Beneath This Mask (Beneath, #1)(7)

“That’s because I’d feel like a whore.” We’d had this conversation a hundred times. If he paid me more than he did before we’d slept together, I’d feel like I was getting paid for services rendered. You know, above and beyond.

“Like I said, stubborn.” He smacked my ass. “But I like that thong. What do you say? Come home with me tonight if you’re up to it?”


Inexplicably, my mind snapped to the man only a few walls away. I stalled. “Umm … I don’t know … Ask me later?”

He gave me a chin jerk before heading toward the corner of the break room and his makeshift office. Con may look like a tatted-up bad boy, but from what I could tell, he was actually a fairly astute businessman.

An hour later, Simon came around to the register to pay for his new tattoo. I’d been stealing what I’d hoped had been covert glances over my shoulder the entire time he’d sat, shirtless, in Delilah’s room. But every time I glanced his way, his eyes had flicked to mine. Intense, assessing hazel eyes that I wanted to see up close so I could figure out how the green, brown, gold, and gray swirled together. I didn’t understand my attraction to him. Yeah, he was pretty to look at. But so were lots of guys. He had the cut muscles and banging six-pack that said he took care of himself. But again, so did a lot of guys. Con, for one. But, for me, Con was about comfort, being close to someone for a night because I missed the feeling of being touched. With Simon … it was burning curiosity and flaring lust. I wanted to know how his hands would feel against my skin. If he’d strip me naked and trace the lines of ink with his fingers … and then his tongue. If he’d like the little surprises I had tucked beneath my clothes. Con had never even seen them, and I’d sworn Delilah to secrecy after I’d accepted her dare. When Simon stopped in front of the counter I was shifting on my cushioned stool, trying to relieve the ache my wandering thoughts had produced.

He didn’t speak for a moment, just studied me. He pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his worn jeans without breaking eye contact.

“Do you get a break?”

His question jolted me back to reality. “What?” I asked.

He pressed both palms against the scarred, graffiti-covered surface and leaned toward me. “Have dinner with me. Tonight.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Con, who seemed to have the shittiest timing on the planet, stepped out of the break room and came to stand behind me. “Councilman, I didn’t realize you’d come back.” Con’s voice held a note of something I couldn’t identify. It wasn’t jealousy. It was something … else. He must have glanced down at Simon’s forearm, because he said, “Glad to see you got your touch up. No charge for that. Feel free to be on your way.”

I glanced back at Con, giving him a what the f*ck look. His behavior was completely off. He might not be unfailingly polite to every customer who walked in the door, but he didn’t usually try to throw anyone out.

“I got a new one, too. I’ll settle up with Charlie, Constantine.” Simon’s tone carried a stubborn edge.

Clearly there was history here I wasn’t privy to. And then Con’s words solidified in my brain. Councilman?

“Seems strange that someone rumored to be kicking off a campaign for daddy’s old congressional seat would be getting more ink.” Con wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me against him. “Or is it something—or someone—else that brings you back?”

I jabbed an elbow into Con’s gut. He dropped his arm. I spun and whisper-yelled at him. “Quit being a dick, and drop this whole junkyard dog pissing on your territory act. That shit doesn’t fly with us, and you know it.”

“Lee … I just…”

“Just what?”

He sighed. “He’s not the kind of guy you should be getting mixed up with.” Con bent close and whispered in my ear, “I know you keep a low profile for a reason, and being seen with Simon Duchesne might not be the best idea.”

The heat that had been thrumming through my veins turned to ice. Con was right. He had no idea why he was so right, but he was. Regardless, I didn’t need him to run interference for me. I’d been taking care of myself for the last year, and I’d keep on doing it.

I pressed a hand against his chest. “It’s cool. I got this, Con.” He stared me down for a moment and then turned and left.

I spun back around and faced Simon Duchesne. Councilman. Son of a congressman. Rumored congressional candidate. The kind of man my mother would have salivated over having me date when I was Charlotte Agoston. The kind of man who was off limits and straight up dangerous to the continued anonymity of Charlie Stone. The potential consequences of being seen with him—and recognized—played through my mind at hyper speed. I’d have to leave New Orleans and this makeshift family I’d fallen in love with. It just wasn’t worth the risk.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

His eyes narrowed. “Because of Con? You’re with him.”


It wasn’t any of Simon Duchesne’s business who I was with, but I told him anyway. “No. It’s not that. We’re not … together, together.”

He continued to study me. “Then why? Because I’m not going to pretend like I didn’t see you every time you stopped and stared at me over the past hour.”