Beauty Tempts the Beast

by Lorraine Heath

  She didn’t want marriage. She wanted Society on her terms, notoriously, scandalously, infamously. Oh, certainly he could take her to Gillie’s balls and Fancy’s, but that wouldn’t be what she wanted most in the world. Could she find happiness with the less he could offer her?

  Why was he even debating this? Because it stopped him from thinking of her lying in the bed—

  The rap on the door was soft, but it caused everything within him to immediately freeze as though he was the prey realizing he was in danger of being spotted by the hunter. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, because surely she would not—

  The rap came again, a trifle louder. Something had to be wrong. She wouldn’t seek him out otherwise. Perhaps her room had caught fire.

  Rolling out of bed, he snatched up his trousers from the chair, drew them on, and buttoned them up. On bare feet, he padded to the door and quietly opened it only a sliver in case he’d misheard.

  Only he hadn’t. She was standing there, appearing vulnerable, with Gillie’s nightdress billowing around her, the hem pooled at her feet. Her hair had been plaited and hung over her shoulder. He had a strong urge to unravel it.

  “My fire has gone out,” she whispered.

  “Ah.” Nothing on fire in her bedchamber, no fire at all. The disappointment that she’d come to him to help with a chore was stronger than he would have liked. “I’ll stir it back to life for you.”

  “No.” She gripped his forearm, her fingers digging in with a firmness that signaled something akin to desperation. “I thought I could share yours.”

  “My fire?” he asked cautiously. Did she mean to curl up in the chair before it?

  “And your bed, beneath the blankets where it’s warm and snuggly.”

  His heart thudded against his chest with such force he was surprised the residence didn’t shake. “Thea, I have the ability to resist temptation only so far. If you come in here, if you’re nestled in my bed, it’s going to result in a rather large mistake being made.”

  “I know. But I’m not under your roof tonight, not yours to protect.”

  He slammed his eyes closed. She understood the ramifications, what would happen between them, and still she was here. And if her fire had really gone out, why were shadows dancing around her room?

  “As you’ve pointed out, something can always be learned from a mistake.”

  He heard the uncertainty edging her voice, the embarrassment that she had come to his door and he might deny her entry. But doing so would be the equivalent of turning his back on her, causing her hurt, giving her doubts. He could no more do that than he could stop the sun from coming over the horizon.

  Yes, it would be a mistake, but he could limit the damage done, ensure it wasn’t as great a blunder as it had the potential to be. He could leave her virginity intact, so she didn’t pay too high a price for coming to him, so she would still have the option of becoming a wife instead of a courtesan. He opened the door farther.

  To avoid the possibility of tripping, she began gathering up the flannel. “Your sister is taller than I.” Was that nervousness that made her voice warble just a bit?

  “She’s taller than most women.” Than some men.

  When her toes were visible, she stepped over the threshold. He closed the door with a quiet snick and approached her, where she had come to a stop near the foot of the bed. “We can solve the problem of the cumbersomely large nightdress easily enough.”

  She was still clutching the folds of cloth. Gently, he brushed her hands aside and began gathering the material, his large hands more effective than hers had been. When he had enough of it, he drew it up over her head and tossed it onto the nearby chair.

  His breath hitched at the sight of her revealed. She was beautiful. From head to toe. Delicate. Slender. Like blown glass. Yet, she possessed a steeliness that reassured him he wouldn’t break her.

  The drapes were drawn, no lamp was lit. The fire provided the only light. At the mercy of the writhing flames, the shadows ebbed and flowed over her pale skin. While he longed for more light—from a lamp, the gaslight, the sun—he wanted the near darkness that muted flaws and added mystery to what was about to transpire.

  He took her plaited hair in hand, held her gaze, and slowly began unraveling it.

  Her hands came to rest against his chest, a tentative touch. “I’ve wondered what you look like beneath your clothing.” She trailed her fingers over his ribs slowly as though counting each one. “I assume working the docks was responsible for shaping a good bit of you. You’re so firm, so taut.”

  His task done, he combed his fingers through the long, silken strands he’d set free. “You’re so soft.”

  Bringing his hands around, he cradled the underside of her jaw against the edge of his palms, tilted up her face, and claimed her mouth for his own.

  The kiss was not a gentle thing. It was wild and hungry from too many nights of abstinence. The fever of it grew when his hands glided over her back, pushing her forward so her bare breasts flattened against his bare chest. She moaned low at the silkiness, the heat, the intimacy. How many women knew the glorious sensation of their skin touching his?

  He towered over her. She should have felt small, a shrub in the shadow of a mighty oak. Instead, she felt powerful, more in control than she’d ever been. They were giving and taking in equal measure. While his experience far exceeded hers, he gave her no cause to believe he found her any less pleasing than she found him.

  While his mouth moved provocatively over hers, she glided her hands up over his shoulders, kneading the hard muscles that bunched and relaxed as his hands swept down the length of her back to finally close over her buttocks and squeeze. She rose up on her toes and took her hands higher, up the tense cords of his neck—

  His fingers closed over one of her hands and he carried it down to the front of his trousers, cupping it against the hard bulge that was an aphrodisiac to her senses. If size was any indication, he wanted her badly. Groaning low, never taking his mouth from hers, he guided her hand up the lengthy shaft and down.

  “Unbutton me,” he rasped against her lips before reclaiming the mouth he’d temporarily deserted.

  Her other hand joining the first, she set herself to the task. Her fingers trembled not from fear, but from excitement. When his cock sprang free, the heat of it surprised her, as did the silkiness. She glided both hands along its length, his groan nearly feral in its intensity.

  “Halt.” He sounded as though he were on the cusp of dying.

  She did as he bade. He shoved down his trousers, kicked them off to the side, reached for her—

  “Halt,” she ordered.

  He did, his breathing harsh and heavy. The firelight was at his back, giving her a view of him that was largely lost to shadows. “I want to see you more clearly.”

  Taking his hand, she turned them, so they traded places, and he was more fully revealed to her. The orange light danced over his skin, highlighting the contours of muscle, the flatness of his stomach, a hideous raised welt at his side. She touched her fingers to the mottled scar. “How did you come to have this?”

  “Knife.”

  Which told her very little. “Did someone attack you?”

  “It was a long time ago. It doesn’t hurt.”

  But it had at one time. It was three or four inches long. It looked angry, and her own anger ignited with the knowledge that someone had wished him harm, that he might have been taken from her before she’d ever even had an opportunity to know him. “Why?”

  “It’s not important, and it’s certainly not conducive to seduction.”

  Determined to know the answer, she lifted her gaze to his. “Why would someone want to hurt you like this?”

  He released a long, drawn-out sigh, obviously coming to the conclusion that she wasn’t going to let this matter go. “I’d taken from him his doxies, let rooms for them so they could work in relative safety, and kept watch over them. He took exception to my meddling.”

>   She had little doubt one of those doxies had been Sally Greene. “I hope you saw to it that he regretted hurting you.”

  “I believe it’s safe to assume he did come to regret it.”

  Lowering herself to a crouch, she kissed one end of the ragged line where a knife had torn into his flesh, the center of it, the other end. With each touch of her lips, she felt a quiver go through him, saw the tight muscles in his stomach jump. “I hate that anyone ever hurt you.”

  He cradled the back of her head. “Wounds of the flesh heal much easier than wounds of the heart. If it was possible, I would take upon myself the pain others have inflicted on you.”

  She didn’t know if anyone had ever uttered sweeter words to her, but she wouldn’t wish upon him what she had suffered—and if it was possible he could take her pain, she wouldn’t allow it because it would bring her greater agony to know he endured any sort of torment.

  Now she wondered if what had destroyed her mother wasn’t the pain of her father’s betrayal but a greater pain of knowing what her children would suffer and realizing she could do nothing to lessen it.

  His large hand closed around the back of her slender neck, and he urged her to her feet, so he could once more blanket her mouth. Here, she thought, was the danger of being intimate with a man. Clothing provided a sort of armor, and when it was removed, things were revealed that one might never guess at. She now knew things about him that few people probably did. That his body was a sculpted marvel, like a living statue. That his impressive cock throbbed when pressed against a belly. That he had a scar, and she knew its story. He’d have never told her the tale if she’d not seen the scar. Because of all this, she felt closer to him than she ever had.

  His mouth still clinging to hers, he lifted her up, cradled her in his arms, and carried her the two steps to the bed. It was a silly thing to be delighted by, when she could have gotten there easily on her own, but something in the action spoke of tenderness, of wanting to ensure she felt special. Just as he continued to stand when she walked into a room.

  He laid her on the rumpled bed where he’d no doubt been when she’d knocked on his door. “Did I wake you?” she thought to ask now.

  “No.” He followed her down, skimmed his forefinger around her breast. “I couldn’t sleep for thinking of you, knowing you were so damned near.”

  Threading his fingers through hers, he spread her arms wide, held her there, and closed his mouth over her breast, taking as much into his mouth as he could. Licking the sensitive flesh, suckling on it. Her body felt as though he was touching all of her, every inch, inside and out. That somehow he was reshaping her, so she would never again be the same. She wanted to provide him with the same gift, to leave him as changed.

  She struggled to break free of his hold.

  “Still yourself. Tonight is for you.”

  “I want it to be for us.”

  “Then let me guide you.”

  When she relaxed, he released his hold, pushed himself up, and straddled her hips. Beginning at her wrists, he glided his hands along her arms, down her sides, up over her stomach, and around her breasts.

  “Spread your legs for me.”

  She didn’t know if it was the low, sultry tenor of his voice or the directness of his words, but such molten heat coursed through her veins that she was surprised her blood didn’t turn to lava. The fire only intensified when he stretched out on his stomach, nestled himself between her thighs, and blew softly on the curls at the juncture. She wished for more light so she could see him clearly, was grateful there was so little he couldn’t see her in detail. She had no scars to hide, but no man had ever viewed her exposed thusly, placed her in such a vulnerable position. Yet, embarrassment made no appearance because the manner in which he tenderly trailed his fingers and lips over her made her feel treasured.

  Biting her lip, she watched the firelight play over his muscled back and firm buttocks. He was magnificently built. So long, so broad.

  He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other. Slid his hands beneath her knees, lifted them, bent them, until her hips tilted upward, strained toward him. Then he licked her most intimate private place as though he’d discovered a dollop of cream that had been begging to be lapped up.

  Just as she was now begging. She could not stop the little mewls from escaping her, and they seemed to incite his enthusiasm for the task at hand. She had known an intimacy was to be experienced when a man and woman came together, but hadn’t known it would delve so deep, would consume her until the world around her faded away and there remained only him, his body, his hands, his fingers, his tongue, his mouth. Kissing, stroking, sucking, tugging, conquering.

  That was how it felt. As though she was on the verge of being laid waste before him, yet she would be the one victorious. She scraped her fingers through his hair, and once more he laced his through hers and held them tight. The restriction only added to the pleasure building inside her. As the sensations intensified, her thighs began to tremble and shake. Still, he continued to plunder.

  “Ben?”

  “Give in to it, Thea.”

  Her breaths turned into shortened gasps, her chest tightened, her skin felt as though it was shrinking. Her head thrashed from side to side. She no longer had any control over it, no longer had any control over anything. Her fingers clutched his. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. Don’t let go.

  Suddenly, an ecstasy so intense, so incredible, burst through her, burst out of her. As her back arched, she swallowed her scream, and it somehow made the release all the more powerful.

  While she trembled and shook in the wake of the cataclysm, he lapped at her, once, twice, thrice. Finally releasing her hands, he shoved himself up the length of her body, and cocooned her within his embrace, murmuring in her ear. Shh, sweetheart. Shh, darling.

  Some minutes later she noticed a dampness on his chest, her cheek. Surely, she’d not wept. Yet, the intimacy of what he’d done had left her reeling, feeling incredibly raw, while at the same time treasured. How could tears have not been a response?

  Only when her quivering lessened, did she manage to rasp, “You?”

  Lifting himself up slightly, he held her gaze. “I found my pleasure pleasuring you.”

  As touched as she was by his words, she shook her head. He’d done that once before, in his study, and she’d been too overwhelmed to consider what he’d not taken for himself. “It’s not fair that I should”—she didn’t know exactly how to identify it—“should . . . come undone”—yes, that described it: an unraveling, a coming apart, a piecing back together—“and not you.” Tonight it made her feel vulnerable and somehow . . . “It makes me melancholy. Show me what to do. Aren’t you supposed to be inside me?”

  “I’m not taking your virginity.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “You might have a need for it.”

  If she kept to her plan. But how could she after experiencing him?

  “There must be another way for you. Please, don’t leave me alone in this, not this time.”

  Never taking his gaze from hers, he reached for her hand, brought it up, and placed an openmouthed kiss against her palm, coating it in dew. She watched his throat muscles work as he swallowed hard. Slowly, slowly, he lowered her hand and pressed it against his hard, throbbing cock, groaning roughly when she wrapped her fingers around him.

  Keeping his hand covering hers, he guided her in stroking the hot, glorious length of him. Down, up. At the top, he steered her thumb over the silky dome, spreading the moisture gathered there before directing her back to the long caresses.

  Because their gazes were locked, because neither looked away, it seemed more sensual, more intimate . . . simply more.

  She gloried in watching the shifting of his features, the tightening of his jaw, the manner in which his eyes would briefly squeeze shut as though he’d experienced almost unbearable pleasure, the intensity with which his eyes smoldered when they were again open. Releasing her hand, he began kn
eading her breast.

  “God, I love your breasts.”

  She was discovering she loved his cock. She felt naughty calling it such, but no other word she could think of would suffice. Every so often, when she skimmed her thumb over the head of it, gathering the dampness there, he would groan so deeply she’d feel the shuddering in his chest. It made her feel powerful to know she had such an impact on him. The melancholy drifted away. This was what she wanted: to feel equal.

  “Harder, faster,” he rasped.

  She obeyed, tightening her hold, pumping more quickly.

  Satisfaction swept through her as his breaths began to stutter because hers had when she’d neared the height of sensations, so he had to be close. He growled a harsh curse—or perhaps it was a benediction—as he buried his face in the curve of her neck and closed his mouth over her shoulder. His body jerked, trembled. His hot seed poured against her hip, over her hand.

  Gently, he stilled her actions, and she wrapped her arms around him, held him tight, not certain she ever wanted to let him go.

  Fortunately, a wash basin and pitcher were in the chamber, so Beast was able to clean up the mess he’d made over her and himself. He was now stretched out on the bed with her nestled against his left side—where she could no doubt hear the thudding of his heart—his arm around her, while he held the hand she’d placed on his stomach, the hand that had caused him to spill his seed with such force that he’d nearly lost consciousness. Periodically, he brought it to his lips and planted a kiss on her knuckles, her palm, her fingertips, her wrist.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced such satisfaction after sex. It was an odd thing, especially considering the manner in which he’d gained his release. He hadn’t been buried deep inside her. He hadn’t felt her muscles throbbing around his cock when she found her own release. He regretted that, wanted to know the tightness of her, wanted no part of her to go untouched. But he wouldn’t ruin her for a moment’s satisfaction that might cause her a lifetime of remorse.