Beauty of the Beast (Fairy Tale Retellings Book 1)

by Rachel L. Demeter

  She spun on her heels, twirling in place—watching as the immense collection flurried by in a fantastic mosaic of colorful spines and intricate woodwork.

  Her eyes planted on Adam, who stood in front of the large row of glowing, arched windows. His arms were still folded behind his body, his sleek back straighter than an arrow. She couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t move forward, although she ached to reach out and embrace his solid body.

  How would it feel to be enveloped inside that commanding strength?

  A devastating smile spread across his misshapen features and cut her thought short. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, which was highlighted by the sun’s rays, and then hesitantly strode toward her. His boots rapped against the floor, and the sound swelled through the library. Stranger barked as he approached, the loud noise echoing in the room and jarring Isabelle from her trance.

  “Do... do you like it?”

  Finally he stood before her, silent and still. Isabelle inhaled a long breath, then laid her palm on the left side of his face. Her fingertips danced over the raised ridges and welts, the reddish scars and shriveled ear. His eyes shuttered closed, and she felt a shudder rake through his tense body.

  “Yes. I love it...” And I’m starting to fall for you, too... Her fingers fell away. Adam’s blue eyes flew open and captured her own. “It’s like a dream.”

  A boyish grin returned to his face. He ran his hand across Stranger’s back as the dog pushed against his legs and urged his affection. “A reader’s paradise, to be sure. And now it’s yours.”

  “It’s wonderful. Where on earth did you ever acquire so many books?”

  “Most of them were already here when I moved in. The rest I added over the years, and each one is like a child. Sometimes, I like to imagine a wise philosopher used to study here, unraveling the mysteries of the world in this very room.”

  Smiling at his sentimental words, Isabelle slipped past him and approached the shelves. She ran her fingertips across the dusty spines, watching as railroad tracks emerged wherever she touched. Then she glanced over her shoulder and met Adam’s steady gaze again. Desire burned in those eyes, hot as a fire. “Over how many years?”

  The question had been sweltering inside her ever since her first night in the castle. Adam returned her stare, though she knew he wasn’t truly seeing her. He was peering through her—inwardly reliving the terrors he suffered each night. Indeed, almost every evening, after the sun fell behind the trees and darkness enveloped the castle, she and Adam would depart their separate ways. Yet a part of herself remained linked to him—even when they were doors apart. His shattered cries and sobs would echo through the halls in an eerie requiem. Each night, she crushed her face against her pillow, needing to muffle those heartrending sounds... craving a way to relieve his pain, yet too paralyzed by fear and her warring emotions to so much as stir a limb.

  She heard his breath catch. Then he finally spoke in a low, wary tone. “Twenty-five years.”

  Mon Dieu. He’d holed himself up in this desolate castle for twenty-five years. Over two decades. Since he was little more than a boy, a child...

  Isabelle struggled to find her voice. “And... and you’ve been alone all this time. Apart from Sébastien’s visits?”

  Quite suddenly all the books and stories surrounding her held little significance. She ached to know Adam’s story.

  Slowly he nodded, then turned to the arched windows. The glass panes were cloaked in a light film, causing the outside world to look slightly distorted. Dust motes floated in midair, illuminated by gleaming shafts of light. “As I said before, I owe Sébastien my life.”

  Isabelle stepped forward, her feet carried by her soul. Lightly she placed her hand upon his strong shoulder. He didn’t shrink from her touch, though she felt his muscles grow taut beneath her squeezing fingertips.

  “I’d very much like you to find happiness here,” he said at length, staring out the window, his beautiful voice barely above a whisper. “I know these walls are filled with shadows. But that doesn’t mean you have to live in darkness.”

  A riot of emotions crossed the opposing sides of his face. “What happened?” Isabelle asked. “I—I need to understand. If I am ever to find happiness here, if I’m ever to know light, I need to see through the shadows first.” Only silence. “Adam... I know we haven’t been acquainted very long. But you can share with me.”

  Adam felt every muscle tighten as Isabelle placed her tiny hand on the center of his chest. He gazed down at her slender figure and upturned face, admiring how the sunlight danced in her dark curls, how the airy fabric of the dress accentuated her curves. When she walked, he detected the movement of her breasts below that fabric. Her unique scent drifted toward him and made his insides grow tense and heavy. He desperately ached to feel the texture of her porcelain skin, to taste her lips and track his mouth over that cluster of freckles.

  Her words from days ago echoed in his mind and fueled his resolve. Show me. Become better. They acted as a guiding light and summoned a flash of hope inside his heart. Then he thought of his near-fight with Sébastien, and his chest contracted at the loss of his old friend. My only friend, my one connection to the outside world—aside from Isabelle. Grief gathered overhead like a dark storm cloud; Adam pushed away the painful ache and focused his attention on Isabelle.

  A small smile stretched her mouth. It took every gram of his willpower not to kiss her senseless. Then the impossible happened. As if in answer to his silent longing, her arms coiled around his torso in a tentative embrace. The gentle pressure of her hands drew a ragged breath from his lungs and rendered him immobile.

  Adam hesitantly returned her hug. Time crawled to a standstill and suspended itself. Her forehead slouched forward, and she rested the side of her face against his thundering heart. His senses reeled in delight while a calming sensation flushed through him.

  The realization blasted through him, awakening every nerve ending.

  With every breath, every touch, I am falling hopelessly in love with her.

  Emotion pressed hard on his throat, constricting his speech and robbing the air from his lungs. He couldn’t stop himself—could not let go. Not yet.

  He bowed forward, ever so carefully, and pressed his lips against her hairline. His hands came to life, moving of their own accord and with a will of their own. They slipped down and over the petite bend of her waist... over the luscious curve of her backside... then dared to venture back up again. They ran through her luscious mass of curls and cupped her silken cheeks. He drew invisible circles along her flesh, worshipping everything that was Isabelle, tracing down the smooth bend of each cheek and back up again. His hands ached to travel everywhere at once—to bring her closer and never let her go again. Hot blood violently rushed through his veins while a painful yearning weighed on his soul.

  She’s so close yet still so far away...

  Heaving a sigh, he urged her neck back, stared down, and captured her gaze with his own. Her lips parted, and another smile crept across her rosebud lips. She was swept in the moment, seduced by some enchantment, just as he was—yet he sensed a distinct fear, saw an uncertainty flash in her beautiful eyes. He’d encountered the same terror that night in the East Tower.

  That thought sobered him, stilling his hands.

  “Close your eyes again, Isabelle.”

  She did as commanded, the fabric of her dress straining with her deep breaths.

  I should lean forward and kiss her.

  Would she give me my first kiss?

  Uncertainty and nerves paralyzed Adam’s limbs. His pulse raced in his ears and mated with the ragged sound of his own breathing.

  Would my kiss repulse her? Adam doubted he could bear her rejection or disgust. He inhaled her sweet scent, allowing it to soak him in fantasies and false hopes.

  He couldn’t bring himself to move, to close the distance between them and claim her lips. And within that stretch of silence and painful longing, a storm of darkness
eclipsed his thoughts.

  Mon Dieu—the East Tower.

  I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve any of this.

  Adam forced himself to let go. “How can I share with you?” he finally replied, his voice a hoarse whisper. Isabelle’s eyes shot open, and the enchantment seemed to fall away. “When I can’t even face it myself?”

  Sébastien’s words rang in his mind, drowning out the world around him. Perhaps I’ve done the world a great disservice, dragging your wretched skin from your parents’ chamber. Yes, I should have risen up with the other servants—I should have watched your home and family burn—

  “Adam. Don’t speak like that. Please. I—”

  “I hope this library can be your freedom. A light to help you see through the shadows.” Without another word or backward glimpse, he whisked past her and vanished from the room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I love you dearly, and in making me happy, Beauty, you will find your own happiness. Be as true-hearted as you are beautiful, and we shall have nothing left to wish for.”

  Madame de Villeneuve

  Music composed the following days, and Adam’s grief over the loss of Sébastien’s friendship tempered into a dull ache.

  He experienced an intense and unexpected jolt of inspiration—one unlike any he’d ever known; music flowed from the tips of his fingers with ease and grace while memories unfurled and manifested into decadent melodies. His heart pounded along with the chords as his mind turned to thoughts of Isabelle.

  He reflected on their interlude in the library—how she’d twirled in place while a flush of happiness had washed over her smiling face. The desire to bring her happiness and contentment struck him hard; her smiles and the sound of her laughter brought an unforeseen, reciprocal joy to his soul.

  How close I’d come to kissing her... The pressure and pace of his fingers eased. The deep, dark melody shifted and lightened. His entire body burned, and an aching desire swam through his veins.

  Every time Isabelle came near him, he experienced surging emotions and a jarring connection. Admiration. Respect. Gratitude for her friendship. And a blossoming love for both her inner and outer beauty. He feared his own desire for her—a desire that expanded far beyond sexual need. He ached to simply hear her voice and the robust melody of her laughter. He yearned for her touches and the sight of her delicate face. He anticipated the soft breeze of her breaths upon his skin. He tingled for the sweet aroma of her hair. He relished how her eyes always seemed to bear deeply into his own, as if she were truly seeing him and not his appearance. He ached for her—with every fiber of his soul.

  Even more, he was starting to trust Isabelle completely.

  Trust is a first stepping-stone to love.

  Closing his eyes, he imagined how it would feel to hold her slender, naked body against him... to experience her head resting on his shoulder and the warmth of her breaths on his marred skin. He imagined the weight of her soft, supple breasts in his scarred hands... the feel of her erect nipple rolling between his thumb and forefinger... He’d apply a gentle, teasing pressure... then he’d lean forward and cup his lips over the taut peak... He’d draw that mound inside the cavern of his mouth with careful tugs... Meanwhile, his hands would glide over the velvety skin of her thighs, slip inside her pantalettes, and gently fondle the wet crease of her womanhood. He imagined the sweet flavor of her mouth and tongue... the music of her breathing and torn pleas as he brought her to climax again and again and again...

  His body tightened and surged to life, reacting to the fantasy—

  A gentle touch graced his shoulder. His fingers were paralyzed in midair, hanging above the keys. The last chord floated for several iridescent moments, riding a tension that consumed the room. Exhaling a ridged breath, he adjusted his legs to better conceal his turgid arousal.

  “It’s beautiful, Adam. I’ve never heard it before. No sheet music?” He stiffened as Isabelle’s hand slid across his back, moving from one shoulder to the other. The desire he’d felt moments ago reached a steady boil. A crescendo. He clenched his hands over the keys and squeezed both eyes shut. The soft melody of her voice reached out to him—more beautiful and tempting than any musical piece. He clenched his fingers numerous times, inspired and overwhelmed with the need to touch every bit of her. “Who’s the composer?”

  “I am.”

  “What? That’s... that’s incredible!” The awe and appreciation in her tone ignited his inner fire. “I had no idea.” She shook her head, causing an errant curl to flurry against her flushed cheeks. “You are quite full of surprises... aren’t you, Adam?”

  He said nothing; merely scooted over on the bench, then seized her gaze. Her stunning hazel eyes softened to a velvety hue. He swallowed, then drank in the rest of her in a leisurely perusal.

  She looked like a damn angel. A simple cotton walking dress graced her figure to perfection—an outfit she’d purchased in the village. Small embroidered swags and silk flowers decorated the cropped sleeves and modest neckline. The dress was humble yet brimmed with an alluring charm and beauty—much like Isabelle herself. A silk bow fastened her chocolate ringlets, exposing the pale shaft of her neck. A delicate smattering of freckles decorated her lower neck.

  How he burned to slide his lips across that creamy skin... to taste the thundering beat of her pulse and free those lush curls from the bow. He ached to scoop her in his arms and thrust her on top of the pianoforte’s keys. They’d tinkle under the weight of her undulating body and echo his errant heartbeats. He burned to claim her, right here and now, on top of his beloved instrument.

  Her dark eyes appeared impossibly large—a beautiful contrast against her porcelain complexion. She clasped a hefty book in the crook of her arm; a smile tugging at her lips, she set it on the sideboard, then returned beside the pianoforte.

  Unable to find his voice, he patted the wooden bench and gestured her to sit. She hesitated, slowly lowering onto the surface. The sweet aromas of her skin and hair sailed toward him; he made out the heady scent of roses on the cool, rising air. She sat intimately close—mere centimeters away. The heat of her body set his blood on fire and kindled his soul.

  “You are incredibly talented, Adam.”

  Adam bowed his head, then adjusted his body, causing her leg to brush against his in a teasing caress. A knot of heat gathered and coiled down below, flooding his aching manhood. Blood rushed past his ears as he felt his groin stir to life and jerk against his trousers. He inhaled a calming breath and inwardly counted backward from five. “Music has become somewhat of an outlet over the years,” he said, almost trembling from the sheer force of his need. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes; surely she’d see the wretched desire in his stare and etched into every line of his face. Damn him, even his hands were lightly trembling. “It was a way to speak when no one was there to listen.”

  Conflicting emotions crossed her exquisite features. “I have been listening every night. Even when you don’t play... I still hear your music.” Her voice sounded husky, half-whispered, and laced with wonder. “And I feel it.”

  He needed to feel her—to reassure himself she wasn’t a phantom carved from his mind. Adam expelled a withheld breath, then reached out and grasped one of her tiny hands. Soft. Delicate. Smoother than silk. Pure temptation. He set her hand on top of the keys, covering her knuckles with his palm and fingers. The enticing scent of her skin and hair whisked toward him like some whimsical perfume. “Here... I’ll direct you.”

  Isabelle’s heart pounded against her ribs as Adam’s large, scarred hand covered her own. His long fingers aligned with hers, and before she knew what was happening, her hands were dancing across the ivory keys. The gentle pressure of his fingers brought forth a rich melody, which ushered from her own hand. She fairly held her breath while the musical vibrations tremored through her fingers and dripped into the dimly lit room. She felt a foreign thrill, an exhilaration she’d never known before that moment. She’d glimpsed a taste of
it whenever she’d read and embarked on adventures during her childhood—but this shared ecstasy overshadowed all prior experiences.

  It was foreign. Exhilarating. An enchanted path into a world she’d never known or thought she could reach.

  The music was beautiful, decadent—though it didn’t convey the same emotional spectrum as when Adam himself played. Indeed. He played with total feeling and adoration; he dwelled inside the music, became one with the refrains, drawing it out of the pianoforte as if by magic. Now his melodies surged through her, like breaths leaving her own lungs.

  She’d felt a budding connection with him for a while now, ever since she’d tended to his head wound. Now, it hit her straight on, undeniable and poignant, striking her deep within. They were united through this melancholy music... as if a pair of wings had unfurled within the darkness and arched above them in a protective dome. A myriad of emotions wrestled inside her—guilt, compassion, and something else. Something that left her breathless and made her feel strangely hot.

  He hummed softly, deeply, the notes vibrating against her back like a dark hymn. His husky voice mated with the melody in a most intimate way. It was as though he was making love to her through his music.

  All the while, his strong hand guided her own, causing strings of liquid gold to pour from her trembling fingertips. A familiar melody swelled the room as Adam guided her through well-loved pieces, flowing from one composer to the next. Mozart’s opera The Marriage of Figaro took over—and he sang the libretto against the side of her cheek.

  “What I am experiencing I will tell you,

  It is new to me and I do not understand it.

  I have a feeling full of desire,

  That now, is both pleasure and suffering.

  At first frost, then I feel the soul burning,

  And in a moment I’m freezing again.”

  Isabelle crumpled under the enchantment of his voice. Then he wrapped a strong arm around her back and reached into her lap. He took her other hand in his own, enveloping her tingling skin with his strong, lithe fingers. She felt her breath catch at his nearness, overcome with the desire to both melt against his body and run away. The handsome side of his face hovered mere centimeters from her own, his lips sharing the same breaths of air. She took in Adam’s irregular features as he whispered the lyrics—half achingly handsome, half a testament to a torment she couldn’t begin to imagine.