“This was supposed to be easy. Just give you a fucking message and get the fuck out of town.”
Wow, not only was he stone cold, he apparently liked the F-bombs. “Sorry.” She shrugged. “But you can leave now. You gave me the message from Sadie. I’ll be okay.” And she would. She’d been taking care of herself for the past ten years. Most of her life, really. She’d figure out something. She didn’t need help. Not from anyone. Especially from a man who was so cold he probably crapped ice cubes.
Chapter Four
H e was hot. The kind of hot that had nothing to do with the ninety-degree temperature outside. Beau Junger directed the air vents toward his face and glanced across the rented Escalade at the twenty-eight-year-old sacked out on his leather seat. A white iPad sat on her lap and a pair of purple ear buds plugged her head with music. As far as Beau had been able to surmise from her annoying singing before she’d fallen asleep, she listened to indie crap.
Right before she’d crashed, she’d taken the rubber band from her ponytail and pulled her hair over one shoulder. The long black strands lay on her tan skin and curled beneath the curve of her breast. Shiny like the night before.
Damn. Beau pulled his gaze from her hair and smooth skin and turned his attention to the interstate heading toward Naples and Tampa. She was twenty-eight. Even if he wasn’t determined to keep it in his pants and wait until sex meant something, she was too young. Much too young for him to have thoughts of his fingers tangled in her hair.
He scowled and moved his head from side to side to get the kinks out. How had this happened? How had things gone bat-shit sideways so fast? He’d agreed to do Vince a simple favor. Vince was a good guy. A friend of Blake’s. Beau was just supposed to give Stella the message that her sister wanted to contact her. Easy. Nothing to it, and he’d had business in Miami and Tampa anyway. He’d provided security a few nights before at the wedding of a rock star in Key Biscayne. Except for the helos buzzing overhead, drunken guests, and partiers having sex in the bushes, the event had been blessedly uneventful. No breach in security or punches thrown.
He couldn’t say the same for the favor he’d agreed to do for Vince. He’d known within minutes of arriving at Ricky’s Rock ’N’ Roll that he was walking into a goat screw. His first clue had been the drag queen in tight leather cracking a whip on stage. He should have turned around and walked out, but he’d never been a guy to give up. To call it quits. Not even when the queen with the green lips had called him Joe and wanted to see his “weapon.” But being propositioned by a queen hadn’t annoyed him as much as the men groping each other around him. He’d bugged out to escape all the writhing and dry humping. He’d grabbed a bite to eat at a Cuban café and then he’d waited it out in the parking lot behind the bar. Hanging out in the lot, making calls and catching up on business, had been preferable to hanging with queens and horny gay men.
He could understand a guy being born gay. He wasn’t into other men, but understood the biology of it. What he didn’t understand was why a guy would put on a dress and heels and purposely tape his junk to his ass. Nor did he understand dry humping in public. Gay or straight, he’d never been into public displays of affection. He wasn’t a prude, far from it. He just didn’t understand why anyone would get himself all worked up in public. Get busy at a party or on a dance floor when there was probably a perfectly good bedroom or hotel or closet nearby.
Beau adjusted the vent beneath the steering column and glanced at his passenger out of the corners of his eyes before returning his gaze to the road. Her face was turned away from his, her head resting back against the seat. She was blessedly quiet for once. She was asleep, but she’d had to wonder what the hell she going to do with
Wow, not only was he stone cold, he apparently liked the F-bombs. “Sorry.” She shrugged. “But you can leave now. You gave me the message from Sadie. I’ll be okay.” And she would. She’d been taking care of herself for the past ten years. Most of her life, really. She’d figure out something. She didn’t need help. Not from anyone. Especially from a man who was so cold he probably crapped ice cubes.
Chapter Four
H e was hot. The kind of hot that had nothing to do with the ninety-degree temperature outside. Beau Junger directed the air vents toward his face and glanced across the rented Escalade at the twenty-eight-year-old sacked out on his leather seat. A white iPad sat on her lap and a pair of purple ear buds plugged her head with music. As far as Beau had been able to surmise from her annoying singing before she’d fallen asleep, she listened to indie crap.
Right before she’d crashed, she’d taken the rubber band from her ponytail and pulled her hair over one shoulder. The long black strands lay on her tan skin and curled beneath the curve of her breast. Shiny like the night before.
Damn. Beau pulled his gaze from her hair and smooth skin and turned his attention to the interstate heading toward Naples and Tampa. She was twenty-eight. Even if he wasn’t determined to keep it in his pants and wait until sex meant something, she was too young. Much too young for him to have thoughts of his fingers tangled in her hair.
He scowled and moved his head from side to side to get the kinks out. How had this happened? How had things gone bat-shit sideways so fast? He’d agreed to do Vince a simple favor. Vince was a good guy. A friend of Blake’s. Beau was just supposed to give Stella the message that her sister wanted to contact her. Easy. Nothing to it, and he’d had business in Miami and Tampa anyway. He’d provided security a few nights before at the wedding of a rock star in Key Biscayne. Except for the helos buzzing overhead, drunken guests, and partiers having sex in the bushes, the event had been blessedly uneventful. No breach in security or punches thrown.
He couldn’t say the same for the favor he’d agreed to do for Vince. He’d known within minutes of arriving at Ricky’s Rock ’N’ Roll that he was walking into a goat screw. His first clue had been the drag queen in tight leather cracking a whip on stage. He should have turned around and walked out, but he’d never been a guy to give up. To call it quits. Not even when the queen with the green lips had called him Joe and wanted to see his “weapon.” But being propositioned by a queen hadn’t annoyed him as much as the men groping each other around him. He’d bugged out to escape all the writhing and dry humping. He’d grabbed a bite to eat at a Cuban café and then he’d waited it out in the parking lot behind the bar. Hanging out in the lot, making calls and catching up on business, had been preferable to hanging with queens and horny gay men.
He could understand a guy being born gay. He wasn’t into other men, but understood the biology of it. What he didn’t understand was why a guy would put on a dress and heels and purposely tape his junk to his ass. Nor did he understand dry humping in public. Gay or straight, he’d never been into public displays of affection. He wasn’t a prude, far from it. He just didn’t understand why anyone would get himself all worked up in public. Get busy at a party or on a dance floor when there was probably a perfectly good bedroom or hotel or closet nearby.
Beau adjusted the vent beneath the steering column and glanced at his passenger out of the corners of his eyes before returning his gaze to the road. Her face was turned away from his, her head resting back against the seat. She was blessedly quiet for once. She was asleep, but she’d had to wonder what the hell she going to do with
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