Beauty and the Brute

by Nikki Winter

  “Ma’am?”

  Alana lifted her eyes from her lap at the call of her cab driver, meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Getting out?” he asked.

  She gave a short nod and unclipped her clutch, pulling out the meter price and an extra tip. An attendant rushed over to open her door, giving her a hand out. Alana’s “Thank you” was quiet and absentminded. Why was this so hard? He’d watched her accept a diploma and she couldn’t garner enough courage to sit through a simple dinner?

  Pushing back her shoulders, she lifted her head and dug deep for that Alana; the one who moved like the physical embodiment of sex. That Alana couldn’t be bothered with titles and worries and the like. That Alana would shove down the anxious churning in her gut that screamed this would end badly and cruise through those doors as though she owned the room. So she did. She met the stairs with calm agility and almost missed the sight of a ruffled looking couple crossing the lawn from the side of Noel’s large secondary home. It was one that he’d had renovated for the sole purpose of events. She’d never been here but from the looks of her employer and her employer’s love interest as they snickered and scuttled by like horny teenagers, she would say it was definitely as expansive as it looked. The mussed pair didn’t even notice her as they shot a beeline for the valet. Alana tucked the imagery away for later blackmail and continued her trek.

  She showed her invitation to security and was met with a welcoming arm sweep and a smile that was too dazzling to have been genuine. It didn’t take her long to catalogue the people ambling around through the huge foyer, pushing all the way back to a grand staircase that ran through three levels. A great majority were celebrities that she recognized from sports, television and the music industry. The rest were every day individuals like her.

  Alana made her way through the crowd, acknowledging those who called out greetings and ignoring suggestive looks from others. She’d just slipped around someone standing in her path when she recognized a build that was too wide to be unfamiliar.

  “Alcohol,” she announced, coming to stand beside Ashleigh as he shoveled hors d’oeuvres into his mouth. “Where is it and how much of it can I have before I’m considered classless?”

  Gaze widening slightly, he looked her over and grinned. “With the split of that dress? I wouldn’t try anything past two and a half glasses. You’ve got drunk flasher written all over you.”

  Her lips twitched. “Your discernment has failed you, barbarian. I’ll flash with or without my BAL heightened.”

  He laughed and bumped his forearm into her shoulder. “Please refrain from that. Hadds will lose his shit and then I’ll have to explain to the authorities why there are ripped off jaws all over the property.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she murmured, peeking around him. “And where is Jack the Ripper?”

  “Moping about because he thought you weren’t coming.” Ashleigh placed one large hand to his chest. “I, however, never doubted you for a moment.”

  “Aren’t you sweet?” Alana leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Point me in the direction of his sulking?”

  Jabbing a finger towards the back of the room, he told her, “Last place I saw his general air of gloom and laments.”

  She laughed as she moved on, weaving around attendees. It didn’t take long for her to see him. Mainly because she’d grown so accustomed to picking him out in a crowd, taking note of his height and width, the way he stood with his legs braced apart, balancing on the balls of his feet. Tonight wasn’t much different. Hands stuffed into the pockets of slim cut tuxedo trousers, white broadcloth shirt open at the collar and his wingtip oxfords catching the light’s reflection, Noel remained apart from everyone else. The navy blue of his formal wear made the color of his ruddy hair seem deeper. He’d brushed the thick strands back, taming his curls with whatever product he’d chosen. His beard had been cut down and cleaned up, helping him to look less like the lumberjack she’d come to adore. For some reason she had the urge to ruffle him. She liked slightly wild Noel. Although, she supposed that this appearance had its benefits. A dirty mouth combined with a crisp outer shell could be undoubtedly fun later.

  Alana strolled closer, fighting a grin when his gaze snapped over to her, rounding just a bit. Ashleigh hadn’t been exaggerating about her dress’ split. She’d kept it as apropos as possible but it was no secret that her legs were her best feature. She was also well aware that all the nips, kiss sized bruises and licks she’d received from thigh to ankle came from Noel’s unapologetic worship of them. Therefore, when she’d chosen the floor-length, gold sequined frock with an empire waist and a cleft that almost peaked at her hip, she’d know exactly what she was doing. The appreciative blaze of his honey colored irises starting at the top of her bun and ending at shoes that she’d spent a quarter of her most recent check on told her she’d made the right decision.

  “You like?” she mouthed, waggling her brows.

  He tucked in his lips but a smile came out to play despite his best efforts to conceal it. Noel ducked his head momentarily then raised it again; jerking it backwards in his universal sign for “Get over here.”

  On suddenly shaky legs, Alana forgot all about exuding sex and found herself wholly interested in receiving the promise his stare held. She moved without much thought, totally ignorant to the things happening around her as she reached him. At a foot away, he held out a hand and she took it. Noel gave a gentle tug, bringing her into his chest with a sigh.

  He fingered her bangs and curled his digits beneath her chin, raising it a fraction. His head lowered and she held her breath. “It was a wise choice on your part to make me wait, sugar,” he said against her mouth.

  “Why?” she whispered back.

  “Because I would have decimated this dress getting it off of you.” Noel rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. “And then…”

  “And then…what?”

  He pressed his lips to her ear. “I’ll show you later, darlin’. I’ll show you until every inhale shudders and every word feels like cotton on your tongue.”

  Alana swallowed. With anyone else she could have given them a teasing smile, glossing over their words all the while knowing that it was delusion speaking. But as with everything else about him, Noel wasn’t to be underestimated. This wasn’t self-glorification or ego. His words weren’t empty. And the brush of his kiss against her brow held a wealth of meaning. Because he always gave her that gentle sweep right before he fucked her mercilessly.

  She could barely hear beyond the buzzing in her ears as he took her hand, interlocked their fingers and led her away from the corner, rambling about introducing her to a few more of his team members.

  Eleven

  “You look familiar.”

  It was such an innocent comment; one that Alana didn’t think twice about coming from one of the Blackbirds milling about not too long after dinner had ended. Selections of braised lamb, curried quail and stuffed swordfish had offered a wide range for each diner, leaving everyone satisfied and languid. Her guard, like several others, was down and she gave the tight end a speculative look. “Really?”

  Russell—introduced to her as Rusty—nodded. “You do.”

  Her head cocked. “I’d say it’s because I simply have one of those faces but you seem convinced.”

  He gave her a crooked lift of his lips. “Your face isn’t one a man would forget, Ms. Stafford so I have every reason to be.”

  “You’re flirting,” she warned softly. “And although I find you to be adorable, I have an affinity for those with a slow, southern twang if you haven’t noticed.” Noel and the others seated at their table aside from Russell had disappeared for a few minutes to go catch up with his coach but his absence didn’t suddenly make her available.

  Russell snorted and sat back in his seat. “I noticed. Hadds is one very fortunate son of a bitch.”

  Smirking, Alana took a sip from her wine glass. “I doubt you’re hurting for female attention, my friend.”

  He waved
a hand. “Not talking about other women right now. I’m talking about you.” The player pointed a finger in her direction. “And why I know that pretty face.”

  “Oh now you know my pretty face?” Alana joked.

  Russell nodded. “Yes ma’am. And I’m fairly certain I’ve figured out from where.”

  “If you say the internet…”

  With a chuckle, he shook his head. “You were in my English class sophomore year at Penn State. Professor Gavin—the off colored man who made us debate about the heavy dependence on the male perspective—”

  “—in a history built solely on the love of breasts,” Alana finished, laughing now as she remembered. “He was…different.”

  “He was insane. But he wasn’t exactly lying about history being built on the love of the female form.” Russell leaned forward a bit and studied her. “You were also a distance runner under Coach Abel. I used to watch you all during practice out on the field, thanking God that my coach had some leniency.”

  Alana unfurled her fingers from the wine glass now. She knew that if she didn’t she’d crack it.

  “His methods bordered on terroristic but that brought home quite a few national championships,” he went on, completely oblivious to the dropping of Alana’s gut. “Do you still run?”

  She flinched. “Not the way I used to, no. I um…got an acute fracture my senior year and had to bow out.”

  “Ahhh, the life of an athlete.” Russell looked about and then refocused on her. “Can I ask you something about Abel?”

  Oh God no…

  A nod was all she could manage. Her heart was now in her throat, every beat pounding against her eardrums.

  His brows rose. “There were a few rumors on campus that he wasn’t strictly an on-track mentor.” At her blank stare he raised his hands in an attempt to appear harmless. “I’m not asking if—”

  “He ever tried to screw me?” she completed bluntly; returning to a shield that had guarded her in more than one verbal square off. “But that’s what you want to know, isn’t it?”

  How many people had wanted an answer to that same inquiry? How many times had she been pulled away from the crowd, herded off by an interested party who salivated at the prospect of dirt? How many times had she held herself rigid at the mention of Lucas Abel’s name, listening while in the same breath jokes were made about what lessons he was really teaching behind closed doors?

  As if she needed the reminder. As if she needed to recall how twisted and disgusting she felt after finding out that she wasn’t special, that she wasn’t the only one Lucas had promised forever to. One in a line of several, just another face in the crowd for a predator who struck with a sinister magnetism that could—and did—lure in his prey.

  Sweet, beguiling and attentive, he’d known which circle to market his dick to. He’d known what pretty words and few random acts of kindness could do for a girl who’d just stepped out of her teens. And oh, how good he’d been at it. So good that had Alana not stumbled into one of his junior runners on campus mid-way through trekking to her next class, she would have never known that another girl wore a tennis bracelet identical to her own; one that had been given to her by Lucas. What a double-edged sword, that revelation.

  Alana had tried ignoring the niggling in the pit of her stomach, she had tried to put it off as pure coincidence but blissful ignorance had never been something she’d favored. Later in the day she’d made her way to Lucas’ office, waiting until he was done talking to assistant coach before she finally received a window to confront him. The mention of the bracelet left a deafening silence in the room. He didn’t have to speak after that. Alana had her answers. It wasn’t coincidence.

  She’d taken off with the full intent to get as far away from him as humanly possible, only to have him follow once he’d realized he’d been caught. She never stopped to ask herself if it were fear that made him chase her or actual concern but he’d run after her none-the-less, stumbling over his words, trying to explain, trying to lie. Alana had told him to fuck off and he had persisted that they talk, catching her by the wrist before she could hit the concrete stairs in front of the building where his office was housed. Screeching in rage that he’d have the actual audacity to touch her, she’d yanked away, not gauging the distance properly. Lucas had reached for her again but by then it was too late. Her left ankle hit the cement at an awkward angle and the second the fracture happened, she knew—she knew—her heart wasn’t the only thing that had been broken.

  Lucas had gone through the motions of calling her parents. He even stayed with her through the ride to the E.R., given to her by a friend. He kept trying his hand at verbal gymnastics that she didn’t want to hear. When she wouldn’t budge, he’d lamely excused himself after her parents and Alexander arrived. He brother then, much like now, wasn’t stupid. He’d cornered her a few days later and prodded the truth out of her about what really happened.

  The depression only worsened when it came out that the junior runner with the identical jewelry had told someone, who told someone else, who told someone else that she was sleeping with her coach and would likely move to varsity sooner rather than later because of it. This led to a discreet investigation by the dean and school board who poured over every move of the varsity squad—Alana’s especially. Because of her extended interactions with Lucas, her seemingly spotless academia and her unparalleled athleticism, they’d wanted to know if any of it was real or if her records had been influenced due to a personal relationship. She’d earned every single goddamn award and yet, she was the one eyed with suspicion. She was the one who’d had to stand before a small tribunal and lie about how Lucas had only ever been an incredible instructor and nothing more; all in the knowledge that exposing him stripped her of any scholastic credibility. She was the one who’d gritted her teeth through uncomfortable questions on inappropriate behavior. And Lucas Abel? Lucas Abel had been given a healthy sum of severance pay and was sent on his way because they didn’t feel it necessary to make any more waves about a rumor. Alana however, was left with one single thought echoing with every day that she started her morning jog—“How could I be so fucking naive?”

  That thought had beaten her psyche bloody. Had beaten it until she fought back; until she became someone else. Romance received no inclusion in her life. Not when she had to readjust all goals, all dreams because romance had formed into a Judas. Sweet, beguiling and attentive weren’t welcome traits because as far as she was concerned, all she needed was a warm body and basic skill in the art of making a woman orgasm. Pretty words and random acts of kindness were buried under her scrutiny and sarcasm. It had been that way for so long. And Noel had made her forget why. But now she remembered. Now she remembered everything.

  Russell’s cheeks deepened in color. “I’m sorry. That was tacky.”

  “Yes,” Alana confirmed as she nodded. “It was.” She drummed her nails against the rounded table and watched the interactions in the crowd. “But to answer your question: no. He never tried to screw me.” Trying implied that one had failed in their pursuits. Lucas had not.

  The tight end’s brow furrowed and she knew he was attempting to read between the lines of what she’d said. At that point, she couldn’t find it within herself to care what he interpreted. Alana just wanted to be alone. She wanted to be away from her steadily meshing thoughts that paralleled Noel and Lucas. The two shouldn’t be compared but it inescapable. He was inescapable.

  Pushing back her seat, Alana stood and muttered something barely intelligible about the ladies room. She didn’t wait for a response, just rushed off to find the quietest place that she could.

  Noel drew up short a few feet away from the table he’d been seated at, finding Alana’s chair empty. When he couldn’t locate her in the throng of people standing around, he walked over and tapped a team member, knowing the man had been one of the last stragglers sitting with her.

  “Seen Alana?”

  The tight end winced. “Yeah. May have spent some
time talking around my size twelves though.”

  He paused, biting back the automatic snap on his tongue and approached from a different angle. “Do I want to know?”

  Russell shook his head. “Small talk but she seemed…distant after I asked her something slightly cheap.”

  Talk with your mouth and not your hands, Haddon. Your mouth and not your hands.

  “How cheap?”

  His team member frowned. “Nothing like what you’re thinking.”

  “You can tell what I’m thinking?”

  “You look seconds away from twisting my head off like a bottle cap so yeah, I can tell what you’re thinking.” He blew out a breath when Noel’s expression didn’t change. “Innocent question about Penn State. We were there around the same time and there was a rumor I remembered.”

  Now what could have possibly unsettled Alana about a rumor from almost six years ago?

  “She said something about the ladies room before I lost sight of her,” Russell informed him.

  Noel nodded and started off. “Thanks.”

  “Tell her I didn’t mean any harm,” the other man called after him.

  Right. But harm had been caused apparently, intentional or no. Alana was nothing if not methodical so if something had upset her, it wasn’t small. Regretting that he hadn’t asked Russell what the rumor was, he cut through the hallways in search of her. Noel turned a corner and ran into Ashleigh leaving the kitchen with a plate.

  He stopped and allowed the height of his brows to speak for him.

  “This isn’t what it looks like,” Ashleigh started. “I’m just holding it for a friend.”

  Noel snorted. “How hard did you beg for that?”

  “One doesn’t have to beg when he’s as attractive as I.”

  He stared.

  Ashleigh’s shoulders slumped. “She got sick of my whining after about three minutes or so.”

  Laughing, Noel rocked back on his heels. “You’re a sad, sad man.”