Conceal (The Barker Triplets 3)

“Yeah? Maybe you should just fuck the hell off,” Mick sneered, not even bothering to glance up at the intruder.

“Maybe. But I gotta tell you it’s not gonna happen tonight.”

“Holy shit!” Nate exclaimed. “Beau Simon.”

Mick’s fingers loosened and Betty yanked her hand from his, rubbing her wrist as she took a step back, eyes on Beau.

His ball cap was pulled down low so she couldn’t see his eyes, but his mouth was set in a frown. He still hadn’t shaven and his chin was darkened by stubble. It gave him an edge he didn’t need. The man was already sexy as hell, the scruffy look only added to it.

He wore a white button down shirt, opened at the collar, over a pair of faded, worn jeans. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, and that damn tattoo caught her eye.

He flexed his hands and strode to her, stopping an inch or so away, his musky, male scent filling her nose and setting off all kinds of shit inside her that she didn’t want to deal with.

Betty didn’t want to deal with any of this. Jesus. H. Christ. She would just about kill for a hit or a shot of tequila. Anything to take off the edge and make her forget.

“I’ve been looking for you.” Beau said.

“Really.” Betty clenched her teeth together so tightly that pain shot up her jaw. “And how did you manage to fight your way through all your fans?” Her words dripped in sarcasm but he ignored it.

A slow smile swept over his face and Betty swallowed thickly, glad she couldn’t see those blue eyes. She knew what was there.

“Keeping an eye on me?”

“More like trying to figure out how to avoid you.”

Why the fuck couldn’t everyone just leave her the hell alone? She ran fingers along her forehead and grimaced. The pain was getting worse. Damn, but she needed some meds. The bump on her head the day before must have been harder than she’d thought.

“Are you leaving?” Beau asked.

“I was trying to.”

Mick glared at her, all pretense of seduction or whatever the hell it was he’d planned, long gone. She saw the mean stre

ak in his eyes and for a moment, reality faded. She remembered what it felt like to feel that mean streak up close and personal.

God, would her past never let her move forward?

“Hey,” Beau said, his voice breaking into her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

“I…”

All of a sudden the music blasted and the sound of the crowd behind them swelled. Her chest tightened and her throat felt like it was closing up.

Sweat beaded along her forehead and the air…that hot, thick air—she couldn’t get it into her lungs.

“I…”

Count, you idiot. Count! There was no way she was going to lose her shit in front of Beau Simon. No. Way. In. Hell.

Betty licked her lips and counted to ten.

She did it again and nearly wept with relief when she inhaled a great gulp of air and shoved her way past everyone.

“I don’t need anyone,” she said hoarsely. “I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. Betty was far from fine.

Betty was so far from fine that she wouldn’t know what fine looked like if it kicked her in the ass and sat her down for a chat.