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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.
