Conceal

by Juliana Stone

  “Uh, babe. I’m right here.” Shane nuzzled the back of her neck, his hands on her hips and though her eyes never left Beau’s, he knew she was totally into her man. It was in the way her eyes softened. As if the touch and feel of Gallagher was all she needed.

  “So,” she said with a giggle as she pushed Shane away. “I heard that you managed to piss off Betty in record time last night.”

  “Apparently, she doesn’t like me all that much.”

  “Don’t take it personally,” Shane said. “She doesn’t like anyone.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Bobbi said with a grimace. “She likes Matt Hawkins just fine.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Shane said, his attention behind them.

  All three of them glanced toward the side of the house, where a tall guy, built like a Mac truck, had his business all up in…Betty Jo.

  He had at least a few inches on Beau, with wide shoulders, and impressive biceps to match. The guy wore a leather jacket even though it had to be nearly seventy degrees, and big ass kicking boots.

  Beau’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like the way the guy’s hands were all over her and the little black top she wore, threatened to fall down every time she leaned back into him. Seriously. The damn thing barely covered her breasts.

  Her eyes were dramatic, her lips a vibrant red and her hair was loose, falling well past her shoulders. That amazing ass was on display in a pair of low riding white jeans that fit her like a second skin. They rode so low in fact, that the top swell of her butt could be seen when she turned.

  Topped off with a pair of heels that she had to be insane to wear to an outdoor barbecue, she looked…

  Jesus Christ, Betty Jo looked hotter than anything he’d ever seen.

  Beau cleared his throat and wished he had something in his hands because he didn’t know what to do with them.

  Where the hell was Tucker?

  Oh, yeah, there was Tucker, taking a second long look at that fine ass as he passed them on his way over to Beau.

  Shane and Bobbi forgotten, Beau grabbed a beer from his brother. “Don’t say it,” he said harshly as he took a long, cold drink.

  Tucker paused, and then shrugged, easing into his own beer, though his eyes did wander back to Betty and the giant.

  Beau glanced around. Pretty much every male eye was settled onto Betty Jo.

  “She certainly knows how to make an appearance, doesn’t she?” Bobbi said quietly.

  “Sure does,” Beau agreed.

  “It’s always been like that.”

  Beau glanced over at Bobbi, whose eyes were glued to her sister. He expected to see a bit of jealously, or maybe envy in her eyes, but there was nothing but concern.

  “I wish she’d stay away from him.”

  “Bobbi, it’s none of our business,” Shane said roughly. “Besides. Hawkins isn’t all that bad.”

  “Sure, when he’s sober.” She shook her head. “But that’s not often enough. I don’t know what she sees in him.”

  “Maybe she sees herself,” Tucker said quietly.

  Beau glanced at his brother sharply, but Tucker’s face was averted.

  “Well, whatever it is, it’s not good. The two of them together are trouble. You wait and see.” Bobbi left Shane’s side and the three men watched her walk over to her sister.

  “Shit,” Shane said. “Here we go. There’s always something with these women. I wish Bobbi would stay out of her sister’s business.”

  Logan Forest wandered over at that point, followed by several guys and a couple women who would be playing ball with Beau and Tucker. Introductions were made and when Beau glanced back to where Betty had been, she was gone. The giant was there, parked in front of the bar, a bottle of whiskey in his hands, his gaze locked onto Beau.

  Even from this distance, Beau sensed the man’s dislike and he squared his shoulders, not really giving a shit. Let the guy come at him. Beau was in shape.

  In fact—his hands clenched—he was dying to let loose some of this restless, energy that he wasn’t able to get rid of. Maybe the giant was exactly what he needed.

  “Not exactly good press to get your ass kicked at a charity event, Hollywood.”

  Okay. The Hollywood nickname was getting old.

  Beau glared at his brother and shrugged. “I’m not planning on starting anything, but that guy obviously has a hard-on for me and you and I both know I’m not the type to back down.”

  Tucker slapped him on the shoulder. “Well, brother. You know I’ve got your back but maybe the question isn’t whether or not he wants to kick your ass. Maybe the question is, why?”

  Beau’s eyes narrowed.

  “Seems to me that maybe your triplet has set her pet on you. Don’t you want to know why?”

  Beau finished his beer and handed the bottle to his brother. “You’re right.”

  “I am?” Tucker looked surprised.

  “Yeah. I’m going to find her and get my answer once and for all. Either she’s all in for this movie or she’s not. Either way, I’m not going to play her game.”

  “Okay,” Tucker said. “Just so you know. She went into the house about ten seconds ago.”

  Beau nodded to his brother.

  He posed for three pictures and signed several autographs, so by the time he reached the house at least five minutes had passed by.

  The patio doors led into a large kitchen with vaulted ceilings and loads of windows that must let in a lot of natural light during the day. At the moment it was a hub of activity, as the caterers were busily preparing more food and drinks. Beau nodded to them as he passed by, and headed into a large foyer with a dining room on his right, and what appeared to be a library on his left.

  The library intrigued him, but he passed it by, thinking that Betty had probably come indoors to use the washroom. He paused by the entrance to the library and listened as a door opened and closed somewhere above him.

  The distinct click of heels echoed on the stairs and he looked up, catching a flash of white and long, slender legs. He was about to say something when she spoke and Beau realized that she was on her cellphone.

  “Gramps, I won’t be long. How is he?”

  There was a pause.

  “Oh, Billie’s there?” She exhaled as she stopped halfway down the stairs. “Good. That’s good.”

  Another pause.

  “Okay. I just wanted to let you know I was at Bobbi’s and that I won’t be too late.”

  She took another step. “I love you, Gramps. Give Dad a kiss for me, okay? What?”

  She paused again. “No. No I don’t want to talk to Billie. Look, I gotta go. I’ll see you later.”

  Beau watched her clear the stairs and walk across the rich wooden floors to stand near the front door. She thrust her hands into her back pockets, and hunched her shoulders together.

  It was getting dark outside and she was but a fragile silhouette against the floor to ceiling windows.

  He should have left. Hell, he was nothing but a stalker in the dark, watching a woman who thought she was alone.

  But he didn’t.

  She was a puzzle, this woman. Cold and bitchy one moment, and yet caring and full of love the next. She appeared to hate her sisters and yet he’d seen her defend them as if they meant the world to her.

  He’d spent one, hot, passionate moment with her—he’d felt how she responded to his touch—and yet she was cool toward him, now. She acted as if he was the last man on earth she’d ever want to touch. It made him wonder…was it all an act? What really went on behind those big blue eyes?

  Was she the coldhearted bitch she showed the world? Or was there more to her…

  Maybe Beau should have asked himself why he cared. But he didn’t.

  He pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning against, and headed toward Betty, his heart beating a little faster than before. His adrenaline punched.

  And the reason for all of it, turned, just as he approached.

  She licked her lips—
not provocatively, more of a nervous gesture—and tucked a long piece of hair behind her ear. Silver earrings dangled, twisting and shimmering as they moved and he noticed something beneath her ear, something barely visible.

  Beau took the few remaining steps until he was inches from her, his eyes on the markings that fell in a singular line, downward. It was a tattoo, as small and delicate as her ear, and it was not what he expected. Some sort of Celtic symbol—that would be expected—they were all the rage. Or maybe Sanskrit or something of the like.

  He angled his head so he could see it better, watching her fingers twirl that piece of hair before letting it go.

  For a long moment there was silence and then she spoke, her voice husky.

  “They’re tears.”

  That they were.

  Three of them.

  In that moment Beau Simon realized that Betty Jo Barker was more complicated than any woman he’d ever met, with more layers to her than he’d first imagined.

  Who tattooed tears onto their skin?

  She pulled on her hair again, tugging the ends until it fell over the tattoo, and then she cleared her throat.

  Why did she want them hidden?

  Beau fought the urge to move her hair back so that he could see them again. So that he could trace each of them with his fingers. Taste them with his mouth.

  That thought had him taking a step back and he watched her eyes glisten as she stared up at him. Watched as the expression that lit them slowly evaporated until there was nothing.

  Betty was in control once more.

  And that should have made him comfortable because this was the Betty Jo he knew. The Betty Jo he could handle. The other one? The one who hid just beneath the surface? He had a feeling that, that one, could break a man if he wasn’t careful.

  Yet, he thought that maybe the man lucky enough to find his way past all those barriers, the man lucky enough to get to the real woman underneath…That guy would be one lucky son-of-a-bitch.

  Chapter Fifteen

  IT TOOK A few moments for Betty to gather her thoughts. She tugged her hair forward and let it fall, covering the tattoo that was inked into her skin like a scar.

  It was a scar. It was a reminder that she could never lose control.

  A reminder of her past.

  Carefully, she shuffled everything inside herself, until she felt the familiar mask slip back into place and she was able to look Beau in the eye. Even then it took a second to settle.

  Why did he have to look so damn good? And why was something hot and pulsing, curling inside her?

  Damn him to hell. He’d been a thorn in her side since the first time she’d met him.

  His blue eyes shone from the candles lit in the foyer, and his mouth was open slightly, giving her a peek at even white teeth.

  His blond hair was messy, waving from the heat and curling around the collar of his white button-down white shirt—a shirt that was open, revealing just enough of the tanned skin beneath to drive the women crazy. His sleeves were rolled up revealing his own tattoo, his jeans were old, worn, and belted so that they rode low. She was willing to bet if he lifted his arm, more than a tease of flat stomach would be seen.

  Again with the fluttering in her stomach. What the hell? Was she fifteen again?

  Her eyes traveled the length of him and rested on his Birkenstocks. Leave it to Beau to buck tradition.

  She cleared her throat.

  “Are you stalking me now?”

  Good. She sounded normal. Not as if she was about to lose her shit.

  He smiled—a slow kind of thing—but this time she was ready for it and the fluttering in her stomach, the heat that pulsed even lower, didn’t rise.

  It was still there, but she could handle it.

  Beau held his hands aloft, palms out. “Guilty.”

  And damn if her eyes didn’t wander down—for just a second—and yep, there was that flat stomach. She saw the narrow strip of hair in the center that disappeared beneath his jeans and she was willing to bet he was commando.

  Betty’s fingernails curled into her palms. Where the hell had that thought come from?

  Better yet, what the fuck was wrong with her? She thought of the whiskey she’d tossed back before she came and silently cursed Matt. This was his fault.

  “See something you like?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  He was quiet for a few moments, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “What’s going on, Betty?”

  “What do you want?” she asked bluntly.

  “You.”

  Wait. What?

  “Excuse me?”

  He took a step closer and it took everything that Betty had in her, to not move back.

  “Have you read the script yet?”

  The script.

  Oh. Right. The script.

  Betty considered her answer. She could tell Beau to take a hike and hope that after tomorrow she would never see him again.

  Or, she could tell him the truth.

  That she’d read the script.

  That not only was he a brilliant actor, Betty had seen another side to the man. His writing was intense. Deep yet subtle. The characters he’d created were raw and real and she’d bawled like a baby when she’d finished it.

  She could tell Beau Simon that her first thought after reading the script, had been that she would sell her goddamn soul to the devil himself, if it meant she could play the part of Eden.

  She could tell him that she knew…deep down, she knew this was her chance to do something with her life. Really do something, and do it well.

  She could tell him that for once in her life she thought she could be extraordinary at something. That her family would be proud of her. That her dad…that her dad would know she wasn’t just a fuck-up.

  But she didn’t say any of those things.

  Because no matter how badly she wanted the role, Betty knew she could never let Beau Simon know how much she needed it. How much she needed him. A girl had pride.

  “I read the script,” she said softly.

  A moment passed.

  And then another.

  “Is that all you’re going to say.”

  She shrugged. “For now it is.”

  Beau shook his head. “I’m not playing games, Barker. Either you want the role or not.”

  His voice deepened and he took another step closer to her. His eyes were narrowed and she knew he was about to burn the short end of his fuse. Beau Simon wasn’t used to getting the run-around from anyone, especially those of the female persuasion.

  She forced her hands to hang loose at her side, while she glanced behind Beau. Where the hell was Matt?

  Sitting at the bar, no doubt, onto his second bottle of whiskey. Which, at the moment didn’t seem like all that bad of an idea.

  “I want the role,” she finally admitted.

  Was it surprise that flickered across his face, ever so briefly?

  “Good.” Beau ran his fingers through the silky strands of blond that fell across his forehead and onto his cheek. “Okay. This is good.” He smiled. “I knew you’d come around, Bets.”

  Bets? Since when did he call her Bets. Bets was a nickname. A family name and only those close to her used it. For Beau to call her, Bets, it just seemed…too intimate.

  “Good. I’ll put in a call to Mason Gerard tomorrow and tell him the role’s yours. He’ll be pissed, hell, he wanted Mindy Boatwright for the part, but he’ll get over it.”

  “Mason Gerard,” she repeated dully. She’d met him once when she’d been dating Bailey. He’d looked down at her as if she was a distasteful bug he wanted to crush on his way over to the cocktail bar.

  Beau nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure he was aware she’d spoken, and he was already reaching for his cell.

  Mason Gerard was big time Hollywood. His studio put out quality films, ones well received by the critics and movies that managed to gross millions and net the studio a good chunk of money.

 
“You told Mason Gerard you wanted me in the film?”

  Beau’s head snapped up, his cellphone in his palm. “You’re the only one I wanted.”

  “But he didn’t want me.” Okay, she could have done without the whine, but still, Mason Gerard?

  “You can’t blame him, Betty. You’re not an actress. Not in the traditional sense and he’s old school. Hell, I couldn’t even get him to look at the audition tape, but don’t worry. This is my baby and if he wants me in the film, then he’ll go along with it or I’ll find another distributor to partner with.”

  His words stung and the thought of Mason Gerard made her nauseous.

  Suddenly, all the doubt-weasels she’d worked so hard to banish were back. Sitting on her shoulder. Filling her gut with panic.

  “I didn’t say I’d do it.”

  The words popped out of Betty’s mouth before she could stop them.

  That brought Beau up cold. “Are you kidding?” His words were hard, and they fell like stones. Something shifted in his eyes and Betty licked her bottom lip, suddenly really, really nervous.

  Here she was, on the cusp of blowing it again.

  “I’m not playing games, Betty. Where are we going with this?”

  Dammit. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

  “I just mean,” she dragged a huge gulp of air into her lungs as Beau moved closer. “I don’t know if I can work with you. Not after what happened between you and me…” Oh God, she was backpedalling like a newbie. “That night…you and I. It can’t happen again and,” she thrust her chin in the air, trying for some bravado. “I’m not sure if you can…I’m not sure you get that.”

  She wasn’t sure if Beau was trying not to laugh, or if he just found her idiotic ramblings amusing. But there was a killer smile lurking around his mouth and dancing in those baby blues.

  Kill. Me. Now.

  God, she was babbling like an idiot. Not making sense. Not making anything close to sense.

  She swallowed and watched him closely wishing he’d move the hell away from her. He was tall, hot as hell, and that pulsing had moved to between her legs. It was a steady throb—a distraction she didn’t need.

  “So,” Beau said, a dangerous tone in his voice. “Let me get this straight. You want the role, but you’re hesitant to take it because you don’t think I can resist your…charms.”