BargainWiththeBeast

by Naima Simone

  As he stood and removed the detachable showerhead from its anchor, she snickered. “I didn’t really call you Jesus, did I?”

  He couldn’t prevent the grin from stretching his lips any more than he could have tamped down his lust. Water poured from the spigot in a thunderous rush before he twisted another knob and the downpour switched to a steady stream from the showerhead. He waved his fingers under the water to test its warmth. Satisfied with the temperature, he lifted the nozzle to Gwendolyn’s hair. The loose honey-colored curls darkened to caramel under the spray and tightened into the corkscrews that had always fascinated him. Still did.

  “Yes, ’fraid so.” He would have added she’d also poked his chest and called him a lumpy but warm blanket as she’d burrowed closer to him, but revealing that bit of information would involve explaining he’d slept in the bed with her. Yeah, not the best time to expose how intimate they’d actually become over the past two days.

  “I don’t see why my supposed divinity surprises you,” he said, setting the showerhead on the side of the tub. “I delivered your sweet ass out of so many scrapes when we were younger, I might as well be your savior.”

  Her laughter bounced off the tiled walls. “You’re exaggerating, Xavier. I may have been curious and…active, but I wasn’t a terror.”

  He snorted his disbelief and poured more shampoo into his hand before rubbing it in her hair. Again Gwendolyn emitted a small moan and the low, dark sigh rippled down his cock. His fingers tensed momentarily before resuming the massage.

  “What about the time you scheduled a fight for three o’clock behind the community center with the biggest eleven-year-old God had ever created, and I had to break it up before that girl handed your ass to you in a sling?”

  “She was a bully.”

  “And the time I had to drive out in the middle of the night to pick up you and your girlfriends on the side of the road because your car broke down on the way home from sneaking into that all-male revue?”

  “A rite of passage?”

  “And we can’t forget about the streaking incident in college. Not only did I have to go down to the police station and bail you out, but I also had to promise all sorts of things to the dean of students so she would agree not to suspend you from school.”

  “You did take one for the team that time, Xavier.” She chuckled and leaned her head back for another rinse. Her grin stretched wide. “But at least she was pretty.”

  “She was at least fifty years old to my twenty-three and I had to dodge her phone calls for a year after our dinner,” he growled and playfully tugged her hair.

  Her exaggerated yelp drew a rusty laugh from him.

  “I wouldn’t have made it through college without you.” She closed her eyes as he threaded his fingers through her thick, sodden hair, ensuring all the shampoo had been washed out. “Sacrifices notwithstanding, the phone calls to check in on me, unexpected visits to cart me to dinner, even help with my papers and exams…” She shook her head. “You were the best friend I had. I never admitted this before, but when Joshua announced he was attending Rhode Island University and leaving me in Boston, I was scared as hell. For the first time since we were kids, I faced being alone. But with you there, I wasn’t by myself. I’ve never thanked you for that. I’m sure you had better options than spending evenings with your younger brother’s girlfriend.” She lifted her lashes and he stared down into her dark-brown gaze. The laughter had disappeared from her voice and the smile had faded from her lips.

  “I missed you.” Her quiet admission resonated in the still room. “After Joshua returned and you stopped coming around as much, I missed you.”

  The steady spill of water from the showerhead filled the silence. Like a coward, he glanced away, switched the nozzle off and twisted the faucets.

  “Joshua asked me to look after you while he was away. When he graduated and came home, my end of the bargain had been fulfilled.” He rose and reattached the apparatus. The explanation revealed half the truth. But how could he confess he’d purposely stayed away once his brother returned because the resulting jealousy and possessiveness had confused and disturbed him?

  At some point, he’d come to think of Gwendolyn as his, had resented Joshua’s homecoming and what he’d viewed as his younger brother usurping his place in her life. The antipathy and envy had horrified him so he’d placed distance between the two of them until he could occupy the same space as her and not feel…cheated.

  “You and your bargains,” she murmured and rested her chin on her drawn-up knees. He paused, arm outstretched toward a towel hanging on the wall rod. If anger had laced her tone, he could have shaken her accusation off. No, irritation wouldn’t have touched him, but the sadness in her solemn voice knocked at a conscience he’d believed silenced long ago.

  “Gwen—”

  “If you leave the towel on the tub, I can manage. Thank you for washing my hair.”

  An instinctive protest rose up in him, but he squashed it and lifted the towel from the bar.

  “I’ll get dinner for you.” Placing the cloth on the edge of the tub, he studied the long elegant line of her naked back another moment before pivoting and leaving the room. As he closed the door and crossed to the hallway, he didn’t know whether he was thankful for or regretted her interruption. Thankful. His fingers curled into a fist. Definitely thankful. The words he may have said would have only embarrassed them both.

  Because, really…who could care for a beast?

  Chapter Four

  “Welcome Beauty, banish fear, you are queen and mistress here. Speak your wishes, speak your will, swift obedience meets them still.”—Beauty and the Beast

  “I sleep with one eye open…and the other one is only napping.”—Gwendolyn Sinclair

  Gwendolyn swung open the frosted-glass shower door and stepped free of the steamy cubicle. The steady drum of the water had loosened her muscles and eased the faint aches remaining from her bout of illness. She sighed, whipped a towel from the rack and rubbed it over her damp skin. For the first time in days, she felt human.

  Good thing too.

  Her reprieve was over.

  Tuesday and Wednesday had passed in a hazy blur of naps, medicine and more naps. Xavier had been as solicitous as he’d been since she’d woken Monday. Nothing in his actions or tone had hinted at what thoughts transpired behind his mask of pleasantness. No, he’d been the perfect Florence Nightingale. Yet heated speculation glittered in his emerald gaze. If his fingers grazed her thighs when he set meal trays on her lap, tension invaded his muscles.

  Now it was Thursday evening and her nerves danced a rumba that would have made Patrick Swayze proud. If Xavier had attempted to keep his anticipation under wraps the days before, he had abandoned the pretense today. Arousal had been stamped on his features, thickened his voice and set his gaze on fire. Not to mention the hard ridge of his cock a hazmat suit couldn’t hide.

  She would be a hypocrite if she denied the hunger excited her. God, it did. With a capital, bold, font size seventy-two “E”. She just wished the circumstances were different. That he hadn’t used her love for the community center and his wealth as hostage to compel her compliance. That he didn’t want her only because he believed no other woman would have him. Out of all the wishes, the last one stung the most. No, she didn’t possess the beauty, status or silver spoon his ex-fiancée and the women of his acquaintance did, but she wasn’t a damn booby prize.

  Now if her pussy would just get on the same page as her pride. Unfortunately the two had completely different agendas.

  Her sex swelled and clenched whenever she was within feet of him. Hell, if she envisioned him—the hard body, sensual unsmiling mouth, hooded green eyes, beautiful face and tragic scar—her pulse slammed into overdrive and blood pounded through her veins and pooled in her clit, engorging the tiny muscle to the point of madness. He was a fever no aspirin could alleviate.

  A shiver scuttled over her skin as she drew on her panties, pajama bot
toms and tank top. After folding the towel, hanging it back on the rod and tidying the bathroom, she grasped the doorknob and twisted. The hour had to be almost nine. Maybe he’d changed his—

  Oh. My. God.

  Shock crashed into her, knocking the breath from her lungs. Barely inside the bedroom, she stilled like a deer trapped by a stalking predator. Every fiber of her being was claimed by the silent man sprawled on the wingback chair across the room.

  Air rushed back into her lungs with a painful whoosh as if her body had fallen asleep, and blood flooded her veins with needles of awareness, trepidation…and anticipation.

  She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. A black V-neck sweater molded to his wide shoulders and broad chest. Dark pants encased his long legs and she shivered at the barely contained power emanating from his motionless form. He resembled a panther. Sleek. Sensual. Elegant. And with his thick golden-brown hair drawn back to his nape and the scar visible—dangerous.

  “What are you doing here?” Outrage. Outrage would have been more effective than the mortifying breathlessness.

  “You’re my houseguest,” he said and the tone stroked over her like a luxurious fur over naked skin. Rich. Soft. Sensual. “I came to check on you. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. Fever-free.” She bared her teeth in a smile, adding a casual shrug for good measure. He had one purpose for entering her room tonight. If Xavier’s intention was to check on her health, he would’ve knocked and turned on the light. No, tonight she fulfilled her end of the bargain.

  “Good. I brought you a gift.” He nodded toward the bed and the small pink box on top of the light-blue quilt. “Open it,” he said softly, but brooking no argument.

  Sit, Boo-boo, sit. Good dog. She scowled, but moved from the doorway and edged closer to the bed. She stared at the box as if it were one of Australia’s deadly dozen. The small pastel package was embossed with the name of a popular lingerie boutique. Her stomach plummeted even as her sex heated.

  “Open it, Gwendolyn.”

  She jerked her gaze to him and just as quickly glanced away from the bold, intent scrutiny. Cowardice didn’t sit well in her gut, but the alternative—revealing the arousal his jeweled stare ratcheted from flame to full-out conflagration—was a more foolhardy move. Already she shivered like the prey of the big cat he resembled. She was hunted, snared. And God, she wanted to be taken down.

  Her fingers fisted before she consciously relaxed them and reached for the gift. It required little fuss to unwrap the present—just a tug on the ribbon and remove the lid. Inside, atop white tissue paper, rested pale-blue lace. Wary, she lifted the delicate material and it transformed into a tiny bra too flimsy to support a feather much less her breasts and a pair of miniscule panties that—

  Oh hell, no! Her back stiffened and heat blasted her face. She couldn’t see her cheeks, but she harbored no doubt she’d just debunked the myth that black people didn’t blush.

  She’d fortified herself for this evening. Yesterday morning when the doctor had declared her on the mend she’d assumed tonight would most likely be the commencement of her week as Xavier’s lover. As “paramour” couldn’t be included on her resume, she hadn’t known what to expect. Darkness. Quick shedding of clothes. Sex under the covers. The dark part had been right on target, but this… Again she dropped her gaze to the fragile material. Did he expect her to parade around for him? Place herself on display?

  The hell she would.

  “You must be kidding me,” she blurted. “I can’t.” But his raised eyebrow assured her he wasn’t and she would.

  The crotchless underwear dangled from her finger as if mocking her. The bra she could deal with. It would barely conceal her nipples, but at least provided some cover. But the panties…

  “I won’t put these on,” she said and silently congratulated herself when the announcement didn’t sound like the hysterical shriek reverberating in her head.

  “Oh, but you will, Gwendolyn.” Xavier contradicted her with a nod. “You seem to possess an affinity for those words—no, can’t, won’t. And I am constantly reminding you the time for choices and objections presented itself a week ago.” He tsked. “I think you’ve forgotten the details of our arrangement. As soon as you decided to come to me, you agreed to submit your will to mine. You’re here for my pleasure. And it will please me to see you in my gift.” Lust thickened his deep voice, mirrored in his hooded green gaze. “Now put them on.”

  Anger swelled and wiped out her embarrassment. So the asshole from a week ago had reappeared, locking the man who had cared for her the past five days inside a carefully constructed prison of cold ruthlessness.

  Helplessness fed her rage—helplessness because he was right. Once she arrived on his doorstep, she’d surrendered the right to object to his plans.

  She crumpled the insubstantial material in her fist. Fine. She’d entered this devil’s bargain with her eyes wide open. It wasn’t enough she had to crawl to him and prostitute herself. Now he had to humiliate her too. Well, fuck him. She’d put on the bra and bits of lace he called panties. But she’d be damned if she’d cower in front of him. She whirled on her heel and stalked toward the bathroom door.

  “Where are you going?”

  She screeched to a halt and slowly turned, contempt burning a hole in her chest. “To the bathroom to put on your shi—gift.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You’ll dress out here. In front of me.”

  “Fine,” she gritted through clenched teeth. What had she expected? Tenderness? Compassion? Seduction? In the secret depths of her heart, she’d hoped he would treat her as a lover and not as a body to dress, position how he wanted and screw. Lovers. She curled her lip. That term denoted intimacy. They would fuck. That was part of their bargain. Fucking and intimacy were two different animals. One involved surrendering her body. The other, her heart.

  Maybe he noticed the clenching of her jaw or the tension threatening to snap her body in two, for a small half-smile curved his lips.

  “That sounded nice, Gwendolyn, even if you didn’t mean it.” He tilted his head to the side and the tiny smile continued to play about his mouth. “Don’t worry, though. By the time you leave here, no part of your body will remain a secret. Every inch of you will be touched, kissed, sucked,” he lowered his lashes until only the barest hint of green remained visible under the thick fan, “and fucked by me.”

  Oh Jesus. Liquid fire gathered between her thighs. Her clit beat in time with her galloping pulse. No. No way could she be furious and so damn turned on at the same time.

  “You’re being crude on purpose.”

  “What?” he asked with a lift of his eyebrow. “Fucking is crude? Did none of your previous lovers wax poetic to you?”

  “No,” she snapped and, though it was fighting dirty, flung the next words at him anyway. “Josh didn’t need to.”

  The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees with the stony, frigid silence that descended in the room. She wouldn’t have been surprised if puffs of air clouded in front of her face. Xavier didn’t move a muscle, yet she sensed the cold fury lying beneath his deceptively indolent façade. She drew in a tremulous breath. Yeah, that was the thing about fighting dirty—a person sometimes ended up grimy.

  “Don’t bring him into this bedroom again,” he warned and she shivered. “If you insist on dragging my sainted brother between us, then I’ll enjoy reminding you who it is fucking you. Now,” he said, propping his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepling his fingers under his chin, “you might want to quit stalling. I’m growing bored. And if I walk out of here, I’m not coming back.”

  Bored? Yeah, right. Even the dim lighting couldn’t conceal the long length of his cock pressed against his pants leg like an iron rod. At the last moment, common sense prevailed and she abstained from hurling his lie back in his face. She just had to get through this night. Bottom line—she’d accepted the terms of his bargain. Now it was put up or shut up.

  She retraced
her steps to the bed and cast the lingerie on top of the blanket. With economical, quick movements, she tugged the tank over her head and dropped it to the floor. Fury kept the embarrassment of standing bare-chested before him at bay.

  “Slow, Gwendolyn. Go slower.”

  And that fast her anger evaporated under the heat of lust. His lust. Her lust. Or maybe the arousal-thickened voice issuing the command inflamed her so the hunger no longer belonged to solely him or her, but to them both.

  She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of the cotton bottoms and eased them over her hips, down her legs. His harsh intake of breath as she stepped from the puddle of material shot a lance of desire to her clit and her pussy spasmed, spilling creamy warmth over her folds.

  “Keep going, baby,” he whispered.

  Xavier’s rapt attention didn’t waver as she repeated the process with the panties. He lowered his arms, tugged his belt loose. Captivated, she couldn’t tear her gaze away as he lowered the zipper, reached inside his pants and freed his cock.

  Oh God.

  He was beautiful.

  And terrifying.

  He encircled the base of the thick stalk and stroked up…and up. The motion employed use of his arm not just his wrist, and as he closed his fist around the fat head, she swallowed a whimper. It seemed impossible she could take the intimidating length inside her, but damn, she wanted to try. Even the bulbous head would stretch her wide.

  Breathing deep, she reached for the bra. The small bit of blue lace fastened in the front and the scalloped edges concealed her nipples, but the dark areolas remained visible. She should have been mortified…moments ago she would have been. But the lust-filled grimace every time he stroked his flesh destroyed any vestiges of embarrassment. Even when she slid the crotchless underwear up her thighs and hips, she experienced no shame. Especially when his eyes narrowed on her exposed sex.