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“But you enjoyed yourself back then, right?”
He avoids answering, choosing to shift gears and press hard on the gas. His truck whirrs past car after car. I roll down the window and scream, “Wooo!”
The secret service type of sunglasses he’s wearing don’t hide the creases around the edges of his eyes as he grins. But I’d be cray-cray if I thought he could love me again. Too much time has passed. Looking like that, he’s probably had more women than I have fingers and toes, and I have all twenty.
We reach the club where I’m meeting Rome. Beau jumps out of the truck and opens my door before the valet attendant reaches the passenger side. He tosses the keys to the handsome young man with the red vest. Dripping with confidence, Beau’s fingertips lightly push between my bare shoulder blades, leading me through the covered walkway to the entrance of the club. My feet stutter as his arm extends around me.
“Are you okay?” he asks as he swivels until we’re face-to-face.
And the next second, he smooths a curl, wrapping it around his finger before letting it go. All of his concentration is on this one section of my hair. The chatter from other patrons and cars ceases, and every other noise fades away as I get lost in his gaze.Kiss me.Is he remembering what we meant to each other?
But instead of kissing me, he speaks. “Be alert. If anything seems out of place, curl your finger through your hair.”
Hope is not for the weak, and right now, I’m anything but strong. His tender touch was a signal for my safety, not an indication that he still has lingering feelings for me.
Quit reading into his actions.
After acknowledging his directions, we walk through the iron gate where a door attendant checks my name on the list. “Welcome, Ms. Barron. Mr. Lennox is in the VIP area, but he didn’t mention you would have an…escort.”
Since Beau wants to keep our little arrangement strictly professional, I say, “Oh, he’s just my bodyguard.” Out of the corner of my eye, Beau lifts his chin and then moves it from left to right—clearly affected by my definition of him. If he can so easily dismiss me, then I need to move forward.
“Yes ma’am.”
I’ve never been anywhere like this. It’s an upscale private club that has stone covering one wall; it must be a couple of hundred feet deep. Amber sconces placed in a chevron pattern give the space an incandescent glow. There’s a huge bourbon barrel bar in the center with several gorgeous men and women bartenders.
But when I look at the other side, there are rooms made of velvet overlooking the dance floor. The molding underneath the rails is so ornate it looks like the box seats of an opera house. Not the Kissing Springs Opera House, but the big city type.
Beau grabs my elbow. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“You’re paranoid.” And even though he won’t admit it, he doesn’t want me to be here with another man, especially in his presence. He forgets I know him just as well as he knows me.
“There are too many entry and exit points. Too much access.”
“Access to what?”
His eyes roam over my body. “You.”
“Beau, this isn’t war. You need to relax. I’m having a business meeting.”
The VIP hostess escorts us to a private elevator, and Beau peppers her with questions.
“Are there stairs also? If so, where are they? Oh, and what about other elevators, where are those? I notice you have a key, do you need it to leave?” He rattles the questions off so fast I can barely keep up.
She doesn’t seem disturbed by his questions. Maybe there are celebrities here all the time.
“Mr. Lennox, your guest has arrived.”
Rome Lennox stands to greet me, and I realize he’s the only person I’ve ever met that could give Beau Landry a run for his money. Damn, he’s hot. He’s got black hair layered with curls to match mine, and his light-blue shirt is tailored to fit his body exactly. Why does a well-tailored dress shirt curl my toes?
He surrounds me with his arms, squeezing me. “I haven’t seen you since college. You are stunning, especially in that dress.”
A blush. “You look fantastic, too.”
He doesn’t introduce himself to Beau. “Rome, this is Beau, my bodyguard. Beau, this is my friend, Rome. We’ve been friends since college, but he also owns twenty private clubs, like this one. The Velvetere is gorgeous.”
The men shake hands, but Beau’s scruffy jaw clenches. Rome motions for me to have a seat. Beau leans down, whispering in my ear, “Remember the code.”
The area is probably twenty by twenty feet, so Beau stands at the edge, surveying the crowd, leaving me to our business. The Navy has certainly bulked Beau up, his pants mold to his form, revealing a tight ass, and I have to practically tear my gaze away.
