Conceal

by Juliana Stone

  She folded her arms across her chest and tried to stay calm. Why couldn’t she have just told the truth for once?

  Just laid it on the line.

  Yes I want the role. End of story.

  Why did she make everything into a drama?

  And Good Lord, why in hell were her nipples saluting the man as if they wanted him to rip her top off and…

  Sweat beaded along her top lip.

  “Well, I’m not sure,” she managed weakly.

  Beau leaned close. So close that she could count the number of eyelashes that swept down as his mouth hovered a whisper away from hers.

  She was frozen in place, breath hitched in her throat, pulsing still going on down there and yet…all she could think about was how good he smelled.

  And how long those damn lashes were.

  Traitor body. Where the hell was all her righteous Beau Simon hate? She needed it.

  He exhaled slowly, his warm breath fanning across her face.

  She needed that hate right now.

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Bets.” He said softly. “I promise not to sleep with you.” He paused and she closed her eyes. “That would only complicate the situation. Don’t you think?”

  She nodded, eyes now open. Could he hear the sound of her heart? God, it sounded as if a freight train was running through her body.

  “But you can’t deny the chemistry.”

  His hand crept up to her chin, but she refused to budge. Not even when his finger trailed a line of fire across her jaw and up to the tattoo beneath her ear.

  “It’s that chemistry that will make the movie sizzle. So, no more games. Are you going take the role?”

  She was aware that his breaths were falling faster. Harsher.

  And dammit, was that a whimper that fell from her lips.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  Her eyes were on his mouth and for one scary moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Scary, because she had no idea what she would do if he did.

  But then Beau moved slightly until his mouth was near her ear. His body wasn’t touching hers, save for his fingers splayed across her throat, but it felt as if every inch of him was pressed up against her.

  “Good,” he whispered near her ear.

  And then he was gone.

  What the hell had just happened?

  Betty shivered violently as she watched Beau walk away from her. She watched him until he disappeared from view and then she stepped backward until she collapsed onto the bottom step, arms still wrapped around herself, heart still beating like a goddamn drum.

  “You should just bang him and get it over with.”

  She glanced up and spied Matt leaning against the entrance to the front room, a bottle of Jack in his hands.

  “Bite me,” she replied.

  Matt strode over and she moved so that he could sit beside her. He stretched his long legs out and crossed them, leaning back as he took another swig from the bottle before letting it fall to the ground, empty.

  “This whole thing is fucked, you know that right?”

  With a sigh, Betty leaned her head onto Matt’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

  “There’s something between you guys. I watched.”

  “Perv.”

  Matt slipped his arm around her and tears sprang into her eyes as her body melted into his. No longer was she thrumming with hot, fierce desire. But the need that was there was just as strong.

  The need to connect. The need to matter.

  “Want to spend the night?” she asked.

  “Did you think I was going home?” Matt kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be whatever you need, Barker. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  Betty’s heart twisted because she heard the pain in his voice. She knew how conflicted he was.

  “Are you going to be able to make this movie without getting your heart broken?”

  Betty shoved Matt. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Just asking the question.”

  She stared into his eyes, not liking the turn their conversation had taken. “I’ll be fine.”

  He stared at her so intensely that Betty looked away. She had to be fine. This was her shot and dammit, she was taking it. Beau Simon might throw her off her game, but there was no way she was in danger of falling in love with him. Hell, Betty didn’t even know what it felt like to fall in love, but she was pretty sure it was a lot deeper than desire.

  “Okay,” Matt said softly as he got to his feet and held out his hand. “You ready to get the hell out of here? Or did you want to whisper sweet nothings in Beau Simon’s ear?”

  She made a face and jumped to her feet, slipping her hand into Matt’s.

  “Let’s go.”

  Betty was strong enough to admit that she was attracted to Beau, but she needed to be adult enough not to act on it. Sucked that it was the whole adult thing she always had problems with.

  Resolve in place, Betty let Matt lead her back outside. She would do this, or—in epic Betty Jo Barker fashion—she would go down in flames trying.

  She just hoped that she didn’t go down, because if she did, Betty was pretty damn sure she’d never get up.

  Chapter Sixteen

  IT WAS ONLY six in the morning and already Beau was in a shit mood. Though to be truthful, his shit mood had started right about the time he saw Betty Jo leave the barbecue with, the hulk.

  Matt Hawkins was his name, according to her sister Bobbi, and boy did she like to talk about him.

  Matt Hawkins, the man who had apparently sowed as many wild oats as Betty and was equally as infamous—at least in this small town.

  Matt Hawkins, the man who liked his booze a little too much and who knew what else the guy was into. Drugs? Maybe. Weed? Most likely.

  Matt Hawkins, the man with tree trunks for legs and arms the size of a small child.

  According to Bobbi, the guy was bad news, so of course Betty was hooked up with him. He’d been all over her, his hand slipping down her waist to rest on her ass as he steered her in Beau’s direction.

  And then he’d had the fucking gall to wink and nod at Beau like they were buddies or something. He’d said, ‘see ya tomorrow, dude,’ before proceeding to shove his tongue down her throat.

  They’d left together—right after Betty had yanked her mouth away from his—most likely to go back to his place where his big meaty paws would be all over her. Touching Betty in places that Beau had thought a lot about.

  Places he’d once had.

  Places that maybe, he wanted again.

  “Jesus,” he muttered, rolling out of bed and nearly landing on his ass. He shouldn’t be thinking about Betty Jo in terms other than strictly professional ones. And he sure as hell shouldn’t be thinking about the sexy belly-button ring, or the flat, smooth stomach above her obscenely low rise jeans.

  He glanced down his aching cock. Jesus. This wasn’t good.

  He stretched tight muscles and pulled on his boxers, cursing when he stubbed his toe on the end of the bed. He hopped out of the bedroom into the main area of the loft, limping, cursing, his only thought coffee and maybe a quick shower to relieve—

  “Hollywood.”

  His eyes narrowed as he swung around to find Tucker leaning against the island in the kitchen, a mug of coffee in his hands and a big ass grin on his face. The guy had taken the sofa, there was no way he should look so damn chipper.

  “Don’t call me that,” Beau bit out, crossing the room and grabbing the cup Tuck had left out for him.

  “Someone’s a nasty dickhead this morning.”

  “Whatever,” Beau murmured as he took his first shot of caffeine and glanced down at a pair of heels. He frowned.

  They were white. About four inches in height.

  “Ah, yeah. About those…”

  Beau’s head snapped up and he nailed Tucker with an exasperated look. “Who the hell did you bring back?”

  Tucker set his mug
down. “Hey, it’s not me.” He pointed toward the bedroom Beau had just exited. “She’s in there. Didn’t you hear the shower?”

  Beau’s frown deepened and he glanced back at the heels. “No,” he said carefully before looking back to the bedroom. He saw an expensive bag lying across the end of the bed. White. Even from where he stood, he could see it was Gucci.

  His nose wrinkled.

  Shit. That god-awful perfume that he hated.

  Beau wondered if it was too late for a do-over. Because if it wasn’t he’d hop the first flight out of New Waterford and march his ass back to LA right now. Back to that night when he’d first laid eyes on…

  “Lane showed up about ten minutes ago. Said security let her onto the property. So, what the hell is the point in having your detail guard this place?”

  Beau groaned and shook his head. He thought he’d be safe here, at Forest’s place. Who knew it was Lane Summers he needed to be safe from. He scrubbed his face, scowling.

  “She’s gonna hate the fact that you haven’t shaved in nearly two weeks.” Tucker said in disgust. “You know that right?”

  Beau nodded.

  “Hell, I get that you’re going for this biker look, but Hollywood, I gotta tell you, she’s not gonna dig it.”

  Beau glared at his brother. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

  Tucker nodded and chuckled. “Should have listened to me two months ago when I told you that Lane Summers wasn’t worth it. She’s a diversion and one that will bust your balls months after you tell her you’re through.”

  Beau winced at the thought.

  “Trust me on that one.” Tucker said. “Though the fact that she even found her way out to this place, which you gotta admit is in the middle of nowhere, tells me that she’s not as dumb as I thought she was.”

  “Well, that’s good to know.” Lane Summers said as she wandered into the room, her long blond hair hanging in wet ropes down her shoulders, her still glistening skin barely covered by the pale blue towel she’d found.

  Fuck. Me.

  Beau had told her not to come out here. What was the point? She was the kind of woman who took up a lot of time, and time was something he didn’t have. Not with the tournament and…Betty Jo.

  Beau glanced at his brother, who didn’t seem to give a crap that Lane Summers had just heard the insult.

  Tucker grabbed a mug from the cupboard and held it up. “You need some coffee, princess?”

  Lane ignored Tucker and wandered over to Beau. He bent forward, accepting her kiss as he glanced over her head at his brother. Her hands began to wander down his chest and he grabbed her before she made it to the waistband of his boxers.

  He was hard. Rock hard.

  But he wasn’t so sure if it was Lane’s close proximity, the fact that he hadn’t had sex since he’d seen Lane over two weeks ago, or the lingering thoughts of Betty that had him all riled up.

  Lane giggled and reached for him again. “Baby, I can see you’re ready for me.”

  God knows he needed some release, but shit, his brother was in the room.

  “Hey,” he dropped one more kiss on her mouth, steering her away from Tuck’s eyes. “This is a surprise.”

  She glanced up at him sharply and he knew he’d just made a big mistake.

  “Surprise,” she repeated, her bottom lip already pulled down into a pout.

  Big. Fucking. Mistake.

  “That doesn’t sound like it’s a good surprise.”

  And it wasn’t, which shouldn’t surprise Beau, but it did. He might not be serious about Lane—hell, they’d only been dating a few months, but up until a few days ago he’d been looking forward to spending some time with her. Which meant he was looking forward to getting laid—their relationship hadn’t progressed past that point.

  Contrary to what most people thought, Beau Simon wasn’t the type to sample the free offerings shoved in his face most days. If he was involved with someone, he was a one woman man.

  Just not right now. Right here.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  Blue eyes. Dark hair. A body that didn’t quit and an attitude to match. That’s what the hell was wrong with him.

  Beau exhaled and ran his fingers over the days old stubble on his chin. He was playing ball today. Baseball for Christ sake—a sport he loved—and his shit mood had to go.

  He glanced at the bedroom. Briefly thought of tossing Lane on the bed and taking her there, fast and hard.

  But then he realized his hard-on was gone—at about the same time Lane did—and he pointed to Tucker.

  “Why don’t you grab a coffee? I’ve got to have a shower and head out to the ball park.”

  “Oh.” She seemed surprised. “You’re really playing in this silly tournament?”

  “It’s for charity,” Tucker said. “A mixed tourney.”

  “Mixed?”

  Here we go.

  “Yep,” Tucker said as he poured her a cup. “Men and women. Celebrities and locals. Hell, we even have an SI model playing with us.”

  Beau shook his head and waited.

  “SI?” Lane glanced at Beau.

  “Sports Illustrated.” Tucker hopped the island and then handed Lane a steaming mug of coffee. “The swimsuit edition.”

  She tugged her towel closer and expertly flipped her hair as she let that information settle. Then she slowly sipped from her cup, before meeting Beau’s eyes. They were dark and big and…

  Great. She was pissed.

  “Betty Jo Barker.” Her voice was soft and sweet and coated with poisonous candy.

  “Bingo!” Tucker tossed the rest of his coffee into the sink.

  Lane threw Tucker a look that would shrivel most men’s balls, but his brother was enjoying himself so much the frost in the air didn’t penetrate.

  “Lane,” Beau said.

  “You know how I feel about that…that slut.”

  Unbelievable. How in hell did Betty manage to piss off people she’d never even met?

  “She’s trash, Beau. She doesn’t run in our circles. I mean, who the hell names their daughter Betty Jo anyway?”

  “That’s pretty childish,” he said.

  “It’s true! I can’t believe you’re serious about her. About her being in your movie. That is why you’re here, right? Why you’re playing in this stupid tournament? Don’t tell me it’s about charity. Beau Simon doesn’t have time for small town charity in Hicksville, USA.” She was shaking. “You’re here because of her.”

  A slow burn started in the pit of Beau’s gut. He didn’t like what Lane was insinuating about what he did with his time, or the snobbish attitude toward this town and the people who lived here.

  “I’m not getting into this with you, got it?” His voice was low but there was no mistaking his anger. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

  “How can you say that?” she said, gulping in air so dramatically he was surprised her tits didn’t pop out. “We’re dating.” Her voice rose several notches.

  Beau took a good, long, hard look at Lane Summers. Other than the obvious charms that nearly fell out of her towel, what the hell had he seen in her?

  “Not anymore.” He stepped back. “I’ve got to shower. Tucker and I are due at the diamond in an hour. You can come and watch, you can stay here, or you can turn your pretty little ass around and fly back home. I really don’t care.”

  “Seriously?” He was almost to the bedroom when she sniffled. “Are we breaking up over this?”

  Holy. Christ.

  He thought Tucker snorted and shot him a warning look, before he glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. “Darlin’, we’re adults. We don’t break up. We see people. And then we don’t. That’s how it is.”

  “You’re an asshole.” Gone was any pretense of seduction.

  He shrugged and headed for the shower. “I’ve been called worse.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “YOU’RE NOT WEARING that to the baseball game.”

>   Betty glanced up. She was bent over, fingers caught in the ties of her cleats and swearing like a trucker as she struggled with them. It had been ages since she’d played ball—probably ten years—and the laces felt as if they were glued together. She’d already broken a nail and was about to lose it.

  Matt glared at her from her bed, big arms crossed, hair askew, frown already in place.

  “Sweetie, do I have to explain this to you again? Just because you slept over doesn’t give you the right to be up in my business.”

  An eyebrow arched. “If we actually had sex…would that change things?”

  She shook her head. “Hell, no.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  He rolled out of bed with a groan, still wearing his jeans and T-shirt from the day before—though he’d managed to lose his socks. He stretched long arms above his head and Betty watched him, a half smile on her face. He really was a fine piece of ass. Too bad his ass wasn’t for her.

  “Are you really going to do this?” he asked.

  “Damn right I am.”

  Betty glanced at herself in her mirror, though it was on the small side, a throwback from her tweens—and she had to bend over once more.

  She wiggled her butt and glanced over her shoulder. “Look good?”

  Matt angled his head. “Well, if half of your ass hanging out of those Daisy Dukes means looking good, you hit it out of the park my friend.” He chuckled. “No pun intended.”

  “Good.”

  “Christ, every man at Henning Park is going to be drooling whenever you’re on the field.”

  Her makeup was a touch more dramatic than she would normally wear this early on a Saturday, but the effect was worth it. The dark grey kohl expertly enhanced her eyes giving them an exotic edge, while her lips were at their pouty best. She’d pulled her hair into a high ponytail and coupled with the insanely short, shorts, the team jersey she’d cut to bare her stomach, and socks hiked up to her knees—she looked like every sport nut’s dream girl.

  “It’s why they want me in this stupid tournament.” She shrugged. “And you know me…I don’t mind giving them what they want.”