Waylon. He wasn’t content with ruining my credit and taking up all my free time with me trying to get out from under his debt, but he had to take my car too.
Anger seized my muscles both in anger and terror at the mere prospect that he might know where I was, that he’d been skulking around in the driveway sometime in the night. Then I panicked, thinking I’d have to tell the police officer about Waylon, that he was a suspect. Beau would be present for that conversation because he was Beau, strong-willed, and alpha. Though I supposed I could assert my independence and demand to speak to the police alone.
Even then, Jupiter was too small to think that my secret could be kept under wraps for long.
Apparently, Beau was unaware of my internal panic attack. All of his previous alpha bad ass energy had disappeared, his expression calming.
“No one stole your car. It’ll be back this afternoon. You need to go anywhere, you can use my truck.”
He turned his back as if that were the end of the conversation. It most certainly was not.
“Where is my car?” I demanded, still panting.
He paused, sighed audibly, then turned around.
His gaze was measured then. Even. A slight furrow to his brows was all that hinted of any irritation. “It’s getting four new tires.”
I stared at him for a beat, processing that it was getting four new tires because Beau had decided I needed them. That was well and truly overstepping boundaries he’d so surely slammed back in place. “The tires were fine,” I shot back.
His brows narrowed further, no longer displaying just a hint of irritation. “Not with the weather getting worse. They’re pretty good at keeping the streets cleared here, but there’s still ice and snow on occasion. You needed the new tires.”
“I did not,” I argued, putting my hands on my hips.
Beau’s gaze hardened. “You did.”
I pursed my lips, happy that some cleansing anger was washing through me. Until panic hit again. I could not afford four new tires. My car was always up to date and taken care of, especially now that I drove Clara. But the only way to afford four tires was to dip into my school and my lawyer funds.
Not even considering possibly having to pay the credit card bills in my name.
Which meant I’d be even more behind on tuition or my divorce.
I clenched my teeth, feeling as if I were drowning with no way to surface, unable to catch my breath. Beau was there, in front of me. Would he extend a hand to help me? He’d literally pulled Calliope out of the water and saved her from drowning.
But I didn’t want Beau to see me as someone to be saved. To be pitied.
“I’ll pay you back.” I meant it, but I had no idea how I would.
Beau shook his head. “I don’t expect you to.”
Though the gesture should’ve been kind, it didn’t feel so with Beau’s general demeanor. “I will pay you back,” I repeated. “I’m not a charity case.”
Beau’s expression changed then, softened. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something then closed it again. His Adam’s apple traveled the length of his corded throat beforehe spoke again. “You drive my daughter in that car. I don’t take chances with her safety, and it is part of the job.”
Then he turned his back on me. I couldn’t argue with that, and he knew it. But I wanted to. Argue with him about that. Aboutanything.
Instead, I stared at his back and shoved my earphones in before stomping outside to hopefully run off even a fraction of the emotions poisoning my bloodstream.
The next thing happened on the first snowfall of the season. The house was already decorated for Christmas, with a tree Beau hadchopped down himself. My fantasies of him gracing the covers of steamy books had come to life—axe and all. Clara had insisted I come with them to the woods by Elliot’s house to get the tree. I’d tried to refuse, mindful of it being a family endeavor and, therefore, outside the realm of my job description, but Clara was all but impossible to say no to.
So that’s how we’d ended up in Beau’s truck, driving through the woods, heat blasting, Clara chattering about the perfect tree.
That’s why I’d been standing in the woods, Clara pressed up to my legs as we watched Beau cut down a Christmas tree then haul it to the truck like a fucking lumberjack.
My eyes had been glued to his shoulders contracting, the angle of his cheekbones, the fluid way he moved his body. It felt like a primal thing, watching him cut down a tree. My body had responded in kind.
Despite the biting chill in the air, I’d felt hot, flushed.
But I’d had to get a hold of myself, given Clara’s proximity and Beau’s apparent lack of interest in my existence. He’d beenas polite to me as you would be to the person serving your drinks.
