Conceal (The Barker Triplets 3)

“I don’t know you,” she answered.

There was something incredibly sensual about the way she looked right now. That hair. Those eyes. That mouth. She stared up at him, licked those lips that begged to be touched and sent a message with the way she tilted her head, and thrust out her breasts.

As if she wanted him.

He knew it was bullshit.

Beau shrugged. “I’m no different than anyone else.”

She snorted. Actually, snorted.

“Oh, Beau Simon.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and again with the slow roll of his name. “I know you’re blonde and everything, but sweetie, if you actually believe you’re the same as anyone else on this planet, you’re a lot dumber than I thought.”

Okay, she was really starting to piss him off. What the fuck was up with the Jeckyl and Hyde routine?

And when the hell had anyone ever called him dumb?

She shook her head and lifted her chin. “You’re a Simon. Your family has more money than God and I’ll bet that on the day you were born, your ass was hit with the lucky stick. Hell, I’d bet it was hit more than once. Jesus, everything you touch turns to gold. Your baseball career---”

“Ended way too soon,” he inserted, getting more pissed off by the second.

Betty tossed her head, sending that halo of dark silk flying again. He was sure she’d done it on purpose. And why wouldn’t she? It was goddamn distracting.

“Yes, and I’m sure poor Beau Simon is sad that his baseball career ended before he had a chance to set all kinds of records. You know, because being one of the biggest movie stars on the planet sucks donkey balls.”

She rested her hands on her hips. “Have you ever failed at anything?”

She was condescending. Arrogant. Sexy as hell and—he couldn’t forget—smart, conniving, and heartless. His blood began to boil as he took a step closer to her.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

She arched a brow. “And you know even less about me.”

He flashed a grin. His chance at a constructive conversation was long gone, but he didn’t care. And maybe Beau should have thought a bit about why he felt the need to keep on pushing Betty.

But he didn’t. Hell no. He just knew that he was in the mood to fight and she was in his way.

“I know what eve

ryone else knows. You’re a washed up model who couldn’t land a new gig if it fell in your lap. Not after what happened in Paris. Your nose isn’t clean, you like your booze a little too much. You’re pretty particular about the guys you screw because you only screw the ones who can give you something. Which means you’re cold and selfish. Sound about right?”

She shrugged as if she didn’t care.

“I’ve seen you in action, remember?”

Her mouth tightened, those eyes glistening in the dim light. “You don’t know shit,” she said so softly he barely heard her.

“Are you going to deny it? You forget I know what you’re all about. I’ve been there. You use everything you have to play with a guy’s head and then when it gets out of hand…when it gets real and ugly, you cry wolf. Is it a high? Knowing all you’ve got to do is dangle that prime pussy in front of any man and they’ll fall at your feet?”

He gestured back toward the river. “Those guys back there? What was that about? You deciding all of a sudden you weren’t in the mood for more than one dick?”

She gasped and this time she couldn’t hide what was in her eyes. Hurt. It was gone, just as fast as it had come, but it had been there nonetheless.

It surprised the hell out of him. Beau swore and ran his hands though his hair, resting the flat of his palm against the back of his head. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t that guy to throw stones.

What the hell was wrong with him? Jesus Christ, his buttons hadn’t been pushed like this since…shit, since he’d been with her before.

“Look,” he said. “That wasn’t fair.”