And that was going to be a problem considering less than twenty-four hours ago she’d told him that they couldn’t be involved. Not with the movie on the table.
His door creaked open.
And yet here she was.
He laid on his back and waited. She crossed the room and disappeared into the adjacent bathroom. Seconds later he heard the shower.
“Keep it together, Simon,” he muttered to himself, his thoughts x-rated as he envisioned her beneath the water. Wet. Soft. Slick.
He shifted a bit, trying to ease the discomfort between his legs but it was no use. He was as hard as a fucking cement block and there was no way he could hide the tent pole.
He would have joined her but something told Beau this visit wasn’t about sex.
She entered the room, the fresh smell of soap following her as she paused at the end of the bed.
Beau sat up, grimacing as he adjusted the covers. “Are you okay?” he asked cautiously. He had no idea what had happened with her sister—Logan hadn’t been home so he was out of the loop and he hadn’t felt it was any of his business to call.
She dropped the towel and stared at him in silence. His eyes had adjusted to the gloom and he had no problem seeing her. Long ropes of wet hair hung past her shoulders, covering her breasts and the eyes that stared back at him were dark, her mouth pinched and pensive.
“Betty,” he said slowly, fearing the worst.
She didn’t say a word and for a few more seconds she did nothing. But then she stepped forward and slid beneath the covers, curling into his side, her wet head tucked into his arm as she rested her hand on his chest.
Several long moments ticked by and Beau realized that every tight muscle in his body—save for the one between his legs—had relaxed. He felt…he felt as if he was where he was supposed to be. There had only been a few times in his life when he’d experienced such a feeling.
The first time he’d stepped onto the mound for the Giants.
The first time he’d walked onto a movie set.
The first time he’d witnessed a foaling at his grandparents place.
And right here. Right now. With Betty Jo Barker.
“Billie and Logan had a little boy tonight.”
He rubbed her temple and kissed the top of her head.
“He’s so small, Beau. I can’t…God, he’s not much bigger than my hand.” She shuddered. “But he’s perfect. He’s small and perfect and his name is Abel.”
Beau pulled her closer. “That’s a good name.” He held her as if she belonged to him. As if he was never going to let her go.
“Yes,” she murmured. “It’s a really good name. A strong name.”
He felt her relax against him—listened as her breathing slowed—and as the first rays of dawn began to creep up into the dark sky, Beau finally drifted off to sleep.
It was hours later when he woke up and he wasn’t happy to find himself alone. Beau rolled out of bed, pulled on his boxers, and after a trip to the bathroom, followed the scent of coffee out into the loft.
He took two steps and halted.
Betty wore his white T-shirt and he hoped like hell she had something on underneath because it barely covered her ass. Her hair was scooped into a tangled ponytail and her skin glistened like alabaster.
She giggled at something his brother said and Beau frowned.
Tucker leaned against the edge of the sofa, a cup of coffee in his hand, dark hair sticking up all over the place as if he’d just woken up.
At least he’d pulled his damn jeans on.
“I hope you saved me some coffee.”
Betty and Tucker glanced over at him as he headed to the kitchen area and rummaged around for a mug. Maybe he banged the cupboards a little loudly and maybe he slammed the fridge door shut a little to hard, but dammit, there was no cream and he hated milk in his coffee.
He poured himself a cup and turned around, eyebrows arched as he took a sip.
“What?”
Tucker shook his head. “Someone shit in your Wheaties?”
Beau scowled and said nothing.
Tucker glanced from Beau to Betty, who was suddenly quiet, her eyes on the floor and a light dusting of color in her cheeks.
“Okay,” Tucker said. “I’m going to grab a shower and then…hell, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He swung his gaze back to Beau. “We should probably discuss an exit strategy.”
“Exit strategy?” Beau repeated.
“Have you looked outside yet?”
Shit.
Beau’s scowl deepened as he crossed the room and looked out the window. Sure enough, he could see people milling about at the end of the driveway, but more disappointing was the gaggle of paparazzi. They’d grown by leaps and bounds over a few days ago.
His security detail kept vigil, but still, this wasn’t good.
“Jesus,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. It seemed as if his time in New Waterford was up.
“You guys are trending on twitter,” Tucker said, slapping him on the back as he tossed his coffee into the sink and leaned against the counter.
“Really.”
“Yep.” Tucker lowered his voice. “Mom’s called twice this morning.”
“Great.” Just what he needed. His mother on his ass over a woman. Eden Simon was a cultured, elegant throwback to an era long gone and she was about as different from Betty Jo Barker as salt was to pepper.
“It might be time for us to head back up north.”
Beau glanced at Tucker. He knew his brother was right—he’d overstayed his welcome. But the thought of leaving this place, of leaving Betty, didn’t sit too well. He swore as he looked back out at the crowd and turned around, eyes on Betty. She’d crawled onto the sofa and stared back at him in silence.
“Okay, I’m going to have that shower now,” Tucker said. “So you two can have some time to, ah…”
“Just go,” Beau said.
Tucker disappeared into the bedroom and Beau was left alone with Betty.
He took one last sip of coffee and set his cup onto the counter, his eyes never leaving her. She was pulling at some invisible thread, her mouth tight.
“So, we should talk,” Beau said quietly.
She nodded but didn’t look up.
Beau padded across the room and stopped an inch or so away from her. “Hey,” he said gently. “Are you okay?”
She nodded again.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
“I’m waiting for you to put some clothes on.”
He grinned at that and glanced down at his naked torso. “This too much for you?”
She shrugged and glanced up at him. “You’re standing here in your underwear, Beau. That suggests an intimacy that we don’t have. An intimacy that we can’t have.”
Beau cocked his head to the side. “I hate to point this out, darlin’, but you’re wearing my T-Shirt.” He bent low until his mouth was near her ear. “And all I can think about right now is what the hell you’re wearing underneath it.”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly and he knew she was as affected by him as he was by her. And yet…he felt her pulling away. The feeling pissed him off more than he thought it would.
“We can’t do this, Beau.”
He grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. “Then why did you come here last night? I don’t play games, Betty, so don’t go there with me.”
Something flashed in her eyes. Something hot and fierce.
She yanked her head out of his grasp and pushed him back so that she could stand. He really wished she’d stayed seated because her clean, fresh scent rolled over him. The heat from her body rolled over him.
And all of it settled between his legs, right there where his erection strained against his boxers.
Beau felt as if he was losing control of all of his shit and he wasn’t exactly sure how to react. He’d never felt so out of his element before.
“I’m not playing a game. I needed t
o be held. That’s it. That’s all. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s all,” he repeated, getting more pissed off by the second.
“Yes, Beau. That’s all. There is no more, remember? That’s how it has to be.” She pushed past him. “I guess I shouldn’t have come. I—“
“What…Matt Hawkins wasn’t available?”
“Excuse me?” She turned back. a nasty look in her eyes.
“Isn’t he your go to guy? Where was he last night? Out with someone else? What exactly is your relationship with that guy anyway? Is it the whole friends with benefits thing?” Beau couldn’t stop himself. “Or is he just a fuck buddy?” He had no idea where all of this was coming from. “Hell, he stood by while that asshole insulted you at the baseball game. If you mean so much to him, why the fuck didn’t he throw that idiot down?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The dickhead catcher at our last game. He had a hard on for you the entire time and your buddy Matt did nothing.”
“Mick’s an asshole. Matt knows to ignore him.”
For a second Beau’s mind exploded. He saw red. Pain. Anger.
“That’s Mick,” he said roughly.
Betty watched him warily. “How do you know Mick Valenti?”
He didn’t say anything for a few moments—he couldn’t speak if he wanted to—and then he stepped back, shaking his head. “I don’t know him.”
But I’d like to rip his head off. I’d like to beat his face in until he’s unrecognizable and then I’d love to shove him in a cell with ten lonely inmates and let them have at him.
“You’re being weird, Beau. We can’t do this. You don’t get to talk about Matt. You don’t get to judge what he and I share. Matt’s my best friend and I would do anything for him. Anything.” She shuddered. “What is this, Beau? Why the hell are we fighting?”
I think I’m in love with you.
But she moved away before he had a chance to say the words out loud.
“I have to go and since you’re leaving with Tucker, I guess this is goodbye.” She was all business. Cool as a cucumber.
His jaw was clamped so tight that he had to force himself to speak. “I guess it is.”
Her eyes softened a bit and that mouth that was going to haunt him trembled slightly. “This is why we can’t…we just can’t be involved Beau. You and I are a bad idea on a good day.”
She had a way with words, he’d give her that.
He thought of the paparazzi outside. Of the media storm that would descend if he were to ignore her protests. The movie, his baby that he’d slaved over, spent endless nights writing, perfecting, would become an entirely different animal altogether. And Betty’s chance at a new career, one he knew she could nail, would be tarnished.
He had to pull back. It’s what she wanted. It’s what she deserved.
“You’re right,” he said slowly.
Betty’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears and something that looked like regret. She strode toward him and he stilled when she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. He closed his eyes. Breathed her in and when his arms circled her to draw her closer, she let him.
Betty nestled into him, for just one second, and she whispered, “I know.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
BEAU SIMON LEFT New Waterford, the same way he had come—on his new custom ride with his brother, Tucker, riding wing.
Betty watched the circus at the end of Logan’s driveway dissipate within minutes of Beau leaving. His security team held back the paparazzi for as long as they could, and less than ten minutes after he’d left, there wasn’t a soul on the sidewalk.
That was good. It meant that things could get back to normal. That her life—at least for the moment—could get back to normal.
Except that it didn’t.
Her sister Bobbi warned her that a gaggle of paps were camped out near the hospital waiting on Betty to come see the new baby. They’d accosted Bobbi as she was leaving.
So Betty snuck in through the service entrance, posed for a few pictures with some very surprised maintenance staff, and managed to get in a half hour visit with her sister before spying more than a few curious souls outside Billie’s room.
“I can’t believe the fuss over a few pictures of me on the hospital steps with Beau,” Betty said as she fluffed her sister’s pillow.
Billie looked tired, but still managed to smirk. “It’s not because of those pictures.”
Betty paused, mid-fluff. “What do you mean?”
Billie’s grin widened a little more. “Some motel guy gave an interview last night. I think it was on,” she glanced over to Logan, “TMZ?”
“I don’t waste time on that crap.” Logan rolled his eyes and moved toward the door. “I’m going to get rid of these losers and check on Abel.”
“Oh,” Billie said. “I want to come.”
Logan glanced out into the hall and shook his head. “I’ll wheel you down to see him once I get rid of this crowd. You’d think the hospital would do something.”
“They’re patients,” Billie said with a chuckle. “Half of them have IV carts trailing behind them. It’s not like they’re going to kick them out or anything.”
“Well, I’m going to kick something if they don’t stop hanging around our room. Christ, Beau’s already in Canada and they think they’re going to catch sight of him here?” He grimaced and left, muttering to himself.
Betty’s stomach flipped as she gazed at her sister. “TMZ,” she repeated.
“Yep. TMZ.”
Great.
“The man said you and Beau spent the night together and he took one of their guys for a tour of the room, which looked like a bit of a mess.” Billie snorted. “Actually, it looked like a tornado had gone through it.” She paused and winked. “A sex tornado.”
Jesus fuck. Betty knew she should have taken time to clean up before they’d left for breakfast.
“The bed was unmade, the lamp was on the floor along with a few towels and I’m pretty sure the picture above the bed was crooked. Or cracked. It was probably crooked and cracked. Now everyone in America is visualizing you and Beau Simon doing it on a red with black checker sheets.”
Betty scowled.
Billie cleared her throat. “So is it true?” She took a sip of juice, a sweet smile on her face. “Did you and Beau have lots of hot and heavy sex?”
Betty glared at her sister. “That’s none of your business.”
“Hah!” Billie giggled. “I guess that means, hell yes!”
Betty grabbed her bag. “I’m leaving.”
“Don’t be mad at me Bets, I was just teasing.”
“I’m not mad,” Betty said as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “I have to work.”
Except work was no better.
Betty arrived early for her shift and had just stepped behind the bar when two men sharing a plate of wings and a jug of beer, called her over. One of them sported the shiniest bald head she’d ever seen, while the other had inky black hair several inches past his shoulders.
“What can I get you boys?” she asked, eyeing their nearly full jug. She didn’t recognize them, so she was pretty sure they weren’t locals, and if they weren’t locals…
Long-haired guy took his time, wiping his hands on a wet nap and when he finally met her gaze, she knew she was in for it.
“How about a comment on you and Beau Simon?”
Betty cleared her throat and tossed the rag she’d picked up back onto the bar. She strolled over to them, aware that they’d drawn Duke’s gaze. Her boss’s long, handlebar mustache quivered something fierce as he poured out a jug of draft for a ball team gathered at one of the tables.
He shook his head, a quick, precise movement, but Betty ignored him. She had this. She was in control.
“What do you boys want to know?” she asked, licking her lips as she leaned forward, her elbows on the bar. She smiled, a soft, sensual smile—one she’d perfected over the years—and pause
d, for just a second. “How many times we did it or what positions we used?”
Bald head guy couldn’t meet her gaze, while Long-haired guy’s eyes moved to her cleavage and then back to her wet mouth. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down nervously. She knew the effect she had on men and these two were rookies. They didn’t stand a chance.
“Ah…” He glanced at his buddy and cleared his throat.
She didn’t give him a chance to finish.
“What’s wrong, sweetie? You feeling a little hot under the collar? Do these questions about my sex life get you all…excited?”
He ran nervous hands into his hair and kept glancing at his friend. “We just…we’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s okay.”
“Huh,” Betty said, a slow grin curving her mouth. “And who exactly to you work for?”
“Hollywood Rag.”
“Hollywood Rag.”
Wow. Anger lit Betty’s fuse and she motioned Long-haired guy closer. His friend was reaching for his camera.
“Hollywood Rag, as in the magazine that ran all those nasty stories about me after my rocker friend died?”
Long-haired guy didn’t know what to say to that so he remained quiet, though his eyes were no longer on her chest. His watery brown gaze was on Betty. He knew something was up.
“Hollywood Rag, as in the piece of crap magazine that said I was a”—she made quotation marks with her fingers—“coked out has-been and would end up dead before I was thirty? Is that the magazine you work for?”
The anger that simmered beneath her skin flashed hot and she leaned in so close she could count the pimples on his chin.
“Do I look like a cokehead to you?”
Baldheaded guy had the cap off his camera and she turned to him. “If you take my picture I will shove that camera so far up your ass you won’t find it until next week. Understand?”
“Look, Betty,” long-hair guy sputtered.
“It’s Miss Barker,” she spat. “We’re not friends. We’re not on a first name basis.”
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