin widened. “Billy and Nate. What do you say we have a do-over?”
She shook her head and looked down at her wrist, still imprisoned in his large hand. “Not interested. Not gonna happen.”
His fingers tightened. “Maybe you should think about it for a minute.”
“Maybe you should let go of the lady.” A voice slid from the dark at them.
“Yeah? Maybe you should just fuck the hell off,” Mick sneered, not even bothering to glance up at the intruder.
“Maybe. But I gotta tell you it’s not gonna happen tonight.”
“Holy shit!” Nate exclaimed. “Beau Simon.”
Mick’s fingers loosened and Betty yanked her hand from his, rubbing her wrist as she took a step back, eyes on Beau.
His ball cap was pulled down low so she couldn’t see his eyes, but his mouth was set in a frown. He still hadn’t shaven and his chin was darkened by stubble. It gave him an edge he didn’t need. The man was already sexy as hell, the scruffy look only added to it.
He wore a white button down shirt, opened at the collar, over a pair of faded, worn jeans. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, and that damn tattoo caught her eye.
He flexed his hands and strode to her, stopping an inch or so away, his musky, male scent filling her nose and setting off all kinds of shit inside her that she didn’t want to deal with.
Betty didn’t want to deal with any of this. Jesus. H. Christ. She would just about kill for a hit or a shot of tequila. Anything to take off the edge and make her forget.
“I’ve been looking for you.” Beau said.
“Really.” Betty clenched her teeth together so tightly that pain shot up her jaw. “And how did you manage to fight your way through all your fans?” Her words dripped in sarcasm but he ignored it.
A slow smile swept over his face and Betty swallowed thickly, glad she couldn’t see those blue eyes. She knew what was there.
“Keeping an eye on me?”
“More like trying to figure out how to avoid you.”
Why the fuck couldn’t everyone just leave her the hell alone? She ran fingers along her forehead and grimaced. The pain was getting worse. Damn, but she needed some meds. The bump on her head the day before must have been harder than she’d thought.
“Are you leaving?” Beau asked.
“I was trying to.”
Mick glared at her, all pretense of seduction or whatever the hell it was he’d planned, long gone. She saw the mean stre
ak in his eyes and for a moment, reality faded. She remembered what it felt like to feel that mean streak up close and personal.
God, would her past never let her move forward?
“Hey,” Beau said, his voice breaking into her thoughts. “Are you alright?”
“I…”
All of a sudden the music blasted and the sound of the crowd behind them swelled. Her chest tightened and her throat felt like it was closing up.
Sweat beaded along her forehead and the air…that hot, thick air—she couldn’t get it into her lungs.
“I…”
Count, you idiot. Count! There was no way she was going to lose her shit in front of Beau Simon. No. Way. In. Hell.
Betty licked her lips and counted to ten.
She did it again and nearly wept with relief when she inhaled a great gulp of air and shoved her way past everyone.
“I don’t need anyone,” she said hoarsely. “I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t fine. Betty was far from fine.
Betty was so far from fine that she wouldn’t know what fine looked like if it kicked her in the ass and sat her down for a chat.
She ran down the deserted street, the party echoing into the night behind her and when she reached the loaner, yanked on the door but it wouldn’t budge.
Mother. Fucker.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She tried all four doors, but all four doors were locked. Fuck. She hadn’t brought a bag so she’d left the keys under the front seat. Along with her cell.
And then like an idiot, had locked the doors.
Double fuckedy-fuck-fuck.
Betty leaned against the passenger door, defeated. She just couldn’t seem to do anything right.
With a sigh, she turned and started toward Main Street, her eyes on the sky. If she was lucky she’d make it home before the storm hit.
“Betty.” Beau Simon’s deep voice slid from the shadows, followed by six feet four inches of Hollywood gold. He held up his hands, palms out. “I’m not stalking you. I promise.”
“What the hell do you want, Beau?” She snapped, irritated, tired and more pissed off than she’d been in a long time. “I don’t get it. You don’t even like me.”
Conceal Page 2