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“I’m not here for the bike.”
That got her attention and she stared up at him hoping like hell the fear inside her wasn’t showing.
“You’re not,” she answered, haltingly.
“No, darlin’.” Beau cocked his head to the side, that smile still in place as he spoke intimately, as if they were the only two souls on the sidewalk.
“I’m here for you.”
Chapter Two
BEAU SIMON WAS one lucky son-of-a-bitch—had been since the day he was born. That illustrious event had occurred during a hurricane in the fall of ’81, on Florida’s Gulf Coast.
Inside the family compound, after hours of labor, with no power and no way of getting to a hospital, Beau Daniel Simon finally entered the world, his head touched by sunlight streaming in through a hole in the storm.
His mother, Eden DuRocher-Simon, welcomed ten pounds of wiggling baby boy into the arms of a family known throughout America, as those ‘damn Southern Kennedys’.
Married just out of college to Noah Simon, heir to a vast fortune made primarily from old money rolled into real estate, Eden gave Noah a roster of children, including the aforementioned Beau, twins Tucker and Teague a year later, the oldest child Jack, and the youngest, Grace.
The Simons’ had money, prestige, and a royal lineage on Eden’s side that could be traced back three centuries to Charlemagne, France. Firmly entrenched in the political arena, there had been several senators and even a governor in the family tree. No one had made a run for the White House as of yet, though it wasn’t a secret that Beau’s oldest brother, Jack, had his sights set on that lofty seat.
Yep. Beau was a lucky son-of-a-bitch. He’d grown up in a loving home, with parents who were strong enough to buck convention and let their children find their own way.
In the beginning, for Beau, it had been about sports—baseball to be exact. He’d played college ball in sunny California and had been drafted in the first round to his dream team, the San Francisco Giants. He worked hard and made their pitching rotation, quickly becoming their number one starter.
Beau Simon was the darling of the MLB, with his Hollywood looks, charisma and talent—he was the face of the future. His third year in, he helped the Giants win the big prize, though while playing the American League Champs in the final game, he’d made a run to second base and a bad slide ended his career much too soon.
But being the lucky son-of-a-bitch that he was, the surgeon who’d treated him in the hospital was a newlywed and her husband, Angelo Rossi, a Hollywood director, just happened to be visiting her when Beau had been brought in.
The two men bonded in the ER over their shared love of sports and eclectic taste in music and movies. Three months later, Beau was making the first of a blockbuster series of spy movies.
Beau had found his calling. With his good looks and uncanny ability to choose the right roles, he quickly climbed to the top of the Hollywood heap, his movies grossing billions worldwide. His name was mentioned along with the likes of Pitt, Clooney, and Hanks.
He’d picked up an Oscar for best actor. Graced the cover of Entertainment Weekly more times than he could count, and was the newly minted king of the Forbes list of most influential movers and shakers. And now he was about to embark on his most am
bitious project yet. Directing a film he’d written.
Yep. He was one lucky son-of-a-bitch and he should be happier than a pig in shit.
But he wasn’t. Hell no.
He had one more loose end to tie up, and Betty Jo Barker just happened to be the loose end.
* * *
BEAU’S CELL BUZZED and he scooped it from his pocket, nodding to Logan Forest as he turned away. After the excitement downtown, both his car and Betty’s had been towed to Forest’s shop. She of course had refused to see a doctor and Logan had sent her home with one of his guys.
The mechanic had been over-fucking-joyed. Beau had been pissed.
Beau’s new ride was parked in the last bay and his eyes ran over it appreciatively. At least one thing had turned out right. He couldn’t wait to hit the open road with nothing but two wheels between him and the pavement.
“Yeah,” he said into his phone.
“You on your way?” It was his brother, Tucker.
Beau ran a hand across his chin and frowned. “Not yet.”
“Your loss. The fish are biting and the women…” A low whistle filled Beau’s ear. “Well, they grow them real sexy up here in Canada.”
