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His eyes scrunched, and he studied me. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”
I shook my head and picked up my pace. The last thing I wanted was for him toexplain. I felt stupid for feeling jealous of his relationship with Daphne. Whatever was or had been between them was entirely different than what had ever been between us. We werefriends. Nothing more. So why did the idea of them having a falling out that would eventually lead to them making up upset me to the point I was near tears? I wasn’t interested in Beau romantically. I’d never been. So why would I care if he and Daphne got back together?
Like earlier, I considered what I’d do if that happened while we were still in Las Vegas. Which meant tonight. Would she call? Text? Then would Beau sneak out of the room to meet her? What if I woke tomorrow morning—a ridiculous notion since I probably wouldn’t sleep—and he hadn’t returned?
I’d go home. Whatever it took to get there. Except by plane, of course. Or with Beau. Then I’d call the lawyer handling the inheritance and tell him there had to be a mistake. I didn’t know Cena Covert. I’d never even heard the name, and I didn’t want anything from her.
Then, when Wanda and I returned to my apartment, my safe haven, I’d let myself cry in a way I couldn’t now. As much as I didn’t understand my feelings, if I succumbed to my emotions now, my tears would probably send Beau racing as far and as fast away from me as he could get.
“Samantha, stop, dammit!” Beau shouting at me only made me pick up my pace. “Bloody hell,” I heard him mutter as he raced around me and stopped. “What is going on?” he demanded.
“Don’t use me to make Daphne jealous,” I snapped.
His mouth gaped. “I wasn’t.”
“You put me in the middle.”
“I didn’t.” His head cocked.
“Go find her. I’m going home.” I ducked around him and kept walking. Nothing looked familiar, but I hoped whichever way I went, I’d end up in the hotel’s lobby.
Beau refused to relent. Instead of grabbing my arm or standing in front of me, he maneuvered me into a hallway, then put his arms on either side of me so I was trapped against the wall. “Explain yourself,” he demanded.
My eyes scrunched. “Let me go, Beau.”
He shook his head. “I’ve spent the last twenty minutes feeling as though I’ve entered an alternate universe where nothing you say makes any bloody sense. Would youpleasetell me what’s got you so rattled?”
“I’m not comfortable here. How many times do I have to say it? I want to go home. I don’t care about the inheritance. I don’t want any part of it. Money may be what your world spins around, but not mine.”
Pain flashed in Beau’s eyes, and while my voice was raised, he spoke softly. “I’m sorry for anything I’m doing—have done—to make you feel this way.” He shook his head. “We never should’ve stopped in Las Vegas. You were right when you first said anywhere but here. We’ll leave now.”
“What? No. It’s the middle of the night. And you don’t have to leave just because I am.”
“What would you have me do? Return to the room and crawl into bed? Sleep the night away? As if that’s been possible since my mum died—unless I’m with you. And what will you do?”
“Take a bus.”
Beau leaned forward, rested his forehead against mine, then kissed where they’d touched. “We’re both emotional, tired, and hungry. Let’s tackle the latter, rest, then start over tomorrow.”
My eyes met his. “But—”
“Please, Sam. I’m begging you to allow me the chance to make this right.”
I was tired. Exhausted, actually. And starving.
“How’s a burger sound?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.
“Really good.”
Beau took my hand and led me down a different corridor and outside. He raised his hand, and a cab pulled up. “Mary’s,” he said to the driver.
The man smiled. “You don’t sound like a local.”
Beau shrugged. “I know my way around.”
We drove in the opposite direction of the bright lights of the main drag and pulled up to a place that looked like a strip club. Beau smiled. “Trust me, okay?”
As if I had a choice.
