How Beauty Met the Beast

by Jax Garren

  Jolie lightly touched his shoulder, as if she was comforting him. “Don’t worry. I think you actually removed his balls before breaking his neck. He’s very dead. It was...primal. I’m sure I shouldn’t be happy to have seen such egregious violence, but—” she tapped a fist to her heart, “—I gotta admit that particular image gave me a warm fuzzy inside.”

  His dark thoughts lightened at her chipper tone. Damn, she was fearless. He tried to think of an appropriately flip response. Instead he noticed someone snooping around the only car in the lot. He put a hand up to halt Jolie and pointed.

  Her eyes bugged. “It’s okay. I know him.”

  “Get rid of him. I’ll be nearby.”

  “Okay. Just promise me you won’t solve this hitch in that brilliant plan you’re hopefully concocting with violence, okay?’

  “Yeah, yeah.” Hauk pulled his hoodie up to better hide his face and dropped into the shadows of the building, close enough where he could still see and hear.

  Jolie strolled casually to her car. “Paul? What are you doing here?”

  “Jolie!” The face that popped up from studying the lock on her car door was ridiculously handsome, with dark hair and perfect skin, exactly the kind of man a beautiful woman like Jolie should be dating. A hint of jealousy sparked through Hauk as he fought to hold still and let Jolie get rid of the boy.

  Then the boy kissed her. And not some peck-on-the-cheek kiss. No, Paulie laid a full frontal I-have-seen-you-naked-before-and-will-again-soon kiss on her as his hands groped her backside. Hauk hopped out of his shadows. He didn’t need violence. Usually the threat was enough to send pretty boys running.

  But Jolie was kissing him back.

  He froze for a moment in the sunshine, watching her lock lips with another man, and he knew it was the right thing for her to do. This Paul was obviously worried about her. He’d come to search her car because he cared. He had a normal life and wasn’t burned to a pink pulp. Two things Hauk could never be for Jolie.

  Or any other woman, for that matter. For five years he’d been okay with that, but for some reason the pretty dancer had made him hope he could have more than the solitary life he’d been living.

  Who the hell was he fooling?

  * * *

  Paul’s kiss turned Jolie’s insides into useless static. It always did. But there was something more this time than the usual expert liplock. His fingers curved possessively into her hips; his lips groped almost desperately at hers. Like he’d been worried.

  He pulled back and studied her face, his hazel eyes concerned. Jolie bit her lip where the feel of him still tingled and tried not to look like the drooling fangirl she still was around him. Not only was Paul pants-dropping gorgeous (and he did drop many pants), he was a musician. He wrote haunting music, played piano and guitar and had a voice that got inside a girl. His band, Spork, K bahe had a growing local fanbase, and Jolie knew it was only a matter of time before they landed something big. Paul Gellar was destined to become a household name with his beautiful face postered across the walls of dorms and teenage bedrooms everywhere.

  Of course, she could help make them famous.

  Paul’s smile, so full of unusual but welcome concern, tightened the coil of guilt inside that had been growing steadily more painful over the past few months. So far Paul hadn’t asked for anything—not a loan, not a press review, not an introduction. She was starting to hope that this time, the guy with the come-hither smile thought of her as more than a well-connected pocketbook whose nice rack made mercenary fucking less of a chore.

  She’d learned caution the hard way.

  So Paul was still a struggling artist and she was a rich girl who could make him a star and didn’t. And she hated that about herself.

  “Where’d you go last night after your show? I called, and you haven’t called back. I was getting worried.”

  “Oh, I...” Nearly got kidnapped then spent the night in another man’s bed. Because of her promise, she couldn’t tell him the first part, and telling the second was useless, as Paul wouldn’t mind. He’d been clear from the beginning that he only did open relationships. It wasn’t her first choice, but made practical sense with all the touring Spork did.

  “I called after the band finished our set. I thought we could hang out. Wanted to hear how your debut went.” He traced a finger under her chin. “I’m still sorry I missed that. I bet you kicked ass. Got your own groupies yet?”

  Jolie felt her cheeks heat as she struggled to quell the dumb grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Though she was trying to “release the shackles of conventional monogamy,” before last night she hadn’t found anyone else interesting. Thanks to Wesley of the Divine Tongue, she finally had a reason to be glad Paul didn’t want an exclusive commitment. “At least one.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think I can count until I’ve seen a show. Which I’ll do as soon as we’re not booked on the same night.”

  She gave up the fight and shot him a teasing smile. “I wasn’t talking about you. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “N-not me?” Did he look...jealous? Well, I’ll be damned. But the grin came back, covering his flash of doubt. “So that’s where you were last night. And here I was, pining for you alone at my apartment.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “You busy? Want to grab lunch?”

  “Oh! Shit!” Jolie shook her head, clearing the mental fuzz of proximity to Paul. “No. I have...family. Family trauma.”

  His concern returned. “Is everything okay?”

  “No. I mean, yes.” She waved her hands unsure what to say. “I’m sorry, I just have to go. I’ll call you in a few days.”

  His brow lifted in surprise. “A few days?”

  She hesitated. “Is that a problem?”

  “Of course not,” he said quickly. He leaned down and kissed her again with a short but firm press of lips. “The trials and tribulations of an heiress, eh?” His voice was teasing, but the hand on her hip was again oddly possessive, as if he was reluctant to let her go this time.

  She rolled her eyes but soaked up the extra attention like a drought-starved plant. “You know it. One drama after the next. Now, go home. I’ll talk to you in a few.”

  He gave her a mock pout. “Here I was, all excited to see you in your costume, and you’re making me wait.” He leaned close until his breath was soft against her ear. “But a private performance of that kick-ass routine will go a long way toward soothing my pain.” He playfully smacked her on the backside. “I’m looking forward to it.” He winked and jogged to his car before calling back, “I’m glad you’re okay! Call me back next time so I don’t worry. And call me after ‘family trauma’ is over and we’ll get drinks. I’ll be sitting by the phone.”

  Jolie watched him go as a slow smile spread across her face. There was no way Paul would sit by the phone, but she had to admit she liked the image. It was nice to have him waiting on her call for once.

  * * *

  Pretty-boy was gone. Finally. Hauk strolled out to Jolie’s car, a pearly white Nissan coupé (Reginald Benoit’s daughter drove a Nissan?) and tried to keep his stewing thoughts from reading clearly on his face. “Who’s pretty boy?”

  “My kinda-boyfriend.”

  Hauk nearly choked. “Boyfriend? What’s a kinda-boyfriend?” He just managed to smother the appalled shock out of his expression, but damn, that took some effort. “Am I gonna get my ass kicked for absconding with you last night?” Or for giving you an orgasm?

  He should’ve known someone as gorgeous as Jolie would have a boyfriend. But what in hell had she been doing with him after her show?

  Jolie clicked the locks open. “Like Paul could kick anyone’s ass, much less yours.” She sounded thoughtful as she slid into the seat. Trouble in the love nest? Was he a bad person for hoping that was the ca

  se?

  The back of his neck tingled, shifting his thoughts. Violence. About to happen. They had to move.

  “Start the car. Now.
”

  Chapter Six

  Hauk slammed Jolie’s door shut and vaulted over the hood. A bullet exploded the pavement where he’d just stood.

  The engine growled as another bullet streaked across the roof. “Are we being shot at?”

  “Go! Go! I’m in!” Go little Nissan, go.

  Jolie stared at him with wide eyes. “Paul—”

  “Is long gone.” He shouted his best drill sergeant, “MOVE!”

  With a squeak she jammed the gear into reverse and the car ejected from the space. More bullets blasted the ground. Jolie robotically shifted into gear, and the car shot out of the lot with surprising agility.

  “Good girl. They might follow us, so keep moving.”

  “Are they after you or me?”

  He threw his rucksack into the backseat. “I dunno. Want to go back and ask?”

  “No!” She took a right without slowing. Punched the accelerator, and the car zipped forward. Unfortunately, three motorcycles picked up their tail. “Where am I going?”

  He looked at her white knuckles. “Can this car lose ’em?”

  “What?” The pale glimmer of a smirk cracked the freeze of her face. “Never heard of a Nissan GT-R, huh?”

  She liked her car. He could use that. “Nope. But I’m not impressed yet.”

  “Well, prepare to—” More bullets sang out, and Jolie screamed.

  “We’re okay. Zigzag. Turn corners. Change lanes. Get somewhere crowded.”

  She made a left turn from the right hand lane. “What if they shoot somebody else?”

  “They’re less likely to shoot in traffic.”

  Another hairpin turn, and they were on a crowded bridge over the lake. And the bullets continued. “I thought you said—”

  He growled, frustrated. “I guessed wrong.” He slid a gun out of his ankle holster and checked the chamber.

  “What’s that? Holy shit! You have a gun!”

  “Yup.”

  Jolie juked around cars as agilely as the motorcycles behind them. Soon they were off the bridge. “I’m heading for the highway.”

  “Sounds good to me. If cops come, don’t pull over. Just drive faster.” He rolled down the window as she slid across two busy lanes, turned again and picked up speed on the straightaway. “So...tell me about this kinda-boyfriend of yours. Who is he?”

  “What? We’re in a car chase.”

  “Yeah. No time like the present to get to know each other a little better. So tell me about...what’s his name? Paul.” Hauk leaned out the window and took aim at the tires of the nearest mercenary.

  “Uh...I met him this summer. We’ve been dating for about five months.” Her voice sounded less panicked. Good.

  But his bullet came up short. “Is it serious?”

  “No, um, Paul doesn’t believe in monogamy. Uh... Are you shooting? Do you need me to drive in a straight line? I don’t know how to do the getaway car thing.”

  “You’re doing amazing. Keep juking. If I can knock one out, bonus, but not getting hit is the best plan.” So the earth-shattering post-show hadn’t been cheating. Good to know. Awesome as it had been, Hauk wasn’t okay and had never been okay with being anyone’s “bit on the side.” And he hated to think of Jolie as the cheating type. But she wasn’t.

  “Okay. I’ll keep juking.”

  And Paul was a dumbass. “So, ‘Paul doesn’t believe in monogamy.’ What does that mean?” The second shot tagged the pavement right in front of a motorcycle. The driver swerved so fast he lost control. One down, two to go.

  “It means just like it sounds. Monogamy is a stricture forced on us by society. It isn’t natural.”

  Ooh, sounded defensive. Excellent. Defensive was better than scared.

  And it might just mean she didn’t agree with Paul.

  “Forced on us, huh?” Hauk’s next shot popped a tire, sending the next motorcycle careening off the road. “Or Paulie likes eating cupcakes when he’s got a first-class meal waiting at home, one of the two.” Bull’s-eye. The third motorcycle spun out and smacked into the hillside.

  She didn’t notice. “He’s bohemian.”

  Hauk ducked back into the car. “You know what ‘bohemian’ means, right?”

  Jolie glanced a question at him before looking back at the road.

  “Nineteenth-century hipster.”

  She opened her mouth to protest the derisive moniker, but no words came out. Instead she said, “Why aren’t you still shooting?”

  “We got away. Nice driving. Keep the pedal down until we’re clear of the area—I hear sirens. Get us someplace we can hide your car and lay low for a couple of hours.”

  “Hours?”

  “Yup. Part one of the brilliant plan I’m concocting won’t start until this afternoon.” He rolled the window back up and gave Jolie an appreciative once over. She was something else.

  Something Paul didn’t properly appreciate. Doesn’t believe in monogamy, my ass. Pretty-boy was a moron. Hauk could work with that. “Your car doesn’t suck. So what’s with the white? I figured a burlesque dancer would go for red or something nice and garish.”

  She took another corner without changing their speed, pulling them out of traffic onto lesser-used roads. “I like subverting expectations.”

  Damn straight.

  * * *

  Of course Jolie lived in Austin’s most exclusive high-rise. The skyline’s tallest building thrust up in curving chrome and glass splendor, a phallic ode to capitalist success, dwarfing all lesser buildings with its height and decadence.

  Hauk’s father had been a trucker and his mom worked in a secretary pool. They’d never had to worry about where a meal was coming from, but those meals weren’t exactly steak and lobster. In fact, he’d spent more than a few weeks living on hot dogs and mac n’ cheese when his dad went on one of his between-gig benders and the majority of the food budget went to Jim Beam. His dad hadn’t been a mean drunk or anything, but family wasn’t his forte.

  They’d lived in a modest house that was reasonably clean and reasonably comfortable in a tightly knit neighborhood. After high school, Hauk had enlisted and lived in barracks or CHUs, those nasty aluminum trailers like the one that had caught fire. He’d always assumed one day he’d get married and get another modest house, also reasonably clean and reasonably comfortable, but with less whiskey and more T-bone steaks.

  For him, the Underlight was a luxurious wonderland.

  Looking up at the fifty some-odd glamorous stories Jolie Benoit called home, it sunk in with the inexorable hopelessness of quicksand that she might be harder to impress.

  But money wasn’t everything, and he refused to be cowed by it. Or, at least, not to let on when he was cowed by it. He’d never gotten a personal view of how the other-other one percent lived, and he was curious. Like everyone, he’d made assumptions about thoughtless decadence and a naiveté about how life in the real world works. He glanced from the building back to Jolie and tried not to make assumptions about her.

  She’d been easier to wrap his brain around when she was dancing with starving artists in an abandoned building.

  They pulled up to the back entrance where a valet—apparently the residents didn’t do mundane things like park their own cars—opened Jolie’s door. She’d called her building’s concierge (or whatever) and implied Hauk was some sort of celebrity who didn’t want to be seen, and they’d taken it all in stride, as if famous people popping in was a normal Swaslding backthing around here. Hell, maybe it was.

  “Thanks, Travis.” Jolie knew the valet’s name.

  For some reason that made him happy. He ducked out of the car, keeping his face averted, and watched from the corner of his eyes as Jolie smiled and joked with the valet, who smiled and joked right back, dimpled cheeks relaxed in a casual demeanor Hauk doubted was his usual resident greeting.

  Hauk shook his head. One more good-looking male making eyes at Jolie. Paul had better watch out. Not that car hops or (he laughed at himself) fugitives were likely
to be serious competition.

  With a wave, Travis took off in the car, and Jolie led Hauk up the steps, through a deserted lobby and into an empty elevator. A key card swipe automatically programmed them for the fifty-fifth floor. “Top level?”

  “Second highest. I’m sure Daddy would’ve been offered the top but I bought this on my own, so the real estate agent went down a floor.”

  Hauk couldn’t tell if she was kidding or if that was how it really worked. Rich people were different. But the disdain in her voice when she mentioned her illustrious father made him snort a laugh. “Daddy” was clearly not a term of endearment.

  She turned on him with fierce eyes, apparently misinterpreting the sound. “I don’t live off my father. I don’t like what he does, and I turned down my trust fund. So don’t give me that.”

  “Where’d a twenty-four-year-old who turned down her trust fund come up with the money to buy here? I know it’s not my business, but that doesn’t add up, and I’m putting a lot of trust in you right now.”

  She pursed her lips and straightened her spine. “You’re right. That’s not your business.”

  For a moment she dithered, and Hauk’s suspicions rose. Maybe she had a reasonable explanation. Or maybe she assumed he was too dumb to notice gaping holes in her story.

  Finally she stared at a wall, turning her gaze from his. “My grandfather passed away in September. He left me a large chunk of his assets, including his home. I couldn’t live there after he was gone. It was too...” She waved a hand as she got her expression back under control. “I sold it and bought this.” A hint of a nostalgic smile turned up the corner of her mouth. “Papa Marcel was my mother’s father, and he had nothing to do with Benoit Media. He was a film director. And a really good person.”

  If she was faking emotion when she talked about her grandfather, she was a damn good actress. Despite his doubts, his heart went out to her as she struggled to keep a stoic face. He turned away to give her grief some privacy.

  No annoying saxophone or synthesizer music played as the elevator glided up. Not a single smudge marked the metal doors or wood paneled walls, and Hauk wondered if they had someone whose job revolved around keeping elevator doors pristine. He held back another laugh, lest he accidently offend her again. Jolie’s life was nothing like his.