Conceal (The Barker Triplets 3)

Beau had crossed a line and she had paid the price. And for just one moment her soul had been bared to him. He’d seen it. He knew it existed. But back then, he was convinced she was a no talent fuck up who had decided she could open her legs to just about anyone and get a part in a movie.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

He thought of the bruise on her jaw and the fragility he’d glimpsed in her eyes a few days ago and damned if Beau didn’t want to do something to wipe it away. To ease the loneliness he sensed inside her.

Tucker waited for an answer that Beau wasn’t willing to give.

Mostly because he wasn’t exactly sure what to say.

“Fine then,” Tucker said grumpily. “But just so you know? Those women last night were primed and ready, brother. Primed and ready.”

Beau let his line fly out over the water and grinned. It was good to see Tucker socializing. Getting past all that darkness from last year.

The two boys had spent the evening in the small town of Bala, at a little hole in the wall pub where Beau managed to pass the evening in peace. There were no autograph requests, no photo ops or people staring. There’d just been him, his brother and a jug of beer.

And two chesty blondes.

Two chesty blondes that the Simon boys left behind.

“Especially the one with the big…smile,” Tucker said as he cast his line.

“Two words, brother. Lane Summers.”

Tucker made a face. “Seriously? Lane Summers? Come on, Beau. I know she’s hot and all but man, she’s not exactly…how can I say this without insulting you.” Tucker’s dark eyes flashed as he shook his head. “Hell there is no way to say this without insulting you. That woman is dumber than a doorknob.”

“Yeah, well, she’s easy to be around.”

“That’s because there’s no work involved. Where’s the fun in that? Hell, Marley and I used to…”

And just like that the ease of their morning slipped away.

The smile on Tucker’s face faded as he sat back in the boat and stared out over the water. The small rolling waves lapped across the hull as the boat gently rocked.

“We used to butt heads a lot,” Tucker murmured.

Beau watched his brother closely, wishing he could erase the last couple of years.

Marley Easton and Tucker Simon had met in college. She’d been into marine biology and Tucker had just been killing time, majoring in business studies. She’d been small, dark, with an easy smile and cute dimples. The kind of girl that brought out the protective urge in any man, but the kind of girl who had real strength.

Tucker had fallen hard and the two of them had become engaged right after graduation. They’d been married almost immediately—even though both Marley’s parents and the Simons thought they should wait. But Tucker had always been pigheaded and for the next few years things had been great.

Marley had accepted a job at Sea World in Orlando, not too far from the Simon family compound, and Tucker had joined an elite sports agency. In only a few years he had managed to sign several big time ball players, including a few hockey superstars. He was savvy, smart, and totally in love with his wife.

But then one hot summer night, Marley had chartered a small plane along with a colleague, their intent to fly out to a small island in the gulf where several Pilot whales had reportedly beached themselves. It was a routine sort of thing, but the plane had disappeared and Tucker’s life had pretty much fallen apart.

“I don’t think the fish are biting,” Tucker mumbled.

Tucker was dark, where Beau was light, though they both shared their mother’s intense blue eyes. At the moment, Tucker’s thick black hair hung past his shoulders, his jaw shadowed with several days worth of stubble. Tall, he was about the same height as Beau—a few inches over six feet—and like all the Simon men, athletic in build with a lean body, and defined muscles.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Beau said suddenly, feeling a spark shoot through him as his thoughts began to whirl.

“Huh?” Tucker glanced his way. “Go, where? We’ve got the cottage to ourselves ‘til Jack shows up.”

Beau began to reel in his line. “I told you about that charity ball tournament I agreed to appear in, right?”

Tucker nodded. “That’s not ‘til Saturday.”

“Yeah,” Beau answered. “But there’s this kick-off barbecue thing tomorrow night. I wasn’t planning on going…” He shrugged. “Might be fun. It’s a small town. Kind of reminds me of St. Vincent’s. Why don’t you come with me? Play in the tournament?”