Beneath Your Beautiful, page 22
I gently pry Amalee’s arms from around my waist. She’s being overly familiar, and I don’t appreciate it. However, it’s for Cleo’s benefit, not mine. She’s trying to stake her claim in pink sticky lip gloss and sharp nails.
Sam looks totally out of his depth as he leads us to a booth. Cleo stands to the side and waits for Sam to slide in. He doesn’t. He just blinks like a fucking idiot. Cleo doesn’t like being trapped, and with his sheltered upbringing, he can’t comprehend why she is waiting.
I untangle myself from Amalee and slide into the booth in front of Cleo, catching her hand in mine and dragging her in next to me before nodding at the seat across from us. Amalee huffs, then realizes she broke her perfect princess facade and takes the seat opposite mine with a false smile in place.
“What’s good here?” Cleo asks, staring at the laminated menu with a frown.
“The salads are amazing,” Amalee says, batting her eyelashes like someone blew dust in them.
“The salads are shit. Anything butchered is excellent—the steak and ribs in particular,” I mutter. Cleo snorts and slaps a hand over her mouth, her eyes crinkling in the corners.
“I could order for you?” Sam says.
Cleo’s hand drops and she slow blinks at him. I grimace and drag my phone from my pocket before shooting him a GIF of someone shoveling a grave hole. “No, I can manage to pick my own food like a big girl.”
“Of course, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” she cuts him off. “Asking for recommendations isn’t the same as ordering for someone. That kind of control is—”
“Sexy,” Amalee breathes in my direction. Cleo and I side-eye each other. We are on the wrong date, and we both know it, but the two people actually suited aren’t even aware of each other. Sam’s head dips as he reads my message.
“Do you want to order for me?” Amalee asks in my direction while doing that ridiculous thing with her eyes.
“No. Do you have something in your eye?”
She giggles. Why the fuck she thinks that’s funny, I will never know. “I’m not sure. Do you want to check?”
Cleo hides her face behind her menu, her lips pressing together as her shoulders shake against mine. This is going to be a very long night.
My hand drops to Cleo’s thigh, and I skate my hand under her dress to grip her bare flesh. Jesus, she’s got soft skin. Her laugh dies, and she sucks in a breath. If I have to suffer, so does she.
The waitress appears with a pop of gum and a bored expression. “Ready to order?”
“I’ll have the Caesar salad, hold the dressing,” Amalee says with a smile at me. You can hold the dressing all you want. I won’t be kissing you. “And a sex on the beach, please.”
“Jesus Christ,” Cleo mumbles too low for anyone other than me to hear.
“How about you, Cleo?” Sam asks.
“Still deciding. You guys order first.”
“I’ll have the brisket and a Bud Light,” Sam decides. “And a side of fried okra and mac and cheese to go with it.” Ahh, so he’s avoiding his favorite to ensure he doesn’t make a mess in front of Cleo. I have no such need.
“Ribs, the potato salad, and a Lone Star,” I tell her. All eyes turn to Cleo.
“The ribs are good?” she checks.
“The best,” the waitress tells her.
“Better than the steak?”
“About the same.”
Cleo grips the menu tighter. “Do you want to go for the sharing platter?” I ask. “It comes with steak, ribs, wings, and a couple of sides.”
Her shoulders relax. “Perfect.”
Sam’s scowl couldn’t be any clearer. He’s an idiot. I’m not going to watch her struggle. As her date, he should be more in tune with her. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and a WTF GIF appears. I shoot him back the Scar I’m surrounded by idiots GIF.
He rolls his eyes just as Cleo says, “Double bourbon, neat.”
And if I wasn’t already convinced that Cleo is everything that sings to my soul, this would seal the deal.
“Wooo,” Amalee says. “Like your liquor?”
“I rarely drink, but when I do, I want it to be amazing.”
“Just not very ladylike,” Amalee mumbles.
Cleo rolls her eyes but doesn’t engage. In fact, I’m certain her attention isn’t on the couple across from us, it’s firmly on my fingers tracing lazy patterns on the inside of her thigh. She widens them slightly and swallows.
Amalee engages Sam in a conversation about the work he’s scheduled to do on her parents home. I take that moment to lean my mouth against Cleo’s ear. “Do you want me to stop?” She twists her lips to the side like she’s contemplating her answer, then shakes her head. I keep in the safe zone of the lower part of her inner thigh. The point is to wind her so tight that she defeats the demons.
“How long are you planning to be in town for?” Sam says, breaking my focus from the fascinating creature next to me.
“I’m not sure,” I answer truthfully.
Amalee giggles and sweeps her heeled foot along my calf. Does she think I’m not sure because of her? Has she made up some convoluted future where we have two kids and a dog? I stare at her, and she drops her eyes like she’s bashful. She’s not. And while Cleo might conceal her reactions, thoughts, and emotions from me, it’s an act of self preservation. She’s had to hone that skill to survive, which is something I can understand.
On the other hand, Amalee is all pretense. She’s trying real hard to be what I want, but if she’d relax for a damn second, she’d realize she’s not it. She needs to open her eyes—her perfect match is sitting right beside her. I always thought they’d end up together, even back in high school.
I’ve often found that light chases dark, and that’s what both of the people across from us are doing. It’s the thrill of the unknown, the high of excitement, the rush of unpredictability—until the mask falls and they realize the darkness is a mark on our souls, one we either can’t or don’t want to fix.
The waitress arrives with our drinks and slides them in front of us before hurrying off to take her next order.
“Will you be at church tomorrow, Fox?” Amalee asks.
“No.”
She pouts. “But it’s a town tradition.”
“One you don’t observe,” Cleo adds.
Amalee lasers a glare at her. “And I suppose you do?”
Cleo blinks at Amalee like she’s a bug that wandered onto her food and she’s wondering if she should waft it away or swat it. “I’ve been there every Sunday since I began working with Helen. Have you had the flu? Are you contagious?”
Amalee scowls. “No, I’m not contagious. I’ve been busy.”
“Oh, of course. God doesn’t always work for everyone’s schedule. What is it you do?”
“I-I-I do charity drives and fundraisers.”
Cleo shudders next to me, a tiny tremor I only feel because I’ve got my hand curved around her leg. “Sounds amazing,” Cleo mutters in a flat tone I’ve only heard her use a few times. It’s when something triggers her.
“But I’m sure I can make the time tomorrow if you’re attending, Fox?”
“No, I’m not.”
Sam and Amalee hold the majority of the conversation while I try to figure out a way of pulling Cleo back from her demons. The food arrives, and I reluctantly let go of her leg, instantly missing her silky skin under my fingertips. She shakes out her napkin and puts it across her knee. I chuckle as I grab it and tuck it between her breasts.
“You’re going to want to protect that pretty dress.” At least until I get you alone. Then I can’t be held responsible for how it comes off.
“Your dress is very pretty,” Sam adds on.
“Thank you.”
Give it up already, dude. I shoot him another GIF of Robert Downey Jr. rolling his eyes. He glares at the phone in his lap before sending me a fuck you GIF. Nice. I shoot back an arrow emoji pointing in Amalee’s direction. His brows lower, his gaze snapping between us. Oh, for fuck—
“So, is there a special someone I should be jealous of back in New York?” Amalee asks as she cuts up a piece of already small lettuce. This time, Cleo’s reaction would only be missed by the super non-observant.
“No,” I answer.
“That’s where you’re from?” Cleo whispers.
“It’s where I was working.”
But clearly it’s where she’s from, and that little niggling thought in my mind tries to place her again, like it did when I first met her. New York is a big place, but given she’s running from someone with means—top one percent means—then it’s very possible, probable even, that we’ve at least been in the same room before.
“Try the steak while it’s still sizzling,” I advise.
She blinks at the food, and I watch her wrestle to find her way back to the present. When she picks up her fork, I feel a sense of pride that she did that without coaxing or needing to be distracted. She fought her darkness and came out on top. It’s a silent struggle that requires the deepest of strengths. Distraction is great, until it’s not. Tell your brain enough times that it can’t handle shit without looking for something else to divert its attention, and it believes you. Then you literally rewire your neural pathways to always need one of those crutches in times of stress. It’s not healthy and how the hell she’s figured this shit out when she’s never seen a therapist is astounding.
She slides a piece of steak into her mouth, and all three of us watch her. Sam is figuring out how he can get her to make him steak every Friday in their little home with a white picket fence, Amalee just looks jealous and hungry, while I’m wondering if she’d make that low groaning noise if it was my cock sliding past her lips and not the steak.
“Damn, that’s good,” she mutters, taking another piece from the giant sharing platter. She points her fork at Amalee. “Girl, put your salad aside and fucking eat. You only live once, and if he doesn’t like you for the way you look when you put food in your mouth, he isn’t worth your time.”
Amalee grips her fork as she eyeballs her salad. “Maybe just a little.”
And that’s why Cleo Williams is dangerous. She cuts you to the bone and then shows you the truth.
Amalee stabs the smallest piece of steak and chews on it thoughtfully. We all stare at her and wait. She covers her mouth with her hand. “That is so much better than the salad.”
Cleo snorts and Sam and I grin. Amalee relaxes, giving up trying to be who she thinks I want, and just lets herself shine. We share the massive platter of food and talk about the people we grew up with—who moved away, who stayed close to home. Cleo listens and asks questions every once in a while, but other than that, doesn’t try to dominate the conversation like many others might. The more Amalee lets down her guard, the more Sam sneaks glances at her. Now he’s getting it. We demolish the food, and it pleases me to see Cleo eating a little more than usual. I’m finding if the food isn’t her focus, she doesn’t overthink it.
The waitress takes our empty plates away and Cleo stands. Sam moves to stand with her. “I’m going to the toilet.”
He runs a hand over the back of his head and glances at Amalee. “I’ll escort you.”
“I can manage to find a toilet, Sam. I’ll be sure to holler if I need help wiping.”
He freezes, and before he can reply, she’s gone, weaving through the crowded bar and disappearing from sight. I keep my gaze locked on a couple of guys I recognize, although they’re not locals. They aren’t wearing their cuts, but I’d spot that pair of idiots anywhere.
Cleo comes bouncing through the crowd, her tiny frame pushing through the heavy throng. Sam swings his gaze over his shoulder, tracking his date. My eyes narrow as one of the bikers eyeballs Cleo’s ass, and I note the exact moment he makes a stupid decision to grab it. Sam also notices and rises like he’s got the stones to do something about it. He doesn’t, but I grab his shoulder to hold him back. The least I can do for his ego is to make him think he would have intervened. Cleo’s face reddens. She spins, says something to him, and clocks him in the jaw.
“Holy fuck,” Sam mutters.
“I think I have my first lady crush,” Amalee adds.
The biker rubs his jaw and smiles down at her like she just offered to suck his cock. Violence is their love language, and she just propositioned him. I stride past Sam and snake my arm around Cleo’s waist, dragging her back into me. Her round ass bounces against my hard cock, and she shuffles to the side to try to avoid it. Jesus, those heels make her fit against me in unholy ways. Images of bending her over while she’s wearing these sinful heels are doing nothing to tamper my raging erection. I plaster her against me, making those perfect globes rub against me. “Fox!” Mark hollers. “Is this tiny ball of fury yours?”
I grip Cleo’s hip, trying like hell to communicate that I’m trying to help her by staking my claim. “She is, and if you like your balls where they are, you’ll keep your hands off her.”
Hunter’s gaze eats her up. He’s not as rash or easy going as his brother, but that one look is far more worrying than the ass grab Mark did. Hunter is wondering, after knowing me for all these years, what kind of woman has finally got me to stake a claim in public.
“Just a little harmless fun,” Mark volleys. “Come drink with us and catch up.”
Cleo squirms in my arms.
“Behave,” I breathe in her ear before nipping it. She jolts against me, and her fingernails dig into my forearm.
“Fox,” she breathes. “Please, I can’t. Not here.”
That has my attention. Can’t what? And since when did my firecracker beg?
CHAPTER 32
HONOR
Stripped bare, am I enough?
Iregret so many of my life choices right now, but the biggest is giving Fox that remote control. Why in the ever-loving fuck did he choose now to turn it on? I want to strangle him, but the blood rushing to my core has all of my attention.
The burly guy who thought it wise to grab my ass frowns at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
I snort. Isn’t that the pertinent question. I spin in Fox’s arms to hide my face, and my hand snakes into his jeans pocket. He stiffens as I brush his erection. Jesus Christ, he’s rocking a monster. My fingers clasp the remote, and I drag it out before clicking the off button. I sag against him as I let the impending orgasm disappear, dragging in breaths as I pull myself together. I push my shoulders back and spin again to face the guy who grabbed my ass. Mark.
“Sorry, cramps. You know how it is.”
Hunter snorts from his position on the bar stool, his gaze lasered on my hand that’s curled around the remote. “Nice deflection, but we all know what was going on here.”
“Do we?” Mark asks, looking between us with a frown.
I raise a brow, daring him to say it. He shakes his head and lifts his gaze to Fox. “Best take your lady home before we kidnap her and finish what you started.”
Mark reaches toward me. I raise my aching hand, ready to explain to him in a language he understands why touching a woman without permission is wrong. Then I’m being twisted and hauled over a shoulder.
“Put me down,” I huff as Fox carts me out of the door. I give Mark and Hunter a one finger salute before we spill out into the night air.
Sam bursts out of the door behind us. Oh, nice save. My hero. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Amalee wants to go home. Do you want me to take you? Or…” He looks at Fox’s hand plastered against my ass to keep me in position. “Right.”
I feel a stab of guilt and tap Fox’s back. “Put me down. Sam, I need to have a very honest chat with you.”
“You promise not to start a bar fight with a seasoned biker?”
“I promise.”
Fox slowly drops me to the floor, letting me feel how hard he is in all the right places.
Amalee stands just outside the door with a frown and her arms folded. “Five minutes,” I mouth, trying to express I’m not the kind of woman who needs all the male attention on her.
The cool night air is a relief on my skin as I pull Sam with me away from the entrance. I spin to face him and fold my arms. “Let’s get real for a second,” I say.
Sam scratches the back of his head, and I realize I hadn’t even taken in what he’s wearing tonight. Whereas with Fox, I could tell you everything from his shirt to his shoes.
“I don’t think this is going to work out,” Sam says with a wince, like he’s letting me down gently.
I rub my right temple. I could just let him think he’s the one rejecting me, but I’m all about the hard truths—even if it would be kinder to his ego.
“Sam, this date was never about giving you a chance, it was about letting you see the real me and how wrong I am for you. You want a woman who is happy to be your little wife, to wash your clothes, make your dinner, and dote on your every word.”
“That’s not—”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting those things, but I can never give you that. I won’t be the damsel in distress that swoons in the sight of danger. I’m the woman who punches men twice her size to put them back in line. You don’t like that, and I’m not changing to fit anyone’s expectations—I’ve been there and done that.”
“You are one hell of a woman.”
I grin. “I’m aware.”
Suddenly, he wraps me up in a hug that is one hundred percent platonic, and I find I don’t hate it. “As for finding that perfect woman, look a little closer to home. She’s right in front of you.” I pull free and spin him around.
He chuckles. “I thought matchmaking was Helen’s thing.”
I shrug as I stride next to him to meet Fox. Amalee’s gaze is all for Sam.
“You good?” Fox asks as his gaze rakes me up and down.
