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And then a pair of long, muscular, jean clad legs slid out of the car, followed by a tall, lean, body, with wide shoulders that stretched beneath a tight white T-shirt. Longish blond hair touched the tops of those shoulders.
Longish blond hair that looked familiar.
Betty swallowed, but her throat was dry and she was pretty sure she made some kind of pathetic noise. Her eyes slowly traveled up. Up to the darker stubble that dressed a classic chin. Up to a mouth that was spread into a sardonic sort of smile, one that emphasized wide cheekbones, and showed off a dimple on the right side.
Up to the eyes that were hidden behind black sunglasses.
Her heart stopped beating. That had to be the reason she felt faint. Or maybe it was the sun beating down on her.
Or maybe it was because as the man moved toward her, his stride slow and sure, he took off those damn black sunglasses and tucked a chunk of that shining hair behind his ear.
She knew the eyes would be not quite blue and not quite green either. She knew they would be piercing and electric.
Betty leaned back against her car because her legs were suddenly weak. They felt like spaghetti. Limp, overcooked spaghetti.
Maybe he wouldn’t remember her. Or maybe that night had never happened. Maybe she’d been high or drunk and the images in her mind—the ones she tried to forget about but couldn’t—weren’t real.
Maybe all of this would just go away and Betty Jo Barker could go about her pathetic business as if nothing had just changed.
Except when he stopped a few inches from her, the sinking feeling in her gut told her that she was wrong. Way wrong.
Everything had changed.
His hand reached for her, the tattoo that adorned his forearm, familiar. Oh, so familiar. The black ink was scorched into her brain.
She shook her head and tried to speak but nothing came out.
“You’re hurt.”
She flinched at the sound of his voice. The timber was deep, with a hint of rasp. It made her think of things she didn’t want to think about. It made her feel and that was a problem. A big problem. Betty didn’t do well when feelings were concerned. She much rather preferred the numb cocoon she nestled inside most of the time.
“No, I’m—“
And then his fingers were pushing her hair from her eyes, and pressing gently against her forehead. Shock at his touch kept her silent and her chest tightened.
“You’re bleeding. We should get you to a doctor.”
Stupidly, she stared at the crimson stain on his fingers, aware that he’d moved closer. Aware that the entire sidewalk behind them was full of people, and that they were staring at her.
Whipping her head back, Betty turned and whispered fiercely. “I’m fine.”
For a second, there was nothing.
And then Beau Simon leaned so close that she could smell the mint gum he favored. A heartbeat passed—maybe two—before he spoke, his warm breath on her cheek conjuring up those damn memories again. Those feelings she wanted to keep buried.
“It’s been a long time, Betty.”
“Why are you here?” she asked, pushing at him so that he was forced to move back an inch or so. She couldn’t handle this. Him. Not now.
He smiled. That devastating smile that had won him legions of fans the world over, and it seemed she wasn’t the only one who was working it.
“I suppose some folks would say that I’m here to pick up a bike.”
Oh. Right. The bike.
“I can tell you how to get to Logan’s shop.” She nodded toward his car. “He can fix whatever damage there is at the same time and you can be on your way.”
His even white teeth flashed as he whispered so low, she barely heard him.
