by Naima Simone
Bargain With the Beast
Naima Simone
Breathlessly Ever After, Book 2
In a last-ditch attempt to save her beloved community center, Gwendolyn Sinclair corners childhood friend Xavier St. James, brother of her dead fiancé…and the man who secretly owns her heart. Surely his wealth and contacts can save the run-down building from ruin. The arrangement he proposes confirms what she’s long suspected. He’s become a beast, and he offers a beast’s bargain, one that offends her pride even as it stirs her every desire and titillating fantasy—submit her body to his whim for seven days and the community center remains open.
Losing both his father and brother has left Xavier scarred in more ways than one, but forbidden lust overrules conscience when Gwendolyn appears, asking for help. He’s craved her for years. At last he’ll discover if the passion in her eyes blazes just as hot between the sheets. Her fiery surrender leaves him hungering for more, but their bargain is only for seven days and, ultimately, she could never truly love a beast.
A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Bargain With the Beast
Naima Simone
Dedication
To my husband and children, who love and support me unconditionally. And who magnanimously forgive their domestically-challenged wife and mother. Often.
Acknowledgements
Thank you, God, for Your monthly three fish and five loaves of bread.
To Debra Glass and Jessica Lee. I just need to create templates for both of you! There hasn’t been a book yet where either of you haven’t contributed your time and patience. Your friendships mean the world to me.
To Daddy and Nina for accepting or vetoing the quotes! Daddy was a little—okay, a lot!—gentler than you, Nina!
To Violet. You make me smile and laugh even as you press me to be a better writer with every book. Your gift with words enhances mine and brings out the very best in me. I’m truly amazed at the end of every project! Thank you for cheering, encouraging and challenging me. Love ya!
Author Note
The “Beauty and the Beast” quotes found at the beginning of each chapter are from eighteenth-century French novelist Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont, as well as eighteenth-century fairy tale collectors, the Brothers Grimm. Beauty consented to dropping all extortion and blackmail charges as part of the prenuptial agreement.
Chapter One
“What will you have, Beauty?” said her father.
“Since you have the goodness to think of me,” answered she, “be so kind to bring me a rose, for as none grows hereabouts, they are a kind of rarity.”—Beauty and the Beast
“Show me someone who says they don’t want anything from you and I’ll show you some real estate in the land of Wake the Fuck Up.”—Xavier St. James
“When did the freak show come to town?”
Gwendolyn Sinclair stiffened, caught off guard. The comment—heavy with derision and horror—had come from her left. Attempting to be unobtrusive, she glanced over her shoulder and spotted a tall young man whose curled lip had transformed his features from handsome to disdainful and arrogant.
“What are you talking about?” the petite blonde next to him asked.
He dipped his chin to indicate someone across the room. Gwendolyn followed the couple’s gaze.
Her heart stopped. Then resumed with a dull thud that echoed in her ears. Goose bumps pebbled her arms and a thin film of sweat dampened her palms and underarms.
Xavier St. James.
Business mogul, former playboy and society-column darling. The man who’d been avoiding her phone calls and e-mails for weeks. The man she’d attended this pretentious gathering of Boston’s social elite to corner.
“You’d think he’d at least cover that thing with his hair or even makeup, for God’s sake. Why should we have to look at it?”
As the meaning of the young man’s words struck her, Gwendolyn gasped as if she were the target of his derision. Hurt and anger mushroomed in her chest. She clenched her teeth to force back the torrid spew of words burning her tongue. She inhaled a deep breath, held it and counted to ten…then twenty. Getting thrown out of the event would only succeed in making a scene and harm her chance at attaining her goal. She smiled grimly. Though it might be worth the risk to yank the stick out of the guy’s ass.
“Stevie Wonder could spot that mutation. Mr. Perfect.” A horrible, malicious glee entered his companion’s taunt. “To think he once could have had any woman he wanted. Now he probably has to pay for it.” The woman snickered and her delight in someone else’s pain and misfortune sickened Gwendolyn. Bitch.
“People like him have it all and believe they’re better than everyone else only to find out they’re just like the rest of us. Human and touchable.”
The remainder of the couple’s conversation faded as Gwendolyn pivoted on the heel of her stiletto and walked off. Her stomach couldn’t handle their spite and the dry chicken cordon bleu served at dinner.
She wended through the bejeweled and tuxedo-clad crowd, skimming past an aged socialite who would probably regret imbibing too many glasses of champagne in the morning and the young man who was the recipient of her amorous, drunken overtures. God. She silently snorted. Though the people around her belonged to another tax bracket, eliminate the designer clothes and you-paid-what-for-that jewelry and they were just the same as those she lived among in her Dorchester neighborhood—ready and eager to take advantage of free food, drink and gossip.
She drew to a halt several feet from the tall, forbidding man she’d once called a good friend. He stood alone like a child exiled to the time-out corner on the playground. Gwendolyn tilted her head to the side, studying him. For him to not be surrounded by a throng of people was as new as the inch-thick scar bisecting the left side of his face from hairline to hard chin.
At thirty-four, Xavier had lived a charmed life—until a year ago. As admittedly elitist and exclusive as Boston’s privileged society circle could be, the exotic St. James family had been accepted and revered. And Xavier, the elder of two sons, had been the golden child of his family and its international real estate empire. An excellent student and athlete in high school and college, he’d excelled in the family business and rocketed to the office of vice president of operations. As hard as he’d worked, he’d played with the same single-minded focus. Socialites, models, actresses. Xavier had romanced legions of women and graced the glossy pages of many magazines and social columns. And when he fell in love and became engaged, his fiancée had been a gorgeous elegant woman—his equal in wealth and social status. Success. Affluence. Love. Yes, he’d held the world in the palm of his hand…
Gwendolyn fisted her fingers, fighting the urge to cup his damaged cheek, battling the need to curl against his chest and drown in the rhythm of his heartbeat under her ear. But the stranger who surveyed the ballroom and the partygoers with a cold stare didn’t invite warmth or even human touch.
Cautiously, she edged around a laughing couple and stole closer. From her vantage point, it appeared as if the terrible accident responsible for stealing both his father and physical perfection had never occurred.
The honeyed skin and thick golden-brown hair bound at his nape bespoke a heritage of hot sands and sensual pleasures, while the tall frame, wide shoulders and narrow hips called to mind the lush green hills and magic of his father’s lands. Persian and Irish—Xavier was an exotic blend of the two countries’ finest traits.
Then she glimpsed the marred left side of his face. The scar didn’t inspire the disgust she spied on the patrician features of the guests or the perverse glee from the spiteful couple. Nor did pity well inside her chest. The scar didn’t ruin his features. On the contrary. The long
ridge of raised flesh only enhanced his beauty, magnified the unblemished perfection.
“Gerald. Melanie.” His dark baritone slid over her skin like the finest silk. A shiver raced down her spine and poured through her veins in a molten stream. A voice like his should’ve been locked up in Pandora’s box along with Hope to keep the world safe—or at least her libido.
“Xavier.” An older couple jolted to a halt in front of him, flustered. The silver-haired gentleman extended his hand, voice full of strained joviality. His wife, Melanie, wore a similar bright smile—a bit too dazzling to be genuine. “How are you? It’s been awhile.” Immediately a deep scarlet surged up Gerald’s neck and bloomed in his cheeks.
“Yes, it has,” Xavier agreed, accepting Gerald’s hand and briskly pumping it up and down before releasing it. “It would’ve been the museum gala a year ago…right before the accident and Dad’s death.”
Damn. Gwendolyn winced.
More color flooded Gerald’s face. He ducked his head and cleared his throat while his wife lifted fluttering fingers to her throat. Sympathy pricked Gwendolyn at the couple’s obvious unease. How the hell could they respond to such a blunt statement that smacked of accusation?
But Xavier stared at them, full lips unsmiling, the lines of his face hard, cold. He didn’t appear moved or apologetic over the discomfort he caused. Surprise sang through her. The man she’d known wouldn’t have deliberately embarrassed another person. Xavier’s natural charm had been one of the reasons people gravitated toward him.
He remained silent as the older gentleman cleared his throat and jerked on the bottom of his jacket to straighten nonexistent wrinkles. His wife studied the silver shoes peeping out from under her gray dress, the diamond bracelet on her thin wrist—anywhere but Xavier’s face.
“Well,” Gerald cleared his throat again, “yes. I believe that was the last time. I still say it was a shame about your father and…and…”
Xavier arched an eyebrow.
“Gerald, the Carlyles are waving us over.” Melanie tugged her husband’s arm. She beamed another brittle smile and, with a murmured apology, hustled her husband away. The older man turned, but not before Gwendolyn glimpsed the relief swamping his expression.
Irritated at the couple and Xavier, she moved forward, eliminating the scant space separating them. “You did that on purpose.”
His back stiffened slightly. The perfectly cut black tuxedo jacket did a poor job of concealing the power and strength of his body. The urge to stroke her fingers across the hard muscle raged so strong, she clenched her fingers until the short nails bit into her palms. As if in slow motion, Xavier turned and, for the first time in three years, she came face-to-face with her former childhood friend.
And the man she’d been in love with even while engaged to another—his younger brother. His dead younger brother.
Joshua. She swallowed hard, but nothing could force the acidic burn of remorse and shame scalding her throat to disappear. Guilt had dogged her for years like a relentless stalker. Joshua St. James had offered her friendship, stability and love. What she wouldn’t give to have loved him the way he’d needed—the way he’d deserved from a fiancée.
Ruthlessly, she slammed the door on those debilitating thoughts. She couldn’t afford any distractions while facing this intimidating stranger with the familiar face.
If Xavier was surprised to see her, his green unblinking gaze did not reveal his astonishment.
“I did what on purpose?” he asked, his bland tone nearing the point of boredom. Hell, she nearly reached out to check his pulse.
No Hi, Gwendolyn, long time, no see. Or Gwendolyn, how the hell are you? Nothing but the same hard, blank mask. It alarmed and annoyed her.
“Hijacked them. Put them on the spot.” She ticked the options off on her fingers. “Take your pick.”
Xavier’s lip curled and the faint smile contained a wealth of derision. “I’m just keeping them honest. Instead of giving me sidelong glances and whispering about my face behind my back, I’m offering them a full frontal view.”
That view packed the power of a sledgehammer. True, he was no longer flawless, but this didn’t make him any less beautiful. Instead of a golden Adonis, he’d become Odysseus—mortal, battle-worn and scarred, but victorious because he’d made it through a tragedy that would have broken most people.
Wow, she grimaced inwardly. Flowery much? Greek gods, battles… She needed to pop Clash of the Titans out of the DVD player.
She caressed his features with her gaze. God, she’d bargain her soul and only pair of Christian Louboutins to stroke the hard jut of his cheekbone or trace the arrogant slope of his thin, patrician nose. Brush the firm, sensual bow of his upper lip and the full cushion of the lower curve. That erotic dream of a mouth would be soft—as certainly as any overture at gentleness would be rejected.
She inhaled and mentally stepped back from the precarious ledge she hovered on. “You’re punishing them.” And yourself.
If possible, his expression hardened further, the harsh lines drawn so tight his flaming-jeweled stare blazed. Oh damn. She played the words back in her head. And winced.
“W-wait…” she stuttered. “Hold on. I didn’t—”
“Am I punishing you, Gwendolyn?” he murmured, eyes narrowing. “Is looking at me such a hardship?”
She opened her mouth to object, but snapped her lips shut. One glance at the grim line of his lips and the dangerous glint in his eyes and she swallowed her explanation. Why bother? Xavier wouldn’t believe her concern was for him, not the shallow socialites he’d once called friends. Yes, he punished them for their hypocrisy by refusing to be regulated to a shameful secret everyone whispered about. And yet, by confronting their thinly disguised disgust and horror, he inflicted wound after wound to his heart—a heart Xavier would probably deny possessing.
Gwendolyn waved a hand. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” he drawled, cocking an eyebrow.
She sighed. “Xavier—”
“What are you doing here, Gwendolyn?”
Irritation flared at his abruptness. But since she’d come to the event seeking him, she tamped it down and plastered a serene smile on her face.
“I was invited,” she replied. “I used to attend this gala with Joshua. I guess they never removed my name from the invitations list.”
If the mention of his brother affected him, Xavier hid it well. “So you’re attending in memoriam of my brother?”
Gwendolyn bit back a blistering response at the droll question. The community center. Remain focused on the community center.
“Not exactly.” She bared her teeth in a tight smile. “I came here to see you.”
* * * * *
Xavier studied the five-foot-nine-inch beauty before him.
Gwendolyn probably believed she hid her annoyance well. Yet even as a kid, she’d worn her emotions on her lovely face.
Lovely… No, the word paled when describing the delicate bone structure, almond-shaped eyes and wide, mobile mouth. Striking. Powerful. Stunning.
Sexy as fuck.
Her toffee-colored hair, only a few shades lighter than her smooth skin, had been drawn back into a classic bun. Still, he recalled the explosion of unruly spirals that proclaimed her biracial heritage as if he’d seen her just yesterday instead of three years ago. Tonight the tamed mass accentuated her arresting features, emphasized the chocolate-brown eyes, the high cheekbones. He clenched his jaw. The only sight capable of competing with her face was the visual orgasm of her body.
Xavier lowered his inspection and swallowed a hungry groan. Hell, those curves and dips could make RuPaul straight. Or envious. Her full breasts would fit his wide palms perfectly. The small indentation of her waist and feminine flare of her hips would provide the perfect spot to grip while he fucked her long and hard. For kicks and giggles, throw in long, slim legs that would wrap around his waist, her heels bouncing against his ass as he plunged and withdrew from what he dreamed
would be a tight pussy.
Shit.
His breath quickened. His heart stuttered. If he didn’t leash his imagination, he would scandalize the good citizens of Boston by tenting his tuxedo pants with a huge hard-on.
But then, his dead brother’s woman had always possessed the power to make him desire something unavailable to him…something beyond his reach.
Her.
For the first time in seven months—since the day his ex-fiancée had cheated and left him for another man—he experienced an emotion besides antipathy and bitterness toward a beautiful woman. Unlike others of the fairer sex, Gwendolyn didn’t avoid his face as if one glance would transform her to stone. She didn’t stammer well-bred phony excuses to extricate herself from his company.
No. As she’d stated, Gwendolyn had come to see him. That simple sentence shouldn’t have had the effect of a fist squeezing his cock.
“Well, you found me, Gwendolyn,” he murmured with a small quirk of his lips. The puckered skin bisecting the left side of his face pulled tight with the gesture and the reminder of the disfiguring scar destroyed any warmth her declaration had ignited. “It must be important for you to brave the beast.”
She scowled. “It’s not the scar that makes you a beast. It’s your attitude.”
Anger simmered in his chest and he narrowed his gaze. “Watch your tongue, Gwendolyn.”
“Or what?”
“Or you may just find it caught.” By my mouth, then on my cock.
As soon as the words whispered across his mind, he envisioned her leaning over him, her full, sensual lips pressed to his, their tongues engaged in an erotic duel. Pictured those same lips forging a damp path down his chest and abdomen to his throbbing dick. Jesus. He fisted his fingers as if to capture the imagined silken glide of her hair over his wrist and hand. As if even now the hot, tight clasp of her mouth tightened around his shaft and sucked him close to the beautiful edge of oblivion.