Beauty & the Beasts

by Janice Kay Johnson; Anne Weale

  A shimmering green sheath fit her tall impossibly slender body like a second skin. If she wore a bra or underwear, he didn’t know where they were hiding. No, of course she wasn’t wearing a bra—the spaghetti straps of the dress couldn’t hide one. Heels added a couple of inches to her height. Covered only with the faintest sheen of silk, her legs went on forever. Her gleaming auburn hair was swept back into a French roll. Freshwater-pearl earrings dangled nearly as long as her neck. And even her face—by God, he couldn’t actually see the makeup, but she glowed, her cheekbones subtly accentuated, her eyes huge and mysterious, her mouth an incredibly sexy pout

  This was the Madeline Howard whose face and figure had been worth a fortune.

  Her thick dark lashes batted flirtatiously. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “You’re magnificent,” he said, then cursed himself. Was this some kind of test? Was he supposed to prove he could keep his eye fixed on her inner beauty no matter how she gilded herself?

  But she was smiling. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I don’t think I need a wrap. Shall we go?”

  As she passed, her scented warmth brushed him. If he’d still been breathing, he would have quit then.

  Her mother, hands clasped, smiled her approval. “Have a good time!”

  In a dream he escorted Madeline out to his car and held open the door for her. As she swung her legs in, her dress rode up, exposing a sleek expanse of thigh. Dazed, he circled the car to the driver’s side.

  It had barely begun, and already this was the most bizarre evening he could recall. Garth, who adored Madeline, didn’t want his father dating her. Meanwhile, Madeline, who hated being judged for her outer beauty, had dressed as seductively as a Victoria’s Secret model.

  Eric stole another glance at her. She smiled and deliberately crossed one long slim leg over the other. He shook his head again, although it hadn’t clarified anything the first time, and tried to get the key into the ignition despite his acute awareness of her thigh, only inches from his hand.

  Damn, how he wanted to touch her. His fingers itched to wrap around her leg and slide up into the shadow beneath the hemline of that skimpy dress. He was hard already, and he still hadn’t gotten the damned car started!

  “Where are we going?” she purred. Oh, hell, she probably just asked, but his nerves were so on edge now everything she did had provocative overtones. If this was a test, he was going to fail.

  He named a classy Italian restaurant on Fifth Avenue in downtown Seattle. He got the car started at last, the clutch in, but saw her when he had to turn to look over his shoulder to back out.

  “Oh, I love that place!” Madeline said in a voice that was just a little huskier than usual.

  They talked during the drive; Eric hoped he wasn’t making a complete fool of himself. By the time he parked half a block from the restaurant, he couldn’t remember a thing he’d said. Or she’d said. All he knew was that her voice was like a velvet coverlet pulled over his head, so his whole world was darkness and texture, incredibly sensuous but also smothering.

  Even in a restaurant where beautiful people dined regularly, she got a reaction. As they were shown to their table, a pool of silence spread ahead, murmurs behind. Her usual brisk stride had been replaced by a sexy sashay that increased his discomfort, along with his arousal. Who was this woman?

  Who cares? an appreciative side of him asked. He got to spend the evening with this sexy creature, and he was wasting a thought on the Madeline Howard who wore baggy olive green T-shirts and jeans? What, was he crazy?

  They perused the menu and ordered, then gazed at each other across the candlelit table. A smile played around her mouth, as though she knew how he felt and was secretly amused.

  “Garth took Ron out to explore the house today,” he said almost at random.

  “Really? Ron and Chev ought to be neutered pretty soon. In fact—”

  “They’re ready for a home. I know.” Eric grimaced. “I don’t know if Garth does.”

  She reached out and took his hand. “Will you let him take on some more? If he’s saying hello the minute he’s said goodbye, I think he’ll take it better.”

  Even her hand felt different tonight; he knew it was strong, but right now it felt silky smooth, fragile, utterly feminine. She’d painted her nails, he saw, a deep rose that somehow looked just right with the emerald green dress.

  What had she said? The teasing scent of lavender that gently wafted across the table seemed to fog his mind. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. She gazed at him with those huge eyes and smiled faintly.

  Garth. That was it. Could he take some more kittens.

  “Sure,” Eric said. “Of course. Do you have any more that’ll make him feel as needed?”

  “We always have more.” The hint of dryness in her tone sounded like her normal self. “We just got in a mom and litter. Five kittens. He’ll enjoy them.”

  Six cats in the bedroom. Oh, hell, Garth wouldn’t care.

  Wine and salads came. They talked about politics, business and cats. She admitted to having missed her riding lessons; they planned a trail ride the next weekend, her first.

  “Can you find another horse so Garth can come?”

  He’d imagined the two of them ambling along in the sunshine, maybe taking a break beside the stream, stretching out in the tall grass while the horses grazed nearby. But she was right. “Why not?” he said. “Maybe your mother would like to ride, too.”

  She rolled her eyes, and he had the satisfaction of having pierced her armor, however briefly.

  Over dinner they moved on to movies they’d seen, concerts and theater they’d attended. She’d just been to. the touring production of The Phantom of the Opera, having missed it the first time it came to Seattle. Jealousy burned in his gut as he wondered who she’d seen it with. She was careful to avoid saying, and he was damned if he’d ask. Rage rose, swift and unexpected. He’d had the chance to date and hadn’t taken it! But she went to the Fifth Avenue Theater? For all he knew, she’d been out every night the past two weeks! Maybe she hadn’t been dating him exclusively in the first place. He’d assumed—

  “Why are you frowning so fiercely?” she asked in that velvety voice.

  He grabbed the first excuse that came to him. “Worrying about a dog I did abdominal surgery on today. Sorry.”

  Her eyes were magnificent, bottomless wells of femininity and understanding. He could drown and not care.

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” Madeline murmured. “Tell me about it.”

  He did, though he kept wondering who’d sat next to her at The Phantom of the Opera. Had he discreetly held her hand? Where had they gone to dinner? Had she minded him telling her she was beautiful?

  Maybe not; maybe that was why she’d blossomed in confidence enough to be willing to quit hiding behind ugly clothes and messy hairstyles.

  By the time they finished their coffee and left the restaurant, Eric was a churning mass of confusion, frustration and hunger. He wanted her, but he also, for reasons he didn’t understand, resented her manipulation of him. She was trying to drive him to the edge; she had to be!

  But he’d vowed to be patient; he had self-control, he reminded himself grimly. She wasn’t ready for sex. He was prepared to wait until she was damned sure it was what she wanted to do.

  He seriously doubted that she’d become certain of anything since Wednesday.

  The drive home was mostly silent. Romantic music poured out of the speakers. Every streetlight and passing headlight shimmered over her long legs and the slippery green fabric of her dress. He couldn’t think about anything but her. His palms were sweating.

  He found himself remembering the first date he’d ever been on. His parents had a 1971 Chevy that stalled easily. It happened twice that evening, both times in the middle of intersections with oncoming traffic. Ellen Marie Fitzgerald—good God, he not only recalled her name, he saw her plain as day!— had squealed. She had also not only ope
ned her mouth for his kiss at the end of the evening, she’d let him touch her breast.

  More than he was going to get tonight.

  They were entering the city limits, and he put on the turn signal for Madeline’s street.

  Her voice came to him, clear as his memories. “Is Garth home?”

  Desire lanced through him, a painful stab. “No.” The one word was so rough he cleared his throat. “He’s at Teresa’s.”

  Her hand touched his thigh. “I’m sure,” she whispered.

  “Thank God,” he said, and accelerated past the turn to her house.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ALL HE WANTED was to pull that dress up around her waist, yank off her silk stockings and bury himself in her. Guaranteed to send her running.

  Patience, Eric thought tensely. Finesse. Their lovemaking had to be good for Madeline. He knew in his bones that this was his one chance.

  He didn’t pull over to the side of the road to kiss her, much as he wanted to. He wasn’t sure they’d have gotten any farther if he had, and she deserved better than a quickie in the back seat.

  When he parked the car in the garage, shutting the rolling door with a push of the button, he turned to her, still not letting himself touch. “Are you sure?” he asked hoarsely.

  Madeline nodded, almost but not quite smiling. “How many times do I have to say it?”

  “A hundred.” He put his hand to her throat, pausing where her pulse beat frantically, then slid it upward to her jaw. “A thousand.” He bent his head, mouth poised just above hers. “A million.”

  This kiss was deep and slow and left him feeling drugged. He grazed her lips with his teeth, traced the curve of her cheek, nibbled on her earlobe. Then he lifted his head and for a. moment just gazed at the perfection of her face. A blush ran across her cheekbones, her lashes formed a thick fan against ivory skin, and her mouth was soft. When she opened her eyes, he saw the dark dreaminess that he’d imagined nights when he couldn’t sleep.

  “We’d better get in the house,” he said roughly.

  She stared at him with clouded eyes, then blushed again and gave a small nod.

  Her dress rode up as she swung her legs out. Then she dropped her purse and had to bend over to pick it up from the concrete floor. Finally she was on her feet, far less gracefully than usual. Maybe she felt a little foggy, too.

  He kissed her and wrapped his hands around her hips, lifting her against him. She felt so good there he hurt. If she quit on him this time, he was going to sink to his knees and bellow like a wounded bull.

  Still kissing her, Eric maneuvered them through the door into the kitchen. He stumbled over something, staggered, regained his footing. Looking down, he realized it was Hannah, waiting just inside. The cat gave her speciality, a silent meow, and gazed up hopefully.

  “Oh!” Madeline tugged away from him and scooped up the small gray tortoiseshell. “Did we almost trample you? Sweetie, you’re getting plump.”

  Eric groaned and sagged back against the wall.

  Madeline lifted her head. A smile quivered on her sexy mouth. “I suppose we could talk later about how she’s doing.”

  “Much later,” he said from low in his throat. He watched her deposit Hannah on the floor. “Come here.”

  “Ooh, how macho,” she teased, but took a step, anyway, and melted into his arms.

  Hannah didn’t follow them down the hall. Eric did have to evict Mannequin from his bed and plop her out in the hall, shutting the door in her sweet vacant face.

  Madeline’s breath was warm on his neck. “It’s just like my house.”

  They wouldn’t have room on the bed if they combined their households. The thought wasn’t such a jolt this time. They’d manage. They could keep their bedroom door shut. Like now.

  He framed Madeline’s face with his hands, his fingers slipping into her smooth hair. “I’ll ruin it.”

  She smiled, lifted both arms like a ballerina pirouetting and pulled out pins that dropped to the carpet in a brief shower. Her glorious mane fell free, tumbling over his hands and her silken shoulders.

  He heard an animal sound that shouldn’t have come from a man. Her mouth opened willingly for his; he ravaged it, his tongue thrusting. At the same time he shimmied up her dress and drove his hands inside her panties, gripping her high firm buttocks.

  He was going to embarrass himself if he didn’t get inside her.

  Finesse. She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t be.

  He wrenched his mouth away and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose. When he opened his eyes, he looked down into hers.

  They were misty and wondering. “I’m sure,” she whispered, for the third or fourth or hundredth time just over the thunder of his heartbeat.

  Hands trembling, he very slowly peeled off her panties and stockings, kneeling at the last to slip the silk off each foot as she lifted it. There she stood above him, naked from the waist down, gloriously slim and pale, with a V of silky dark curls holding a hint of the same fire as the auburn hair that now swung down over her breasts.

  His hands went back up, from her ankles to her calves, stroking the backs of her knees, up, up her thighs. God, her skin was smooth! She took little sobbing breaths. When he reached those curls, he didn’t dip his fingers in. Instead, he bent down and rubbed his cheek against them. And then he turned his face and kissed her there.

  The breath that escaped her was closer to a sob than a sigh. He kissed her again, then rose to his feet, lifting her with him, wrapping her legs around his waist, tumbling them both onto the bed.

  Not ready. Finesse.

  But she squirmed as though she was, adjusted her hips to cradle him and ran her fingernails over his back. Only his pants were between them. He thought he might go crazy. He sought her mouth again, willing himself not to rip down his zipper and take her.

  Not yet.

  Instead, he wormed his hand under her back and found the zipper of her dress, working it down even as he kissed her. Once it tangled with the bedcovers and he swore. Madeline giggled and arched her back to give him better access. When her dress loosened, he made another guttural sound and tugged it down.

  He’d been right. No bra.

  “You’re—” He stopped.

  “You can say it.” Madeline was working on his last shirt button. “I’ll say it.” She pushed his shirt off his shoulders. “You’re beautiful. Sexy.” Her hands searched the contours of muscle and bone. “Will you take your pants off?”

  “In a minute.” Now her searching fingers were driving away what little sanity he still possessed. “They’re the only thing keeping me from having you.”

  Madeline said simply, “I know,” and kissed his nipple.

  He’d never removed an article of clothing as fast as he did those slacks. Then he put on a condom damn near as quickly.

  Just for one second he reared above her, looking, savoring, not quite believing. He’d been afraid they would never get here. He didn’t know how they had. Why she’d changed her mind. Why the evening had been one long seduction, why her thighs were parted to welcome him, why she was saying again, “I’m sure. Eric, please.”

  And then he lowered himself over her, found the damp hot entrance to her body and thrust Every muscle in his neck and back was rigid as he fought to go slowly. Madeline’s arms came up around his neck and she let out a long, sighing, “Ooooh.”

  Heaven. Sheathed so tightly in her, he paused long enough to brush her mouth with his and murmur, “You feel incredible. I feel incredible.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes didn’t seem quite able to focus. “Me, too. I didn’t know…”

  Gasoline to the fire. Eric pulled out, buried himself again. Again. And again. Desire roared over him like a sonic boom rumbling from the sky. Madeline cried out and clung, hips lifting to meet every driving thrust.

  When he didn’t think he could hold on for another second, shivers started deep in her belly and spread, ripples of exquisite tightening that had her stiff
ening, digging her fingers into his shoulders and gasping. The rhythmic squeeze of her muscles carried him over the edge.

  Heaven.

  SHE’D NEVER FELT more gloriously feminine and fulfilled in her life than she did when Eric kissed her on her doorstep and left her that night.

  After slipping inside, Madeline turned the dead bolt, did a twirl and laughed out loud.

  “Madeline? Is that you?”

  Oh, Lord. Her mother was sitting up waiting for her.

  Reluctant to ruin her mood, she ran her fingers through her hair, hoped the end of her evening wasn’t too obvious and moved to the open archway. “Yes, I’m home.”

  Mrs. Howard sat primly at one end of the couch, the lamplight pooled on a book open in her lap. “Did you have a nice time?”

  “Yes, very nice.” Even more reluctantly Madeline stepped into the living room, where she couldn’t avoid the light.

  Her mother’s eyebrows rose. After a pause she said, “You looked lovely tonight.”

  The slight emphasis on the looked made obvious that it was past tense. In other words, now Madeline’s appearance was tawdry, past its bloom. The first compliment she remembered hearing from her mother in years, and it was delivered with a sting.

  “That’s all you’ve ever cared about, isn’t it, Mom?” Appalled, she heard herself say the unspeakable. Couldn’t stop herself now that she’d begun. Had she shed all her inhibitions tonight? “I should apologize for letting you down. How dare I live without taking care that my face and clothes are flawless!”

  Her mother stared at her in shock. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” A part of Madeline gloried in the freedom to say everything, to let the bitterness she’d nourished so long leach from every word. Another part of her stood back, horrified. She didn’t have to do this. It wasn’t necessary for her accusations to escalate. All those years she and her mother had been so careful not to destroy their fragile relationship. Why blow it now?