BargainWiththeBeast

by Naima Simone

  Impatience jabbed at him, hardening his voice. He couldn’t contain the urgency stemming from the alarm constricting his chest as he waited for her answer. If she responded in the positive, he would call the deal off. The knowledge he could lose her with one word clawed at him. But the pain and humiliation of Evelyn’s betrayal continued to haunt him like a stubborn ghost refusing to go into the damn light. No matter how much he wanted—needed—Gwendolyn, he wouldn’t inflict that torment on another person.

  He was a bastard, an asshole and pathetic enough to extort sex from a woman he wanted, but he would never force her to betray a man she loved. So much for his dick overriding principle. It appeared he had one moral standard left.

  How fucking inconvenient.

  “No,” she snapped. “Do you think I would even consider your…your blackmail if I were seeing someone?” Anger curled her lip. Yet beneath the ire a note of pain quivered, adding a slight tremble to her objection.

  He steeled his heart against an annoying prick of sympathy.

  “The time for consideration has passed. Yes or no, Gwendolyn,” he demanded, the ice freezing his veins mirrored in his tone. “Make a decision. It’s your choice.”

  “What choice?” she spat and crossed her arms, turned her head away. A muscle ticked along the delicate, vulnerable line of her jaw and he almost rescinded the gauntlet he’d cast down. Almost.

  “Simple, sweetheart.” He eliminated the inches separating them and shifted forward, bringing them chest to chest, thigh to thigh. He lifted his hand and, pinching her chin in a firm but gentle grip, forced her to face him. Her small, sharp gasp brushed the skin on his throat and savage triumph surged through him. This close she couldn’t hide the rapid rise and fall of her chest or the small whimper she bit off.

  His heart pounded in his chest like an animal attempting to free itself from its prison. Gwendolyn wanted him. She may not like her attraction for him or even be ready to admit it, but the body couldn’t lie. If a slim chance of rescinding the ultimatum had existed, the shudder of her breath across his skin obliterated that possibility to hell.

  “Either give me your body for seven days or relinquish your precious community center in fourteen. Sacrifice yourself to the beast or watch the doors of the center close. Is it going to be you or the kids you claim to love so—”

  “You’re right.” She wrenched her chin from his grasp, but didn’t shy away from his close scrutiny. “You are a monster.” The insult stabbed him in a heart he’d believed no longer existed. “And I accept your…terms,” she whispered.

  The victory possessed an acrid tang even as his pulse pounded and his gut knotted with anticipation. In days he would be balls-deep inside this stunning woman. Nothing, not even the tiny flash of remorse, could conquer the need to find oblivion in her pussy. Would she be fierce, demanding her pleasure? Or would she reveal a shier side, one he would enjoy shocking with the acts he planned to exact from her? Would her sheath cream for him, easing the tight fit around his cock—

  “Don’t misunderstand, Xavier. I’ll lie on my back for you because the other choice sucks worse. But when the week is over, know you’ll have taken more than my body. You’ll have stolen my memories of the man you were.”

  She pivoted and stalked toward the door. The rigid spine and the sultry sway of her hips in the deep-red dress waved at him like a red flag to a raging bull. Shame and lust mingled, swirling together in a toxic mixture. He rushed across the room. His chest slammed her back and only the anchor of his arm snaked around her waist prevented her from tumbling to the floor.

  He didn’t pause to analyze or reassess his actions. His cock, nestled in the crease of her ass, commandeered all rational thought. The bottom curve of her breasts pillowed over his arm, the mounds a warm, sensual weight. But her full, sexy ass…the soft cushion cradling his dick… He groaned, ground his erection into her flesh and groaned again.

  Lust claimed him. He tightened his hold around her waist and gripped her hip with his free hand, restraining her for the slow, hard strokes of his cock. The miniscule section of his brain not yet consumed by arousal comprehended Gwendolyn didn’t fight him. She arched in his arms, her spine forming a perfect bow. The sweet curves of her bottom circled against his dick in an eye-crossing grind. Hell no. The low whimpers weren’t pleas for escape—they were encouragement. Sweet need.

  “One taste, baby,” he muttered and released her hip to cup her chin and angle her head back. He dragged his lips along the exposed, graceful line of her neck. Fresh and pure, the taste of her skin was like water to a thirsty man. He savored another sip. The muscles in her throat bobbed under his teeth as he grazed a path to the slope of her shoulder.

  “So good,” he praised. “So damn good.” He transferred both hands to her waist and whirled her around. As her chest bumped his, he swallowed her soft, surprised gasp into his mouth. The flavor of her… Jesus. Like the honeyed bamieh his mother used to make when he was a boy combined with the punch of whiskey-laced coffee his father enjoyed after dinner. Sweet. Potent. Addictive. He plunged between her parted lips, tongue-fucking her mouth the same way he hungered to thrust his cock into her body.

  She gripped his arms and clung to him as if he were her anchor in the midst of a violent tempest. He sucked on her tongue, not allowing her to withdraw. Not allowing her to leave him. The need clawing his gut transformed him into the ravenous beast he called himself.

  He clenched the material of her dress and bunched it in huge fistfuls, drawing the skirt up her thighs. The muted swish of silk sweeping over skin caressed his senses, waltzed over his nerve endings in a sexy duet of anticipation and need.

  She dug her nails into his arms and the bite stoked the fire in his balls. But when he tucked his hand between their bodies and dipped between her thighs, the flame raged into an inferno.

  Damn, she was soaking wet. Awe filled him, momentarily eclipsing the gnawing hunger. For me. She’s wet for me. He groaned. Flexed his fingertips against her swollen flesh.

  “No!” Gwendolyn cried. She wrenched free and stumbled backward a couple of steps before steadying herself. For several long moments, only her labored pants and his harsh breathing reverberated in the room. The tension thrummed like a living, breathing entity. Head lowered, hands fisted alongside her thighs, she stood as still as a statue, warm flesh transformed to cold stone.

  Look at me! Look at me, dammit! The demand screamed like a wild gale in his head, but fear squeezed his throat. Shame glued his lips shut. Would he identify disgust in her dark gaze? Disgust and disbelief because she’d allowed him—a disfigured beast—to touch her? Or worse, abhorrence because she’d been aroused, her hoarse whispers begging for more of his touch, her tongue tangling with his, her sex soaked with cream?

  Coward.

  He snarled, loathing scalding him as if he’d been dipped in an acid bath. He didn’t have the nerve to examine her features and find the answers.

  “No, what?” he drawled. “Don’t make you wet? I believe that ship has sailed, sweetheart.”

  * * * * *

  Gwendolyn sucked in a deep breath and held it in vain hope of extinguishing the hurt like fingers snuffing out a candle’s flame. The pain ricocheted against her rib cage, vied with the lust clenching her stomach, heating her pussy.

  Exhaling, she forced herself to meet Xavier’s impassive stare. How did he do it? How did he turn his emotions on and off like a faucet?

  One moment he held her, caressed her with so much passion need had overwhelmed her. And in the next he coldly studied her as if he hadn’t palmed her sex and moaned into her mouth. How many nights had she lain awake dreaming of his kiss, of his hard, powerful body covering hers? She shivered. Too many to count.

  Part of her—the part she allowed free only in the darkest hour of night—secretly thrilled at the idea of discovering what it meant to be his lover…of finally learning how he made love. Slow and tender? Fast and fierce? Did he gently guide a woman into ecstasy with whispered assura
nces and soft praise? Or did he catapult her into rapture, pushing the limits of her sensuality until she exploded in a hard, cataclysmic break? She bit the inside of her mouth, swallowed the moan welling in her throat.

  After Joshua’s death, she’d given up the dream of finding out. Now she had the chance…but at what cost? Accepting his offer reduced her to a prostitute. Yes, her submission would save the community center. But regardless of the altruistic reason, she had agreed to trade her body for money. Resentment tangled with regret. Xavier had blackmailed her for what she would have freely given him—had yearned to give him for years.

  Pride demanded she tell him to shove the bargain up his ass. She could find other means to save the center. And need whispered at last she would know the heat and warmth of his skin sliding against hers. Know if his eyes burned bright with passion or darkened as desire rose. Know how his cock would stretch her pussy…fill the emptiness.

  And after the passion cooled, in those quiet moments when the sweat dried on their skin and their racing pulses returned to normal, she’d find out if he would hold her close, her ear pressed to his heart. If he would caress her back, murmur loving words, or brush his lips over hers softly, so softly…

  She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as if she could imprison the taste of him between her lips.

  Eyes that had been coolly assessing went arctic as they narrowed on the gesture. She dropped her arm and in her mind hit rewind then play, viewing her action through his eyes. Damn. From Xavier’s point of view, it may have appeared as if she was wiping his kiss away.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, the soft tone at odds with the cold fury burning in his jeweled gaze. “You have seven days to get accustomed to my mouth. Believe me, I plan to have it on you often enough.”

  Anger swirled in her belly, hot and welcome. The reminder of his devil’s bargain erased the shame, the pain…the desire.

  “But the week hasn’t started yet,” she growled. “And that kiss is the only freebie you’ll receive.”

  His lips straightened into a grim slash and the harsh lines of his face hardened into an even more forbidding mask.

  She paused, blinked. What? He didn’t appreciate being reminded of his own terms? She silently snorted. Ridiculous. After all, he was extorting her.

  “Be at my house by six o’clock Saturday evening or I’ll assume you’ve changed your mind about our agreement and my check will remain in my account. Do we understand each other?”

  “Perfectly.” Not trusting herself to remain in the same room with him any longer, she turned, stalked the small distance to the door and exited.

  Let the countdown begin.

  Chapter Three

  “As soon as he was gone, Beauty sat down in the great hall and fell a crying likewise…for she firmly believed Beast would eat her up that night.”—Beauty and the Beast

  “I am so screwed…and not in a good way.”—Gwendolyn Sinclair

  Two and a half hours.

  One hundred and fifty minutes.

  And Gwendolyn prayed the entire ride as her stomach pitched and heaved, every curve and dip in the road like a lunch-defying loop on a roller coaster. Sweat beaded on her forehead and coated her palms. Her slippery skin slid on the steering wheel as if it were the last life preserver on the Titanic.

  “I can do this,” she murmured the mantra. “Only a little farther to go. I can do this.” Her stomach chose that moment to lurch hard and the ginger ale she’d purchased at the last stop surged. With a couple of desperate swallows, she coaxed the swell of liquid back down her throat, but not before it left behind an acidic burn on her esophagus. “Oh God, I can do this.”

  Minutes later, the sign for Great Barrington came into view and hope that the hellish trip would soon be over momentarily eased the debilitating queasiness. According to Xavier’s e-mailed instructions, he lived right outside of the town. Even trepidation over what awaited her at the end of this drive—Xavier, a week of indentured-love servanthood—couldn’t compete with the flood of relief.

  In just a few more minutes, she could pass out in blessed oblivion.

  At another time, she would have appreciated at the grand elegance of the historical First Congregational Church of Great Barrington. Marveled over the beauty of the Berkshires in the golden-and-auburn glory of fall. But with her raging fever and her gut threatening to turn inside out, the forest’s natural splendor failed to impress. She needed a toilet or a bed—and it didn’t matter which came first.

  But as she coasted past the town’s limits and the GPS chirped the number of miles before arriving at her destination, mortification returned with a vengeance. A tight knot coiled deep in the pit of her stomach. Images of the night in the study flashed through her mind. Like a video complete with audio, she viewed herself clinging to Xavier, arching into his kiss, grinding against his cock. Hell. She grimaced. It shamed her how easily he’d aroused her body. Five minutes with him and her nipples had beaded into tight points, her palms had prickled with the need to stroke his golden skin and her clit pulsed in a wild rhythm. As primed as she’d been, his one touch had almost catapulted her into nirvana.

  Heat unrelated to her fever flamed her neck and cheeks. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find third-degree burns blistering her face. Even now as her sex clenched in memory, arousal and guilt assailed her. Arousal because just the recollection of his caress dampened her panties—again. And guilt for the same reason.

  This arrangement had nothing to do with love or even affection. Thinking back on the man she’d encountered several nights ago, she didn’t believe he liked anyone. Himself included.

  Xavier had transformed from the warm, funny man she’d known over half her life. His father’s death and fiancée’s defection had shriveled his heart, stealing his gentleness and kindness along with them. She should hate him for using her passion for the community center as hostage. That he would take advantage and exploit her desperation illustrated just how little of the man she’d grown up with remained.

  And yet as much as she wanted to introduce her toe to his family jewels, the desire to pull him close, hold and comfort him, outweighed her anger.

  Xavier’s vitality and beauty had always captivated her—like a beautiful exotic bird she could admire yet never touch. Not until she’d grown older did she realize the vitality he emanated was an innate sensuality that blazed from within like a torch. And at some point, fascination had transcended to love and a terrifying need.

  Her love and desire for Xavier was her secret…and shame.

  Joshua had been safe—her best friend, a kind man and considerate lover. The stability he’d offered was the exact antithesis of the unreliable and emotional volatility of her mother. He’d been her haven. She’d never doubted she’d been first in his heart, in his love. His devotion had given her a security, an elusive sense of worth that had been missing from the time she’d been old enough to understand her mother had begrudged her every breath. Even when she’d recognized her love and desire for Xavier, the frightening power of it made her cling tighter to Joshua. Xavier scared her…or rather her need for him scared her. And even as her teenage attraction for the elder St. James brother deepened to a very adult desire, too many years of being Renee Sinclair’s unwanted, unloved child kept her devoted to Josh.

  And she had been devoted—even as she worshipped his godlike older brother. Xavier St. James had been a mesmerizing, barely contained blaze while Josh had been a warm, comforting fire in a hearth. Though beautiful, Xavier represented a risk she hadn’t been prepared to face.

  But this precarious balancing act had all come crashing down in the most horrific way. Her unfaithfulness of the heart had driven Joshua to his death when she’d finally, after years of living a lie, gathered the courage to confess she couldn’t marry him. She hadn’t mentioned Xavier, but Joshua had known. And she hadn’t denied his accusations.

  Gwendolyn had betrayed Joshua…and sent him to his death.

  She released
a tremulous breath.

  The burden of loving one brother and lying to the other had weighed on her until she could no longer look at herself in the mirror…or bear to meet Joshua’s gaze. She’d convinced herself the fascination with Xavier would fade. What she had with Joshua was stable, lasting. But by the night of their wedding rehearsal dinner, she could no longer lie to herself or him. She waited until their guests left his parents’ home and broke their engagement.

  He’d seen through the flimsy excuses she’d given and she’d realized then Joshua suspected her true feelings for his older brother. He exploded, but before she could respond, he had stormed out. Hours later, Xavier had arrived at her door to deliver the news of his brother’s death. Joshua had wrapped his car around a telephone pole. She had fallen apart in Xavier’s arms, knowing it had been her fault.

  Her love for one brother had killed the other.

  Perhaps her quick capitulation to Xavier’s extortion was her means of penance. Penance for a love that refused to abate. Atonement for the need urging her to be with Xavier and snatch up the scrap of time their deal allotted.

  “Turn left here. You have arrived at your destination,” the GPS announced cheerily.

  Oh shut up. What are you so damn happy about?

  Her stomach executed a flip worthy of a perfect ten. Bile roared up her digestive tract, scalded her trachea and played handball with the back of her throat. She whimpered as the white elegant marker for Xavier’s house came into sight. Oh, thank God. Nerves tap-danced under her clammy skin, but the anxiety over beginning her service as Xavier’s temporary mistress paled in comparison to her desperate gratification of finally arriving at her destination without puking in the car. She slapped her left turn signal even though the road behind her was empty of traffic and turned onto the narrow lane.

  Besides, if she died from the plague twisting her insides into a pretzel then she wouldn’t have to worry about being Xavier’s sex slave for a week.