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A notification pings from my phone. It’s a voicemail from Mr. Fitch, a competitor only an hour away, congratulating me on taking over the family business. Then he offers a time to get together to discuss a joint venture between our two brands.
He doesn’t answer when I call him back, so I leave a message. “Thank you. I hope to be able to fill my dad’s shoes while he’s away and for now, I’m going to keep the status quo. We’ll talk soon.”
The house is empty, and I’m not sure why it bothers me. I lived alone in Nashville for years. Maybe it was because my apartment was in the city, and you could always hear the humming of cars and the occasional person screaming.
Tonight, the silence is eerie, being stuck in a mansion with no one home is a bit creepy. I’m alone with my fucking thoughts. Until I spot a truck pulling in.
I place the bottle on my shelf, then stand to the side of the window, watching the navy metallic truck come closer.
Beau’s hair is cut short around his ears but the blonde hair on top is longer and gelled to perfection. His face was still tanned by the fall sun. He’s layered a long-sleeved denim shirt over a white tee, and he has the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. From here, I can see how it stretches across his biceps and shoulders. He’s the definition of a man. I blow out a breath, stepping back from the curtained window.
The doorbell sounds, and I swing it open. My mind reacts to him like it did from the time we were twelve to eighteen, knowing he would never hurt me physically.
My hopeful smile fades when I see his jaw clenching and his lips drawn into his mouth.
“Van…Ms. Barron, your dad’s gone AWOL, and you just open the door,” he says as his eyes penetrate through me.
He can’t call meMs. Barron. He’s creating space between us, making me feel like I never meant anything to him, and it makes me madder than a wet hen. “You know what? I don’t need you or this.”
He steps past me and immediately checks out the touchpad of the security system. His profile shows his brows pointed toward his nose, and he’s mumbling inaudibly.
When he turns around, I’ve moved across the room. Being too close to Beau Landry is a disaster waiting to happen. I’ll beg him to forgive me and to give us another chance. And if he’s still the same Beau underneath those bulked up muscles, underneath the jaw carved from stone, then the idea of me pleading on bended knee would likely repel him, casting a shadow on any potential connection that’s still there between us.
Beau never forced anything between us. He’s a believer in “what’s supposed to happen, will happen.”. A gnawing pain knocks against my rib cage. Does he think my error in judgment wassupposed tohappen?
“It’s not the suitcase to the nuclear codes, you know.” I sass.
As if in disbelief, he shakes his head, silently expressing his disappointment. “I shouldn’t have expected you to take this seriously.”
“Damn, Beau. Do you want me to be someone I’m not? I can’t change my personality.”
He scoffs. “You forget, I know you. I know you’re scared and you’re just putting on an act.”
“You don’t know me anymore. You made sure of it.”
He runs one hand over the blonde and brown stubble on his cheeks, no doubt measuring his response. That’s what he does. He thinks everything through and decides on a strategy. With everything. It’s so fucking annoying.
“I did. I went to serve my country while you—did whatever you did. I told you we’re not talking about the past.”
“Fine. Scotty said you have a corporate team building business. What sparked the idea?” I ask, changing the subject.
He sighs, heavily. “As seals, we were always training our body and minds on how to work together and be successful. Trust is a huge part of success in relationships. And business is about relationships.”
My mouth tugs to one side as I take in his words. “Hmm. You’re right.”
“I’m just going to look around.” As he strides past me, I notice how the pockets on his jeans sit low, fading into the curve of his perfect ass. The tension between us is palpable. We can’t have a conversation unless it’s about the threats against me. One sentence is all he gives me.
This is the one place Beau has never been. He may know every detail about me from ages twelve to eighteen, but he has zero information about this house. I watch him wander around the downstairs, checking all of the locks on the doors and windows. He opens them all and jots down notes in his notepad.
“Where’s your bedroom?”
“Upstairs. Do you want me to show you?” I ask with a lilt to my voice, needing to cut the tension. Guess what? It doesn’t work.
There’s not a trace of laughter when he responds, “No. I’ll go by myself.”
He’s gone about ten minutes, spending time opening and closing doors and windows again. Beau must not have seen the black lace bra hanging over the chaise lounge. He loved when I wore black lace, and to this day, when I slip into something similar, I remember the way his gaze turned me inside out with desire.
The padding of footsteps crossing the hardwood floor stalls and my breath catches.
