Page 8 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

“Blane.” He held out one massive, calloused hand.

She reached to shake it on instinct, even as she said, “I beg your pardon?”

“My name.” His gaze stayed locked on hers. “Blane.”

She felt a strange, warm flutter behind her ribs, a sensation she promptly decided to ignore. She stood a hair straighter. “Bea.”

His eyebrows came together again, and it dawned on her that they had an entire vocabulary of their own. In the lobby those brows had declared him to be angry. Now they seemed to signal that he was merely nonplussed.

“B? Like the letter, or like the bug?”

She laughed out loud before she could stop herself. “Like the warning.”

One eyebrow rose a fraction.

“Be careful.”

She took hold of the thankfully empty suitcase and tugged it along behind her, hurrying back to her room before she could embarrass herself any further.

Chapter Three

Blane scowled down at his phone. It was his own damn fault Cash was harassing him. He should have replied to the earlier texts. But after his run-in with the Englishwoman this afternoon—with Bea—he’d been even less inclined to answer. He didn’t like lying to his friends. And even when he tried to hide something, Cash could sniff it out in seconds, even from five thousand miles away.

He shoved the phone back in his pocket. He’d deal with him tomorrow. Right now, he scanned the arena again. Night two of three, and the place was even busier than it had been last night—the crowd bigger, louder, the atmosphere somehow brighter. Still no sense of trouble anywhere in it, just people having a good time.

He’d thought about finding a different spot tonight. But the one where he was standing gave him the same view of Bea, and he found he liked standing here.

His phone buzzed again. “For fuck’s sake, Cash.”

Cash: I’m gonna keep harassing you till you tell me what’s going on.

As he stared at the screen, another text came in.

Cash: Or I could ask Brookie what she knows about this woman you’re seeing in London.

Blane clenched his jaw.

Blane: Leave Brooke out of it.

Cash: Come on, bud. You know I’d never upset her. She’d hate to think you’d finally met a woman, and I knew more about it than she did. But you gave yourself away, you know that, right? You didn’t say there is no woman.

Blane shook his head.

Blane: Before you get ahead of yourself—she’s someone staying at the same hotel. I ran into her here at the concert. That’s it.

He hit send and waited. As the seconds ticked by and he realized he was gripping the phone, he knew damn well what Cash was doing—making him sit with what he’d said.

While he waited, he glanced up to the raised row where Bea sat. She was smiling tonight, looking more relaxed, bouncing a little in her seat like she wanted to dance. There was a space behind her row where some of her neighbors got up and danced whenever the upbeat numbers played.

So far, Bea hadn’t joined them.

His phone buzzed against his palm.

Cash: Make an effort, bud. Talk to her.

Blane: I talked to her a little today.

Cash: Then talk to her some more tonight.