Boulder Beaumonts Book 3 sneak peek

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It was official. Her brother was one of them now.

After all this time, she should have been used to the bitter pinch of betrayal. But now, watching Rafe spin his new wife around the dance floor with that ridiculous gooey-eyed expression on his face, there was a sense of finality to it there hadn’t been before.

Not that she’d really expected any other outcome once he put that diamond on Lillian Beaumont’s finger all those months ago. But until they’d said their vows, there had always been the slightest sliver of hope to hold on to. Hope that something might happen to derail the wedding. Like cold feet. A return to common sense.

A plague of locust.

But the event had gone off without the smallest hiccup to ruin—or save—the day. So here they were, celebrating the new Mr. and Mrs. Raphael Delgado like it was the most wonderful thing in the world her big brother had tied himself to that woman.

And through them, the Delgados to the Beaumonts.

Forever.

“Bella, why aren’t you dancing?” Dropping into the chair next to her sister at the otherwise empty dais table, Brianna fanned herself with an abandoned napkin. “The band is incredible!”

“Of course it is. Money can buy the best of everything, and the Beaumonts would never accept anything less than the very best.” Like the delicious wine she polished off in a large swallow from her glass.

Smooth. Mellow. Rich.

A bottle probably cost more than she took home in a week working at the family restaurant. And it was being poured for guests as if it were water.

“Oh my god, will you please stop grinding on that?” Bria groaned. “So they have money. So what? We were wrong about Lillian. She wasn’t some rich snob looking to have her fun with Rafe and leave him with a broken heart when she got bored and moved on. She loves him like crazy.”

It took everything she had not to flinch at those words. They were too close to ones she’d heard before. Words that had been a lie.

“I just worry he’s making a mistake, and now it’s too late.”

“Rafe’s a big boy, hermanita. He knows what he’s doing, and what he wants. He certainly doesn’t need us sticking our noses into his love life. In fact, he expressly forbade it. Remember?”

This time, she did flinch. Not at the reminder of how very furious Rafe had been with her, Bria, and their brother Cris after discovering their part in sabotaging his and Lillian’s budding relationship. But at the stab to the heart of him choosing that woman over his own family. It was enough to make a girl want to cry.

Or get drunk.

She reached for the untouched glass of wine at the place setting beside her and took a large sip. Taking someone else’s drink was probably some major etiquette faux pas or something, but she honestly didn’t care. “Have I done or said anything to cause trouble today? All week?”

Because god forbid the wedding festivities be limited to a single day. Or even two.

Oh, no.

It had been an entire week filled with spa days and shopping trips and a joint bachelor/bachelorette wine-and-cheese party at one of the local vineyards that, even she had to grudgingly admit, had been pretty fun.

Or it would have been, if she hadn’t been surrounded by Beaumonts.

“It’s not what you say with your mouth. It’s what you say with this.” Bria drew a circle in front of Bella’s face.

“I can only smile so much before my face cracks. What more do you want me to do?”

Bria sighed.

“You can let go of whatever grudge it is you’re still holding on to.” She gestured toward the dance floor. “Look at him, Bell. He’s happy.”

He was happy. And that seemed the cruelest cut of all.

Because when the three Beaumont brothers had taken their own shot at breaking up the happy couple, it had been because they thought Rafe wasn’t good enough for their precious little sister. And in thinking Rafe wasn’t good enough, by extension it meant the Delgados weren’t, either.

And that was an insult she just couldn’t forget.

Even if it seemed everyone else had.

“Don’t worry, I’ll continue to be on my best behavior the rest of the night. I won’t embarrass the family.” She pasted a toothy smile on her face to prove it. When her sister gave her a doubtful look, she went for her weak spot. “Won’t Alejandro be looking for you?”

A gooey expression that rivaled Rafe’s came over Bria at the mention of her boyfriend. “No, he knows I was coming to drag you out onto the dancefloor.”

Which was sister-code for ‘he knows I want him to dance with you when you get there so you don’t feel left out because you didn’t bring a date.’

Yeah, no.

“Actually, I’m kind of danced out right now. I think I’ll just sit and finish my wine first, and then I’ll be out.”

Bria’s burgundy-tinted lips pressed into a pretty pout. “Promise?”

The “mmhmm” was half-lost in the depths of her glass as she took another long sip. It wasn’t really a lie if she didn’t say the word, right?

“Well, okay. But make sure you’re out there soon.”

She watched her sister disappear back into the sea of people laughing and dancing and having a wonderful time in their expensive gowns and designer suits and glittering jewelry. All right, that was only some of them. There were plenty of regular, non-glittering people out there, too. Relatives from their side of the family, and Rafe’s friends.

Which kind of said it all about the great divide no one but her seemed to see.

Her gaze zeroed in again on her brother, who was currently slow dancing with his wife—the word still left a nasty aftertaste—despite the fact the band was playing a fast-tempo song.

A shaft of melancholy despair speared through her chest.

She was glad Rafe was happy. She was. Truly.

She just wished it had been with someone else. Someone she could be sure wasn’t going to one day rip his life apart by deciding things ‘weren’t working out.’ That he wasn’t ‘enough’ for her. That he wasn’t a ‘good fit’ in her world.

The world where money was everything, and people were judged by how much they had.

And everything they didn’t.

The wine didn’t taste as good going down this time. It didn’t mix well with the bitterness of old 

resentments. Not that it stopped her from finishing it off.

Some things were better faced through the gentle fuzz of alcohol.

Like hearing the music come to an end for the announcement of “All right, it’s time for the bouquet toss. Let’s have all the single ladies out on the dancefloor!”

Nope. That was a hard pass.

Chasing the last drops from her glass, she slipped the beaded strap of her tiny purse over her shoulder and made a not-so-graceful escape to the restroom. The floor-length, blush silk bridesmaid dress might be the most gorgeous thing she’d ever worn, but it was still a pain in the butt to walk fast in.

Or maybe it was the combination of heels and alcohol giving her trouble.

Either way, she made it to her destination without face-planting. After she was done, she lingered in the cozy anteroom with its subtle floral potpourri and damask chairs and fainting couches. Not that she was hiding or anything. She was simply taking a break from all of the people and noise and smiling till her cheeks ached.

Okay, she might be hiding.

But in her defense, she deserved the respite. It had been one of the longest days of her life, and she’d been on her best behavior for every second of it. Even when she’d been forced onto the floor with her wedding party partner for the dreaded first dance. Three minutes in Peter Beaumont’s arms had left her feeling strangely off-balance and prickly.

Stranger still was the sensation of loss after he’d let her go.

She hadn’t liked either feeling one little bit.

Sitting beside him at the dais table after that had been a torture of discomfort. Made worse every time he’d tried to engage her in conversation during the meal.

Not because he was boring. A lot of his comments had been witty and even interesting. And if he’d been anyone else, she would have totally enjoyed his company.

But he was that woman’s brother. Her twin brother, no less.

Somehow, that made it worse, even though they couldn’t have been more polar opposites. Lillian was petite, with an oversized personality which made her seem so much larger. Peter, for all his broad shoulders and impressive height, could almost fade into the background with his calm, easy-going disposition. She’d seen it happen more than once over the past few days.

Not that she didn’t think he had it in him to be forceful when he wanted to be. He was a Boulder police officer, after all, just like Rafe. There had to be something more to him than dimples and boyish charm.

Not that she cared about either of those things. He was still the enemy.

Okay, maybe not the enemy, exactly. But still one of them.

A faint cheer came through the restroom door. A signal the bouquet had been caught by some poor woman who’d now be subjected to the indignity of having a strange man—or worse, a relative—stick his hand under her dress to slide a garter onto her leg while everyone watched and cat-called and laughed.

She shook her head as she got to her feet. Why did anyone still think that was fun?

Her steps faltered outside the restroom as she heard the announcement calling the bride and groom to the dance floor. Did she really want to watch her brother getting all sexy and cute with Lillian as he removed the garter from her leg before throwing it to the bachelor horde?

The answer didn’t even require a moment’s thought.

Her feet took a sharp right turn toward the staircase. Clutching the long skirt in one hand to keep from tripping, she made her careful way up to the hotel’s main street level. Which was unsurprisingly crowded.

The majority of the downtown Boulder hotel might have been taken over by the wedding—the downstairs ballroom for the reception, and most of the pricey rooms for the guests, including the entire wedding party. But the lobby-level restaurant and bar were both still open to the public.

Perfect.

Her original intent, decided when she’d started perspiring halfway up the staircase, had been to step outside to the patio for some fresh air. Instead, she headed for the door into the bar in the street-facing corner of the lobby.

One drink. Maybe two, depending on how much cash she’d tucked into the purse with her ID, lipstick, and room key. That should be more than enough time for the whole bouquet/garter circus to finish playing out before she went back downstairs.

If nothing else, it would be good to have a few minutes of peace and solitude where she didn’t have to smile and play nice for anyone.

“Well, hello beautiful.”

Barely suppressing a sigh, she stopped and looked at the guy who’d popped up like a prairie dog from his seat to step into her path between the bar’s dozen or so tables. Tall, auburn-haired, sort of good looking, maybe about ten years older than her in his early thirties. The slacks and button-down gray shirt rolled up to the elbows said after-hours businessman rather than tourist. Just the kind of guy she’d normally let chat her up in a bar on a Saturday night.

Tonight, she just didn’t have the bandwidth for it.

Offering him a neutral smile, she murmured “Thank you,” and moved to step past him. Which would have worked if the second guy hadn’t stood up next to him to block the way.

“Hey, hey, hey, where you going so fast, sweetness?” A little taller than his friend, dark hair styled with probably as much product used to tame her own into its elaborate up-do, he reeked of some musky cologne that made her nose twitch.

A tingle of unease chased up her spine.

This one wasn’t like the first. In fact, he was the kind of guy she actively avoided on the nights she and her friends went bar-hopping.

The dangerous kind.

Adrenaline did wonders to clear the wine-buzz from her head as she assessed the situation. She could try to get them to move, or she could retreat. Although judging by the predatory gleam in the dark-haired guy’s eyes, he’d take either as a challenge.

Damn it.

She would’ve been better off hiding in the restroom.

There was nothing she could do now except try and make herself a less appealing solo target. She summoned up her best imitation of confidence. “Excuse me, please. I’m meeting someone at the bar.”

“Well, that’s their loss, isn’t it, since you met us first.” The words might have sounded playful, but the tone didn’t match the intent in his expression. He’d cornered his prey, and he wasn’t letting her go easily.

“I’m meeting my boyfriend.”

If she’d hoped that would make a difference, she was doomed to disappointment.

And not a little concern. There was something ugly in the one guy’s gaze, and not just because he was currently ogling her breasts like they were treats on display in a candy shop’s front window.

“Don’t worry, sweet thing. When we’re done rocking your world, you’ll forget all about your boyfriend.” He licked his lips.

Eww.

Revulsion rippled through her.

She’d been right. This one was dangerous.

Time for Plan B. Retreat.

Not that he looked inclined to let her leave any easier than he’d allowed her to pass.

One hand flexed at her side. She’d hate to get blood on her gorgeous gown, but if he laid a finger on her, she was more than willing to shove her palm into his nose the way Rafe had taught her.

Before she could decide whether to risk turning her back on them or not, a deep voice said 

“Excuse me” in a way that had the two jerks making a hole between them. Probably before they even realized what they were doing, if their expressions of surprised chagrin were anything to go by.

Her plan to latch onto whoever was leaving and follow them out dissolved into disbelief as her unintentional savior’s face came into view.

Peter freaking Beaumont.

All six-foot-four of him.

Who, rather than walking on by, stopped beside her as if it had been his destination all along.

What the hell?

The red-haired guy looked a little slack-jawed as he stared up at the tuxedo-clad mountain before him. But the other one was too busy ogling her chest again to care.

“Do you mind, buddy? We were talking to the lady.”

And just when she thought the universe couldn’t get any weirder, Peter spoke again in that same ‘don’t fuck with me’ voice that sent a shiver down her spine.

“As a matter of fact, I do mind. Because the lady’s with me.”

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“Our dearest Lillian makes an absolutely exquisite bride.”

Despite his melancholy mood, Peter Beaumont grinned at the effervescent man who’d joined him leaning against the wall in the hotel’s massive ballroom. With his dark eyes, Mediterranean coloring, and larger-than-life personality, Des made it impossible not to respond in kind to his bubbly nature.

“Due in large part to the dress you designed to keep my pipsqueak of a sister from looking like a satin-smothered cupcake.” Lil was more than a foot shorter than him at five-twoish. Even with her usual four-inch heels—which he was pretty sure she’d already kicked off somewhere when the dancing started—she was still a pixie-sized squirt.

A married pixie-sized squirt.

His head still couldn’t wrap itself around that.

Hand to his chest, Des acted as though Peter had thrust a dagger into his heart.

“As if I would dress anyone in anything less than complete perfection. A DF Original will never be anything other than sublime.” He banked down his hallmark theatrics to add, “And I would design nothing but the absolute best for my darling kitten and her entourage on her most special day.”

“Well, you certainly succeeded there.” Even a fashion clueless guy like him could see that. His brothers might live in designer suits, but his closet was more Under Armour than Armani. The only reason he even owned the tux he wore was because of all the charity events his mother insisted he attend on the family’s behalf.

Over-blown animation flowed back into Des’s expression as he preened at the compliment. “I did, didn’t I? Not that it was easy, what with all of the baby bumps to work around.”

His lungs locked up on a wheeze. “The what?”

Des had the nerve to chuckle. “Oh, your face right now! Where is that photographer when you need him? No, dear boy, our lovely bride isn’t enceinte. I was referring to the two married ladies in the wedding party. Having to take both Amelia’s reducing after-baby body and Thea’s increasing baby bump into account, creating a flattering design for all four ladies and doing last-minute alterations to make the fit perfect was quite the challenge. But, as always, one I rose to with stellar aplomb, if I do say so myself.”

Oh, thank god.

He’d barely come to terms with his sister getting married. He definitely wasn’t ready to think of her as pregnant. She was his little sister, for fuck’s sake.

Okay, technically, she’d been born ten minutes before him.

But he’d always watched over her as if she were the baby of the family. A protective urge borne not just from her petite stature and sometimes capricious nature, or even being the only girl, but from her status as his twin.

They’d always had a special bond between them. Neither had inherited the Beaumont business-sense that made their father and brothers so successful. Both had chosen paths different from what their parents might have imagined for them, Lillian into art and himself into law enforcement. And they shared an undeniable and abiding love of sweets.

They could fight like cats and dogs and enjoyed the hell out of teasing each other whenever possible. But at the end of the day, they’d always had each other’s backs. Been there for one another.

And now she was gone.

Dramatic much, Beaumont?

Yeah, okay. That was overstating things a little. But from the second he’d seen Lil walking down the aisle toward Rafe with a look of pure adoration on her face, a look mirrored on Rafe’s for her, it had finally registered she wasn’t his anymore.

Oh, she’d always be his sister, sure. But that “us” feeling, the special twin-bond they had, would now take a backseat to the new bond she was creating with her husband.

The man she was currently in the arms of, twirling around the dance floor with a radiant expression. Like they were the only two people on the planet. He’d never seen his sister this happy before.

He rubbed at his chest. There was that tiny pinch again.

The one he’d been ignoring all night.

Des laid a hand on his arm, startling him out of his moment of ridiculous introspection. He started to make a joke about being caught navel-gazing like his brother Theo often did, but the knowing look in the other man’s eyes stilled the glib words on his tongue. He didn’t know how, but Des always seemed to see straight to the heart of a person.

He gave a helpless shrug. “She’s my sister.”

“I know. It’s hardest to let go of the ones we love most. But she’s in the best of hands.” With an understanding squeeze to Peter’s arm, he smiled and walked away.

He was absolutely right about that. Rafe Delgado was a great guy. The best. He loved Lil. Cherished her. Hell, he practically worshipped at her dainty little feet. Not to mention as a fellow Boulder police officer, he was more than qualified to keep her safe, even from herself.

Peter couldn’t think of a better man for his sister.

None of that seemed to matter to his heart, though. Which was still feeling that uncomfortable pinching sensation as he watched them move across the dance floor.

It wasn’t jealousy. No, he was happy for Lil. This was more like feeling…abandoned.

Which was absolutely ridiculous.

But still absolutely true.

Not only was Lil now married, but both his brothers were engaged to the women who’d won their slightly cynical hearts as well. Hell, even Des and Michael had recently tied the knot in a surprisingly understated—for Des—New Year’s Eve ceremony.

Which all left Peter odd man out.

Again.

Disgusted with his whiney inner-toddler, he snatched a glass from a passing waiter’s tray. After only a sip, though, he put it down on a nearby table and headed toward one of the bar stations. This much self-pity called for something a lot stronger than champagne, or even the excellent vintage of wine he’d left untouched when he’d abandoned his seat at the dais table after the meal was over.

Seeing his mother in his path, he changed directions and headed for the stairs instead. One benefit of the landmark downtown hotel hosting the reception was the bar on the lobby level. And while the drinks there might not be free, at least he’d be able to drown his ridiculous case of the sads far from the prying eyes of his family.

Especially his mother.

Des wasn’t the only one with uncomfortable levels of perception.

Lucking into a seat at the L-shaped mahogany bar, he ordered a beer and a shot of Jameson, which he downed the instant it appeared. As the whiskey burn slid through his body, he took his first almost-easy breath of the day.

He loved his family. He did. They could just be a lot to take en masse for extended periods of time. Especially with his mother hyper-focused on making sure her only daughter’s wedding went off without a hitch.

Throw in the Delgado siblings—one in particular—and it was a wonder he hadn’t started drinking the hard stuff hours ago.

Tipping back his beer, he drained half before coming up for air. That particular mess was one of his own making. Well, his and his brothers’. Although Rafe’s brother and sisters weren’t without blame, either.

For reasons of their own, each set of siblings had conspired separately to break them up early in their relationship. A fact none of them was proud of, and had spent quite a bit of time trying to make up to Rafe and Lillian. Fences had been mended, forgiveness dispensed, and everyone had moved on.

Mostly, anyway.

But today, the six sibs had been in continual forced proximity as members of the wedding party. They’d had to smile and pose endlessly together for the photographer, travel in the limos together, sit together, eat together, dance together. All while Lil subtly reminded them in a dozen different ways how close they’d come to keeping this day from ever happening.

It had been like dripping lemon juice on a not-quite-healed paper cut. Uncomfortable, drawn out, and impossible to ignore. Just as Lillian had wanted.

His twin was nothing if not an expert at exacting her revenge, even if it took two long years to deliver.

He lifted his bottle in salute to his sister’s diabolic little mind and drained it. Whatever retribution Lillian felt appropriate, he’d take without complaint as being well deserved. He really had been an ass back then. He was just glad his relationship with her, not to mention his friendship with Rafe, had survived his assholery.

Downtown Boulder on a Saturday night in June meant high tourist traffic. Good for the city and the bar, but it made getting the bartender’s attention for a second round an exercise in patience. While he waited, he let his gaze drift over everyone packed into the small space, picking through the droning buzz of conversation around him. People watching and situation assessment was an occupational hazard he couldn’t seem to shut down, even off-duty.

Which was a good thing, as it meant he caught the aggressive body language of two men halfway from the bar to the door.

They were both standing with their backs to him as they talked to someone he couldn’t see in the aisle between the crowded tables. Someone they were keeping from passing, if the way they stood shoulder to shoulder was any indicator.

Radar on red alert, he tensed as the two idiots postured even more. That kind of body language meant there was probably a woman on the other side of that wall of swagger.

Shit.

Alcohol and attitude didn’t mix well.

Add in testosterone and you got a potential powder keg.

He might not be on duty, but it didn’t mean he could ignore the situation. Chances were, whatever was going on would resolve itself and blow over in a minute. But if it went in the other direction, he’d have to step in and deescalate things before they got ugly.

Please blow over.

The last thing he needed was to explain to his mother how he’d gotten involved in a bar brawl in the middle of his sister’s wedding reception.

He got to his feet just in case, eyes locked on the men, trying to get a better read of what was going on. Then one of them shifted enough for him to catch a glimpse of the woman they were blockading.

He groaned.

Fucking wonderful.

Isabella Delgado.

Rafe’s baby sister. His prickly wedding party partner. And the one person he least wanted to spend any more time with than he already had.

Even so, it was no longer a matter of wait and see. She wasn’t a stranger, she was family. Sort of. Which meant he needed to intervene.

Now.

People moved out of his way like water around a large, tuxedo-clad boulder as he forged through the crowd near the bar. Using that same energy, he came up behind the men, who were busy bragging about how they could rock Isabella’s world and make her forget all about her boyfriend, and uttered a firm “Excuse me.”

As he’d hoped, the deep-voiced words, spoken with an air of authority, had both men shifting aside for him to pass out of reflex. Stepping between them, he stopped beside a scowling Isabella and turned back to face the two men who, thankfully, didn’t appear to be nearly as drunk as he’d feared.

Or as smart as he’d hoped.

“Do you mind, buddy?” the dark-haired one on the right said. “We were talking to the lady.” He might have said ‘lady,’ but the way he leered at her when he did made it clear his thoughts were a lot less polite.

Something inside him spiked hot and hard.

“As a matter of fact, I do mind, because the ladyis with me.”