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She nodded but didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
Her eyes were still on his fingers.
Dark fingers against her pale skin. Dark, magical fingers that somehow had superpowers because, God, the way he was touching her…made the pain suddenly recede.
She was aware that his hand on her hip gripped her a little harder. That maybe his breaths fell a little faster.
That maybe the heat in his body was radiating out like he was a goddamn furnace, because suddenly Betty was hot. She was hot and bothered and so…hot.
It was wrong. All of this was wrong.
She wrenched her leg away, swearing under her breath as she stumbled back.
Slowly, Beau got to his feet, the air between them thick with things that she didn’t understand.
“You’ll probably need stitches,” he said after a few moments.
“I need you to leave. To leave New Waterford.”
He didn’t say anything to that. He just watched her with those eyes that made her feel small. Exposed.
He opened his mouth to say something but she didn’t give him a chance. She was done. She was tired. She was sore.
She was cranky as all hell and she had a bone to pick with her sister. At least that was something she understood. Her relationship with her sisters was complicated. It was complicated and volatile, but it was…home. It was familiar.
Beau Simon, however? He was a complication she didn’t understand and Betty didn’t have the energy or the heart to deal with him right now.
“Like you said, Beau. I’m a washed up has-been junkie-model with a reputation that would make a nun’s toes curl. So I can’t imagine what you want with me. But whatever it is? The answer is no.”
She turned without another word and headed back up the path, listening for him to follow but there was nothing.
And that didn’t surprise her at all.
Chapter Six
A LOUD BANGING brought Beau awake so fast he rolled over and fell out of bed onto his ass. Nice. Great way to start the day.
Groggily, he shook his head. He didn’t feel hungover—this was good—and with a groan he opened his eyes and squinted.
Sunlight streamed in from the window across the room, falling onto a bed that didn’t look familiar. With a curse, he got up and stretched his long arms above his head as the fog receded from his brain. He was staying at Logan Forest’s. The guesthouse above the garage.
Right.
The pounding didn’t abate and, naked, he glanced around until he spied his jeans draped over a chair near the window. Forgoing boxers, he pulled them on and trudged out into the main room. It was a large open concept area filled with dark wood and granite, and the artwork on the walls was intriguing. He’d noticed them the day before but hadn’t had time to study them closely.
Apparently one of the Barker girls dated the artist and former occupant of the loft—Shane Gallagher, if he remembered correctly.
Beau headed for the stairs, the pounding louder as he rounded the top step, taking them two at a time until he reached the main floor. He swung the door open and caught sight of long, dark hair, big blue eyes and a smile that was wide and welcoming.
It was Billie. Logan’s fiancé.
His gaze traveled down. A very pregnant Billie at that.
“Good morning,” she said lightly, as if trying to catch her breath, one hand cradling her belly. She wore a thin T-shirt that said, HOCKEY OR NOTHING, and a pair of cotton shorts that showed off long, tanned legs.
“Hey,” he answered, his voice still rough from sleep. “Thanks.”
It was barely 8 a.m. and already sticky. He knew it was going to be another hot one, but with the sun shining and not a cloud in the sky it was hard not to enjoy it.
