Beauty's Beast

by Carolyn Faulkner

  He'd stand on his head and spit nickels if that got her comfortable enough to be close to him again.

  Very close.

  She did stand still for his advance, although she looked much more wary than he would have liked, as if she expected he was going to spank her again or something.

  As his arms closed around her gently and carefully, as if she'd break if he held her too tight, he leaned a bit away from her. He knew he was going to open a can of worms that he pretty much didn't want to, but he had to know, and he figured it was just the right thing to say to distract her from feeling awkward and embarrassed.

  "Have you had a cigarette lately?" He made certain he said it with great conviction, as if he knew he had every right to question her behavior and with a just slightly suspicious edge.

  She began to struggle immediately, but he merely contracted his arms to still her.

  He ratcheted up his game a bit, lowering his tone to be firm but very intimately warning. "Answer me, lass. And don't lie to me, or it'll be that much worse for you."

  Taren tilted her head back and stared boldly into his eyes. "Fuck. You. If you ever touch me like that again…"

  He didn't look in the least concerned by whatever threat she was choosing to make against him. Instead, his eyebrow rose, and he teased, "Which way, darlin'? It seems to me that I remember touching you in several different ways that night – and only one of them would have caused you any pain at all. The others seemed to have had the opposite effect, if my ears didn't deceive me that night, through all that panting and whimpering and moaning someone was doing."

  While she fussed and fumed, he bent his head and captured a nipple that shouldn't have been diamond hard, but it definitely was, his lips and tongue dampening it as he suckled, so that it was even more so by the time he left off.

  And despite the fact that he had already reduced her to breathing like a bellows – again – she pointed her finger at him and met his eyes squarely. "You are never going to spank me again."

  Instead of trying to swat it away, he captured her hand and brought the tip of her finger into his mouth, holding it there between his teeth as his tongue flicked the end of it, then grabbing it again when she would have snatched it away. "I rather think that you're in charge of whether or not I take you over my knee, Taren. It's your behavior – or the lack thereof – that'll ensure you end up there."

  She stood on her tiptoes, getting directly into his face, her nose inches from his, letting him get a good look in the glaring morning sun at just exactly what she really looked like. But Bruce might have been looking – completely unflinchingly – at her face, but he was touching her breasts, weighing them in his hands, thumbs and forefingers imprisoning nipples that were then pinched in a manner that started out extremely gentle but ended up coaxing reluctant whimpers from the back of her throat as he pinched them more tightly.

  Panting, which she knew would lessen the effectiveness of her threat, she nonetheless tried to spit out, "If you spank me again, I'll sue you."

  "When I spank you again," he corrected pointedly, "you'll be too exhausted to sue me, because I'll take you right afterwards." One of his hands wandered slowly down her front, easily slipping between her legs beneath the short hem of her shirt, claiming that which it had already sampled, her thong less than no defense against his possessiveness. His lips found her right ear as he dipped the tip of his middle finger between her lips, finding her at least as wet as she had been before and using that to coat her little bud, beginning to swirl the big pad of his finger around that delicate spot. "Did you pleasure yourself that night, Taren, once I allowed you to go?"

  Her hands – halfway down to his thick wrist on a mission to free herself from that which she craved with every fiber of her being – halted abruptly on their journey. "I am not going to tell you that."

  His answer was a wickedly broad, soft smile. "Oh, I think you will or I'll lift you onto the counter and bring you off with my mouth, right here and right now, the devil take anyone who interrupts us."

  That had her squealing, especially when he made to put his hands around her waist and lift her.

  "Stop, stop!" she whispered hoarsely, pressing a face that felt as if it was strobe light bright red into the bulging muscles of his upper arm. "All right, all right. No, I did not."

  He leaned back from her to look her in the eye. "Are you fibbing to me, Taren? It's not at all advisable for you to do that – ever. That's definitely a spankable offense – and likely to earn you the use of my belt."

  "No!" she squealed immediately, vehemently. "I did not."

  He still looked unconvinced. "Well, then, I'll have to try harder this time, now, won't I?" he whispered conspiratorially, and she couldn't help but laugh.

  And if he couldn't make her cum – and he really couldn't, considering the entire brood was expected shortly – he'd settle for making her laugh. "Sam told me we'd have a free night Friday. Go out with me," he said impulsively, not really making it a question but more of an order.

  "I can't go out with you, Bruce McCullough!" She laughed, hoping he'd join in, but he didn't.

  His face was entirely too serious, and, in reaction, suddenly, so was hers.

  "Oh, but you can, Taren, and what's more, you will."

  She disliked being told what to do in the extreme and frowned fiercely up at him, getting back into his face again. "Or what, big man?"

  He leaned down closer to her, his lips inches from her nose. "Or this," he said, his hands suddenly around her waist again, lifting her up as if she was a feather.

  "Put me down! Put me down!"

  But he was shaking his head and angling her towards the top of the island. "Not until you say yes." He caught her eye. "I will get a yes from you, one way or the other, Taren."

  It was then that they heard a door close upstairs, and Taren tried to jump out of his arms, but he refused to let her go.

  "That's Sam," she hissed urgently. "He's up, and he'll be down here shortly. Put me down!"

  "You haven't said the magic word yet. So if I put you down, it's going to be to lay you on the counter, hang your legs over my shoulders and press my mouth over your…"

  "Yes, yes, yes, all right. I'll go out with you. Put me down!" She would have agreed to just about anything to keep him from doing as he was threatening to do.

  Seconds later, her feet were on the floor, although it took him a bit longer to actually relinquish his hold on her, as if he was severely loathe to do it.

  Bruce didn't think he could remember a time – even when he was a gangly, pimple faced adolescent who couldn't get out of his own way and couldn't get a girl for the life of him – when he'd had to resort to blackmailing a woman into going out with him.

  This was a new low, not that he minded, really.

  He'd gotten what he wanted, so it was a win as far as he was concerned.

  She had skittered to the entire other side of the kitchen, but he stalked right over to her, reaching out to find the ends of the sash of her robe and tying it for her. "What can I do to help you while you go upstairs and get your pretty self more decently attired?" he asked pointedly.

  Taren surprised him by not arguing, for once. "Can you make scrambled eggs?"

  "I can."

  "Well, then get cracking eggs, at least two dozen. If I'm not down here by the time you're done making them up, the griddle is right on top of the stove already. You can go ahead and make them. But I won't be that long."

  He was smiling, as always. "Good – I'm glad to do anything to help."

  Taren was halfway to the door when he caught up to her, reaching out to tuck something small and white into her pocket and copping a feel while he did so.

  "What's this?" she asked, squirming away from him and pulling it out. It read, "William Taylor, Esq." in fancy gold lettering with a phone number she recognized as being in New York City.

  He had already turned back to grabbing eggs out of the fridge. "It's my lawyer's card, just in case you
feel the uncontrollable need to sue me. I have a feeling you're going to want to keep that close by from this point on."

  The cheeky bastard.

  That was Monday morning. By Wednesday night, just after dinner, she caught up to him as he was standing in the kitchen, jawing with Sam about the horses he was going to look at tomorrow and asked him if she could talk to him alone.

  He'd raised his eyebrow at her but had motioned for her to precede him out the door and across the yard to the guest cottage in which he was ensconced which had, originally, been the foreman's place.

  Taren was nervous, even though she knew she was ultimately as safe alone in his rooms as she was anywhere else on the ranch. All she had to do was make a loud squeak, and she knew her brother and twenty other beefy hands would descend on him like the hounds of Hell.

  She was especially nervous when he turned around and closed the door behind him, then set her with a determined look and stalked over to her.

  When he reached for her, she actually couldn't prevent herself from shying away from him, and the look on his face – and in his eyes – nearly reduced her to tears right then and there.

  He looked hurt.

  "Taren, are you…" he rolled the words around in his mouth a bit before saying them, as if he couldn't quite get over the distasteful feel of them. "…afraid of me?"

  She shook her head, but he wasn't sure exactly how much he trusted that. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cringe."

  Before she could finish her sentence, she found herself engulfed in arms that cradled her with infinite gentleness while holding her wonderfully tight. "Sometimes I forget what a big bumbling oaf I must seem, especially in comparison to a wee one such as you."

  Taren out and out snorted at that. "Wee? I'm five-nine. I used to literally tower over everyone else in my classes in grade school, including sometimes the teacher! I haven't been wee since I was pre-school!"

  He caught her chin, saying quite fiercely, "You'll always be wee to me."

  "Sure thing, Dr. Seuss, but could you let me go?"

  Bruce shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I'm nowhere near over seeing you shy away from me like that. I know we haven't known each other that long, but I feel…very comfortable with you, apparently, more so than you do with me." He pressed her face to his chest, his hand on her hair. "I hope you know that I'm aware of my size and my strength, and that, although I might spank you, I'd never really hurt you."

  Against his chest, she said, "You don't think your spanking really hurt me? I couldn't sit down comfortably for three days."

  "Is that all?" he asked, frowning. "I must be losing my touch."

  "For the record, not the best way to get me to feel like you don't really mean to hurt me," she commented acerbically.

  He chuckled. "You're right, lass, probably not."

  Before she could register any kind of a protest, she found herself lifted into the air and deposited onto his lap as he sat down in one of the big overstuffed chairs, kept in place by a strong arm around her waist.

  "What did you want to talk to me about, Miss Taren?" he asked, catching her eye.

  But Taren didn't want to have to look at him as she said what she knew she needed to say. She would much preferred being somewhere – anywhere – else, across the room from him. Preferably across the country from him, but that was asking a bit much for the time constraints they faced.

  Well, best to just rip the band-aid off all at once, she thought. "I can't go out with you Friday."

  His eyebrow went up, but he made no other move. "Then name another day that would work better for you, and I'll work it out with your brother."

  Taren sighed. "No, I don't think so."

  He was quiet for a moment. "So, you don't want to go out with me at all, at any time."

  Damn. She hadn't thought she was going to end up having to out and out lie to him – it wasn't something she as at all comfortable doing, and she began to wiggle on his lap. "It's not a matter of not wanting to."

  "I'm sorry to interrupt, love, but yes, it is. If you like me, if you think I'm funny or whatever might attract you to a man, then you should go out with me. If you don't find anything at all attractive about me…"

  He stopped mid-sentence because she was laughing so hard she was shaking and crying, and he looked truly puzzled as to why. "What have I said that's so funny?"

  "The idea that I wouldn't find you attractive – you've been People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive – how many years in a row?"

  He frowned fiercely. "I wouldn't know. I don't keep track of such blather. It's just a method of selling magazines."

  "No, it's a much-awaited issue that ends up wringing wet because of all the women drooling all over it – and you! It's the female equivalent of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue, and you're always at the top of the list!"

  Bruce shrugged his massive shoulders. "So?"

  Suddenly, all of that joviality – and the balls-to-the-wall bravado that went with it – disappeared as if it had never been, and he saw her fingers absently go to her face, as if she didn't even realize she was doing it, and his heart contracted painfully.

  When she spoke, her tone was abnormally subdued, "So, it wouldn't be at all right for you to date me. You're so beautiful, and I'm so…" Her thought hung there in the silence for a second before she finished it, "…not. You're Beauty, and I'm the Beast."

  How she had ended up staring at the pretty mauve and cream Aubusson carpet, she'd never know, but as she felt him lowering her jean shorts and panties to her knees, she knew it wasn't a good thing, and she also knew she wasn't interested in experiencing a second spanking from him.

  No way, no how!

  Chapter Five

  She had never been so glaringly wrong in her life – so wrong it hurt.

  It hurt a lot!

  Especially since, this time, he talked to her, which only added to the embarrassment and humiliation she already felt just being in that position. He'd called her 'little girl,' and he'd called her 'wee,' but she'd rarely felt at all small until he came along. And this definitely accentuated her physical vulnerability to him, which should, by all rights, have alarmed the crap out of her, but instead, she found it only added to the seemingly ever-present ache that throbbed between her legs whenever he was around.

  Now, stretched out over his lap, and dammit if he wasn't so blasted big and tall, that even at her not inconsiderable height, she ended up not being able to find any purchase at all. Even when she extended her toes, reaching for the floor, or her hands in front of her, so that although he had an arm around her, holding her in place, she had nowhere near the strength necessary to dislodge. She ended up having to grab hold of his big leg in order to feel as if she wasn't going to slide off onto her head.

  And he didn't seem to be in any hurry whatsoever to stop what he was doing. It had taken him long enough just to get her ready – talking the entire time as he tugged her jeans down – she made a mental note to wear tighter ones until he left so that it would be that much harder for him to pull them down. Then she realized that she was actually in the middle of a spanking while planning for the next one, and she almost groaned out loud before he'd even touched her.

  And she was wearing a thong again, and even though that left her butt pretty bare, he still took them down, too. Taren found herself entirely unable to stifle the whimper that bubbled up in her throat at his purely ritualistic action, and she heard him chuckle softly at her when she did.

  His hand patted the bottom he'd just completely revealed, gently squeezing each cheek then rubbing firmly over her, down the backs of each thigh and back up again to rest there, covering both hillocks almost completely without trying. "I know you think I'm stalling, Taren, but I'm not. I'm very angry at you right now, and it goes against my beliefs to spank when I'm angry, but I really think this needs to be addressed with you – and between us – right now, so I'm going to go ahead."

  "Where'd I put that fucking card?" she mused out loud.


  He had to chuckle at that. "That card isn't going to save you, I'm afraid. You can certainly call him, but you'll be sitting on a sore bum while you do it."

  Bruce was having a surprisingly hard time with this. He knew that he wasn't going to magically clear up her problems with how she looked in one spanking, but he also wanted her to know in no uncertain terms that he didn't think her scars detracted from her looks or, God forbid, her attractiveness in any way. He wasn't going to tolerate remarks like that from anyone – even her – that so much as hinted that they might.

  And perhaps, after a while, she might just start to believe that they didn't, too. Perhaps she'd start to think as he did, that they were marks of honor, to be worn proudly. If she wanted to have plastic surgery, he'd gladly pay for it for her, knowing it was something they definitely couldn't afford. That, however, would be her decision entirely, not something he would necessarily urge her to do.

  Regardless, he would not sit idly by and listen to her call herself ugly – compare herself to the Beast or a beast.

  He just couldn't.

  If he admitted it to himself – and he wasn't sure he was ready to, really – he was already half in love with her. Hell, he was already making plans to be with her past the weeks he was here, despite the fact that she usually didn't act like she even liked him much. He knew she did her best to avoid him, although he did his best to counter that by seeking her out as much as he could, although lately he was so busy that he hadn't had a chance to do much of that.

  He hadn't been lying or exaggerating earlier in the week when he'd told her that he missed her – hell, he'd gotten up even earlier than the usual zero-dark-thirty because he wanted to see her.

  He'd had to see her. He craved it. He knew she couldn't see how good she was, how well loved she was by everyone who surrounded her, not for her concerns about whether someone was befriending her because of what she could do for them, or things they wanted from her.

  The people around her loved her because she was funny and smart as a whip and never shirked from shouldering her – and sometimes others', he'd noticed – portion of whatever burden needed carrying, and without a trace of the usual pissing and moaning that would accompany such an impulse.