by Tilly Kane
Brazenly Beau
ABCs of L-O-V-E
Tilly Kane
Contents
1. Beau
2. Charlie
3. Beau
4. Charlie
5. Beau
6. Charlie
7. Beau
8. Charlie
9. Beau
10. Charlie
11. Beau
12. Charlie
13. Beau
14. Charlie
15. Beau
16. Epilogue: Charlie
Thank you!
CHARMINGLY CHASE
CHARMINGLY CHASE
1
Beau
For maybe the tenth time in as many minutes, I desperately regret the decision to accompany my buddies to some nightclub in West Hollywood. For starters, I’m 36 years too old for this shit, I hate clubs and crowds, and my idea of a good time is grilling a bunch of meat at home, and then eating that meat, preferably with a tumbler of something amber and strong on the side.
And yet, I let the guys on my team persuade me to come out with them to celebrate the work we just completed on our most recent job site. That’s one thing nobody prepared me for about being a boss -- how much of the job includes doing shit you don’t want to do, just for the sake of keeping the team happy.
Which is why I find myself waiting at a crowded bar, in a packed, sweaty club, for the bartender to have mercy on me and take my order.
“What’s the point of having phenomenal tits if not to get better service from bartenders?” a sweet female voice mumbles near me.
I’m smiling as I turn toward her, more than a little curious about these ‘phenomenal tits.’
When I catch a full glimpse of her, the smile dies on my lips, and suddenly I feel like I can’t take in enough oxygen. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, with her hair falling in long chestnut waves, eyes that seem almost violet under the club lights, and a full, lush mouth made for seduction and sin.
Just as I’m trying to make sense of her -- is she a model? An actress? How long can I stare at her without making things uncomfortable? -- she clears her throat.
“Hey buddy, my tits are down here,” she says, clearly picking up on the fact that I haven’t even been able to look away from her face. That’s how stunned I am by her beauty.
Slowly, I shake my head and run my hand down my face. She seems to be waiting for something. She’s watching me with an expectant smirk. Oh. Right.
I quite obviously let my eyes drift lower, down to her extremely low neckline which reveals a pair of truly perfect tits. I can tell that they’re more than a handful, and I have big fucking hands. They look so soft and bouncy, all I want is to bury my face in them and never come up for air. I’ve never motor-boated a woman in my life and suddenly it’s all I can think about. With this woman. Fuck.
“They’re good, right?” she asks, but she already knows the answer and is clearly messing with me.
“You’re right, they’re phenomenal.”
She lets out an exasperated huff. “Exactly! So why the hell am I still waiting so long to order a damn drink?”
“Maybe the bartender is gay,” I say.
She frowns. “I didn’t get that vibe from him, but you know what, you could be right. My gaydar isn’t tuned to LA quite yet.”
She considers me for a moment.
“In that case,” -- she reaches out to me, deftly unbuttoning the top three buttons from my dress shirt so that my chest is practically on full display.
“That can’t hurt, right? Cover all our bases. If you get called up first, I’d like an old-fashioned please,” she says.
I’m once again stunned. This woman is like nobody I’ve ever met. Who just undresses a stranger like that in the middle of a club? Furthermore, am I upset about it?
No.
Hell no.
I’m definitely not upset about it. In fact, I’m pretty sure my skin is still on fire from the light graze of her finger as she worked my buttons free. It was a tiny sliver of a moment, not even half a second, but I feel like I’ve been branded all the same.
“So, how about you?” she asks.
I feel like I’m moving underwater and I can’t keep up with her. What is she asking me?
“If I get up there first, what would you like?”
I shake my head to hopefully clear the damn cobwebs. “Uh...Bulleit. Rye. Neat.”
She eyes me curiously, biting her plump lip as if to hold herself back from saying something.
“What?” I ask. “What did you want to say?”
She flashes me a flirty smile and fixes those violet eyes on me, and I swear she’s somehow reached into my chest to squeeze my heart.
“I just feel like you said that in a really movie action hero sort of way. ‘Bulleit. Rye. Neat’” she says, making her voice low and gravelly to mock me.
I can’t help the smile that forms upon hearing her rib me. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Charlie... well, Charlotte, but please call me Charlie,” she says.
“Nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m Beau... well, Beauregard, actually. Please call me Beau,” I say, mirroring her introduction.
She cocks her head to the side, looking amused. “Beauregard, huh? Are you a reincarnated Confederate soldier, or...?”
I can’t help my burst of laughter as she makes fun of my name. She smiles in delight, biting her plump lip and driving me crazy in the process.
“Charlie, honey, what am I going to do with you?” I ask, finally regaining some of my usual flirtatious swagger that I seem to have lost when I first laid eyes on her.
2
Charlie
’What am I going to do with you?’
Kiss me, hold me, take me home, I want to say. I’ve never felt such a connection to a guy...ever. To say this has been unexpected is an understatement, but I can’t ignore the pull I feel towards Beau.
I’m not typically even flirty with strangers, but there’s just something about this gruff, sexy mountain of a man who seems slightly out of place at this bougie nightclub. He’s dressed appropriately for the club, at least enough to not look out of place among the regulars. He wears a blue chambray button-down, and a pair of tan chinos that are tight enough to barely contain his muscular thighs. His shoes are scuffed leather desert boots, and I can tell that they weren’t like that when he bought them, which I love. But still, scuffed boots notwithstanding, there’s nothing about him at first glance that screams I’m an outsider at this club.
Maybe it’s the way he stands still in this crowded mass of people clamoring to order drinks. Most guys around us are constantly scanning their periphery for fresh prey, or they’re preening in the mirrors above the bar, or they’re pretending to be so engrossed in the story their date tells them while they secretly check out the girl behind her. What I’m saying is, most guys are trash.
But him? We’d been standing here for several minutes when I noticed that just being next to him was having a calming effect on me. He didn’t fidget, didn’t glance around looking for a target, didn’t constantly check his phone, experiencing FOMO because his friends were elsewhere.
He just... stood there. It was the strangest thing I’d witnessed in a while, which must be why I struck up a conversation with him and tricked him into looking at my tits. I’ve been told that they’re my best feature, and I’m not ashamed to say that I definitely wanted him to notice them and, by extension, me.
He initially struck me as the strong and silent type, and I can’t say I was wrong about that, but I’m also sensing a playful side that he’s only just now starting to reveal. Lord, help me. He’s my kryptonite, I already know it.
It’s a struggle to keep my eyes off the expanse of bare chest
I exposed when I unbuttoned his shirt. Part of me wants to hide in a closet and never come out, because seriously? Who does that??
But the other part, the impulsive, ridiculous, very horny part, is secretly high-fiving myself because now I get to see his tanned clavicle and the coarse, dark hair sprinkled on his chest. I have the craziest urge to nuzzle my face against it. I clench my thighs, imagining that the hair gets thicker the further down it goes.
“My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” he rumbles, closer to me than I expected. I swallow and slowly run my gaze up to his face, my nerves threatening to make me run away. What will he say? What will my face betray? I’m terrified to find out.
Finally, I track my eyes over his stubbly jawline and his slightly crooked definitely been in a few fights nose. The look in his hazel eyes makes me sway a little on my heels, so intense is his stare.
I open my mouth to say something -- anything -- when the bartender interrupts me. “What’ll you have?”
3
Beau
Who is this firecracker of a girl? She’s the sexiest little thing I’ve ever seen, and part of me wonders if I should try to take her home. I don’t do one-night stands, not anymore, and I certainly didn’t expect to pick someone up at this club tonight.
The other part of me knows that I shouldn’t even waste my time pursuing her, because I can already tell she and I are not even from the same world. She smells like money, education, and privilege, and she’d probably shudder if she knew that I did manual labor for a living.
Still, I can’t help this connection, and I don’t feel like shattering it just yet. Eventually... eventually we’ll both leave this little bubble we’re in, but for now, for the next five, ten, twenty minutes, I want to soak up everything I can about this absolute knockout of a woman.
I turn toward her, instinctively wanting to shield her from every man’s wandering gaze. I feel protective over her in a way I know I shouldn’t. For starters, she’s not mine. But I definitely don’t miss the way the bartender rakes his hungry gaze over her sweet tits as he returns with our drinks. She tries to pay but I put both drinks on my tab, hoping the bartender is aware that he needs to stop devouring her with his eyes.
Why would he stop, dummy? She’s a gorgeous woman, and she’s not here with you!
I frown at that thought. Is she here with someone else? A boyfriend? A husband? The thought has me nauseated all of a sudden.
We grab our drinks and turn away from the bar, both of us hesitating for a moment until I place my hand on her back to steer her safely through the crowd. Her dress is cut low in the back, so my entire palm rests against her bare skin, the softest I’ve ever felt in my life. My rough, calloused hands aren’t even fit to touch her here, or anywhere.
Once we’re out of the fray, tucked into a little alcove near the stairs leading up to the VIP section, I remove my hand from her back, though it physically pains me to let her go.
She tips her old-fashioned up to my glass, toasting me before taking a sip. I watch as her pink tongue darts out to lick some moisture off her bottom lip. Oh fuck me, I can’t handle this. I back away from her, fully intending to go find my friends and then get the hell out of here.
“Hey... wait!” she calls to me when I’m two steps away. “Are you just... you’re just going? Just like that?” she asks, and she looks so adorably confused, I just want to kiss the look off her face.
Instead, I force a bored expression as I try not to stare too hard at her perfect face. “Yes?”
Well shit, I’ve flustered her. I can tell because she hesitates, seemingly unsure how to respond to my callousness.
And it’s that look, that uncertainty over whether or not she imagined this thing between us, that breaks me. I can’t let her think she did anything wrong.
I duck my head so that I’m speaking right at her ear. Incidentally, this position also puts me in the perfect spot to bury my face in her neck and inhale her sweetness. But I don’t. I want to, desperately, but I can’t let myself have that.
“Sweetheart,” I say, gritting my teeth at her sharp intake of breath that lets me know she’s not unaffected by this either. “You’re without a doubt the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life, but I know good and well that you and me? We won’t work. We’re too different.”
I pull back slightly, wanting to see her reaction to this. She frowns up at me, confusion marring her pretty features. “Why do you say that?” she whispers.
“What?”
“That we’re too different. That we won’t work.”
I sigh, tossing back the rest of my whiskey. I need the liquid courage if I have any chance of surviving this interaction.
“Actually, do you mind if we sit for this conversation? These shoes are insane,” she says.
I nod and gesture for her to lead the way.
It’s possible that sitting down was the wrong choice, because now I’m even more up close and personal with her body in that dress that should seriously be outlawed. Her gorgeous tits have been taunting me since the first moment I saw them, but now, her legs are crossed, showing off her smooth, thick thighs and shapely calves.
We’re in one of the VIP booths, after she sweet-talked the bouncer into letting us in. It’s high-backed and mostly private, and it’s the most dangerous situation I’ve ever been in. I mean, fuck, I’ve literally been in active war zones and didn’t feel quite as on edge as I do now.
“Okay so, you were saying? We’re so different...”
4
Charlie
I’ve never ordered bottle service in my life, but it was the only choice I had if I wanted to have a private space to talk to him.
I briefly shoot Brooklyn a text to let her know I’m okay but I might be MIA for a bit. I’m not this kind of friend, usually, but there’s just something about this man that has thrown me for a loop and I just don’t want to separate from him yet.
I put my phone away and he’s staring at me. “Sorry, texting my date.”
Beau narrows his eyes. “Did you tell him his services won’t be needed anymore now that you’ve found me?”
My breath catches, forcing a little gasp as I process his words. God, his possessiveness and the ferocity I see in his gaze has me wetter than I have ever been. Still, I can’t help but bristle at his hot and cold nature.
“Didn’t you just tell me that we weren’t going to work? That we’re too different?”
He grunts and looks away but then turns back to me with absolute fire in his eyes. “Where is he?” he asks, breathing heavily as he gets closer to me.
“Hmm?” I ask, distracted by his nearness and the scent of him and the situation in my panties, which is growing more dire by the minute.
“I said, which one is he? Point him out to me so I can see what kind of guy gets a girl like you.”
You! You’re that kind of guy! I want to yell, but instead I just shake my head, swallowing hard as I croak out, “No no, I’m not here with a guy. My ‘date’ -- I came out with my best friend so I needed to tell her she may be on her own for a little bit,” I say.
He visibly relaxes. “Oh, well then. I guess we got that out of the way then.”
Now I’m frustrated. “Did we? You still haven’t told me what you meant.”
Beau looks like he’s going to pull away, but only succeeds in moving closer to me in the booth, clasping my hand in his big, rough one. I can’t help but wonder what his callouses would feel like caressing my legs, my thighs, my clit. I rub my thumb over his rough palm, wishing I could spend as much time as I wanted mapping out all his scars and callouses.
He lays his head back against the velvet booth, letting out a low groan. “Sweetheart, that right there is part of why we could never work. You feel that roughness? That’s proof that I’m not fit to touch your soft, flawless skin. That’s proof that I’m just a brute who makes his living with his hands.”
Everything he’s said is just succeeding in turning me on even more. I can’t make
sense of what he’s trying to say. Why would I care that he works hard with his hands for a living? Why should that matter?
He must see the confusion on my face, because he sits up, gently removing his hand from mine and turning to look me in the eye.
“Look at you. You’re gorgeous and fancy, and you look like the kind of girl who hangs out in clubs like these. Who belongs here, with guys who have stock portfolios and Harvard MBAs or some shit. I didn’t even finish college.”
My feelings are a little hurt that he clearly thinks so little of me, though I suppose he doesn’t know me very well so why wouldn’t he make assumptions based on looks alone?
“Who said any of that matters?” I ask, and he shoots me a skeptical look.
I decide to come back to this, instead opting for a different tactic. “Are you hungry? I’m starving.”
5
Beau
Out on the sidewalk in front of the club, she shivers a bit and I kick myself for not having a jacket to offer her. I hold my arms open instead, not sure if she’ll take the offer, but thrilled when she happily nestles into my embrace.
I can barely breathe while she pulls out her phone and searches for a place to grab a bite to eat. She smells like jasmine and sunshine, and I wonder if she knows I’m surreptitiously sniffing her hair right now.
To a bystander, it looks like we’re just hugging, trying to stay warm on this unseasonably cool night. Which might be what’s happening, but it’s not the only thing that’s happening. Because the longer I stand out in front of this club with Charlie in my arms, the more I start to wonder if I might be able to keep her in my arms always. This is ridiculous and presumptuous. We just met, for fuck’s sake. I shouldn’t be affected by her presence like this, not so quickly.
