BEASTLY LOVE BOX SET: Romance Collection

by Lindsey Hart

  He just showed up, dressed in costume as if it was a normal afternoon. Those already assembled on stage gaped at him open-mouthed.

  Leena couldn’t help but stare either. The musical was set in a seaside village in Italy in the early seventeenth century. He wore the traditional tunic of a citizen from that era. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. He was glorious. There really was no other word for it. Though his skin wasn’t bronzed from being out in the sun, he was still over six feet tall and fit. It finally dawned on her that he must work out in his rooms. There was really no other explanation for those broad shoulders and chest, the narrow waist, and legs that rippled with muscle. His blonde hair was tied back with a leather strip or lace. He was freshly shaved, and she imagined that if she breathed in next to him, she’d smell the spicy scent of aftershave.

  She spun and caught a few of the female cast eyeing up Dallas. A jolt of wicked jealousy ripped through her. She swallowed hard and turned back around. Their gazes locked. Dallas had eyes only for her. She didn’t look half as amazing in her own costume, but her breasts were defined, as were her hips and narrow waist, her own long legs. Her cascading hair was done up with pearls and gold olive leaves. She had on her stage makeup and she knew she was at least pretty, if not beautiful.

  The spark in his eyes caught her off guard. His eyes glowed with appreciation and suddenly she felt like it was just the two of them standing there, that everything else and everyone else had faded away.

  Someone coughed behind her and the spell was broken. Leena swallowed hard to clear her bone-dry throat. “I guess we should get started.”

  It was all the encouragement the cast needed. People sprang to action around her and soon everyone was ready to begin.

  Though Dallas hadn’t been to a single rehearsal, he was flawless. Effortless. He was incredible. He owned the stage like he’d been living on it his entire life. He wasn’t at all uncertain or tense. Leena felt far more nervous than he did. She was nervous for him, for herself, for them.

  The musical was unique amongst all of Dallas’ works in that it was just piano. There was not a single other instrument featured. Though it had been written years before, written and kept secret, it was undoubtedly his best work.

  The rehearsal progressed, Dallas’ voice and presence taking them all to another place, another world, another time, just as he did any time he sat down at a piano or picked up any other instrument. His voice was his own instrument, as true a gift as his incredible talent for playing and writing.

  As the final scene neared, Leena’s apprehension grew. Her chest felt like it was going to explode as she watched Dallas climb the stairs hidden behind the cliff they had created. He neared the top and didn’t look back.

  In his works, he had written the two leads, Markus and Giselle, with tragic endings. Their backstory was that he had seen her as a young woman and waited almost a decade for her to grow to maturity. He was a soldier in that time and when he came home, she’d waited for him and when he asked her to be his bride, she agreed. They were all set for their happy ending, about to be married, when she fell ill. He sat by her side in her family’s home for five days and nights. He finally drifted off beside her bed and he woke to her mother keening and her father wailing in grief. She had died in the night. Markus left the house, distraught. He didn’t want to live if she wasn’t alive. Life was meaningless without his beloved. He left, walked to the coast where a cliff overlooked the Mediterranean Sea. He was about to hurl himself off onto the rocks below, where he’d either be broken and killed on impact or he’d let himself drown. All he wanted to do was go back to a world where Giselle was. He’d find her in death if he had to.

  When she changed it, she had to give Markus and Giselle the ending they deserved, the happiness they never had in real life. Even though she knew what those characters symbolized, a love that he had for a woman who was not her, she did it for him, at the height of his despair, to show him there was still hope. She did it because she loved him, and her own wounded heart couldn’t stand to see him bleed.

  “Markus!” Leena rushed on stage, panting as though she’d just run a great distance. “Stop!”

  Dallas whirled, away from the cliff edge. He stared at her, eyes wide, as though truly seeing the love he thought dead. “Giselle?” His eyes burned with a flame that came right from his heart, as though he really was seeing what he thought was a ghost.

  “Yes, my love! Come down! Please, I beg you!”

  Dallas stood there, staring at her, breathing raggedly. His eyes never left her face. She couldn’t read the emotion there, because it was too much. His eyes, normally shuttered, were open pools of emotion. They were so deep and raw it was painful to look at them.

  And then finally, he turned away. He flew, his footsteps silent even on metal stairs. Leena ran towards him and they met on stage. His strong, warm hands gripped the bare skin of her arms and Leena shivered violently. She couldn’t look away. There were tears streaming down Dallas’ cheeks and she realized she was crying as well. It must look, to the other cast, like a very well-trained actress and a man who had come out of nowhere with such skill it was astounding. They knew nothing of the private world Dallas and Leena were locked in. They knew nothing of the pain of years and years of loss, of waiting, of hoping, of a love long unreturned.

  “I thought you were dead!” Dallas’ voice broke and when he looked down at her it was like he was seeing her for the first time in his life.

  Does he see me or does he see a past he wishes he could have? Does he wish I was Hannah, truly back here, with him at last? Or is it me he’s touching? Is he playing a part or is this as real for him as it is for me?

  “No! No, my love. I was only deep in sleep. So deep my family couldn’t feel or see my breath.”

  “You were sick. You died. I saw it myself… My world….”

  “No, Markus. I’m here!” Leena twined her arms around his neck. His skin was warm, his muscle sleek and solid under her fingertips. His hair was like silk. She wanted to weep at the touch. She’d never touched him like this, with all her love and passion seeping from her body into his. “I’ll always be here. I promise you. I won’t leave you behind. I was so deep in the blackness, in the sleep and I fought. I struggled, but I couldn’t wake. When I finally came out of it, my family thought they were seeing a ghost, like I’d risen from the dead.”

  “Are you an angel? A spirit? Have you come back for me?”

  “I’m real flesh and blood. Grasp my skin. Feel my breath. Taste my lips.” She said the words, the words that were the pinnacle moment, words that would shatter the building conflict and lead to a happy ending. She paused, not having thought far enough ahead what that kiss truly meant. She’d written this for Dallas. She never imagined, when she was writing, that it would be her receiving that kiss. Her tasting his lips. Her body rushed to life as the memory of the kiss they’d shared that night, the night he thought she was Hannah, the kiss she stole, the kiss that should never have happened, took over.

  Please, see me Dallas. Me. Leena. Please, just for once, let it be me and not a ghost. Not her. Just me.

  Dallas’ hands moved from her shoulders, up, up to tangle in the waterfall of her hair. His touch wasn’t gentle, but it was electric. He tilted her face upwards with his other hand, his fingers firm and steady on her jaw and so very warm. The callouses on his hands, from years of playing, scraped over her delicate skin. She savored the feel, the sweet rasp of his unique touch. She closed her eyes and her lips parted, expecting the chaste kiss for the stage, a kiss that was nothing more than theatrical, an obligation to the part.

  He was just an inch away, his breath warm on her cheek, spicy against her lips. And then his mouth crushed down on hers, the heat of passion stole her breath. It wasn’t just her. The raw desire and blatant hunger in his kiss were unmistakable. He kissed her with utter abandon and complete desperation, like a man starving, like a man drowning, like a man who wanted her and needed her. Like she was h
is love, a love that he thought dead.

  The instant his lips touched hers, it was like an explosion occurred in her mind. The doors that had refused to budge burst open. The rush of memory was shocking, a deluge or a landslide. She rocked back on her heels, but Dallas wouldn’t let her shy away. He caught her, braced her with his stronghold as he explored her mouth. She opened to him, gasped at the shock of her memory suddenly just being there, moaned at the passion that was spreading through her bloodstream. The sound was smothered and swallowed as Dallas sipped at her lips. He drank her rough breaths, her whimpers, every sound she made. The kiss went on and she lost herself. She forgot they were on stage, forgot there were people watching them.

  Dallas pulled away finally, breathing roughly, chest heaving, eyes blazing. He stared at her like he truly, truly saw her for the first time. Her. Not Hannah. Not Giselle. Leena.

  “I… I remember,” she breathed, so only he could hear. “I remember everything.” She could see herself, sitting at her own tiny apartment, rewriting that ending. She had a keyboard, but she didn’t use it. She heard the notes in her head, saw it as though she was playing. She poured her soul into that work. She waited weeks before she gave it to Dallas, afraid, knowing full well it would change everything between them. Eventually, it had.

  Dallas’ light grey eyes darkened. “Come. We have to talk.” He gripped her hand and dragged her toward the opposite end of the stage with absolutely no explanation to the rest of the cast. She tried to protest, but he wouldn’t let her go.

  They escaped down the hall, turned left and found the stairs that took them up to the next level of the building. Dallas paused in front of her door, surprising her. He waited for her to open it. She hadn’t locked it and when she turned the handle, it swung inward.

  He didn’t pause. He never let her hand go. His grip was like iron and somehow tender all at once.

  “Dallas- we can’t just leave like that,” Leena panted.

  “It’s our theatre,” he ground out. “We can do whatever we want.” He slammed the door shut behind them and locked it.

  She barely had time to take a breath before he turned her, slammed her up against his unyielding planes. Her hands hit the wall of his chest and when he pressed his groin up against her, there was no mistaking his desire.

  “Dallas?” She panted, hardly daring to look up at his face. This was everything she’d wanted. She’d spent years dreaming of this moment. “This is me. Leena. Please don’t do this if it’s not me to you.”

  “It’s you,” he ground out. “It’s you, Leena. It’s always been you.”

  He bent his head and his lips crushed hers, searing, burning her, taking her away, banishing her fears. His lips dragged over hers. His tongue traced the outline of her bottom lip before he nipped her gently. It was the most sensual thing anyone had ever done to her. His breaths were out of control, panting, his chest heaving against her.

  I love you, Dallas. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved. She’d waited half her life to tell him that. Except that as he pulled away and took her hand again, his much larger fingers tangling through hers, she still couldn’t make herself say the words.

  CHAPTER 14

  Dallas

  His head spun, his thoughts wild and jumbled. He was moving, propelling them forward, backward, he didn’t even know. He was wrapped up in Leena, his hands, his arms, his legs. His mouth searched hers hungrily. He never relinquished his hold on her. He drank from her like she was a fresh spring and he’d been thirsting his entire damn life.

  When she finally broke away and he tore open his eyes, he was in her room. She stepped back a halting pace and glanced nervously at her bed. It was a monstrous thing, the headboard and footboard upholstered so that it looked so much larger than it was. She had a taste for modern furniture, he realized, when he took in the glass dresser and matching nightstands. Everything was so crisp and neat and clean. Bright sunlight streamed into the room through the open blinds. Normally he would have hated that, but at the moment, he found he didn’t care.

  His gaze traveled back to Leena and landed hotly on her glorious body. Her white robes glowed and became nearly transparent when the sunlight pierced through them. She looked like an angel or a goddess… something not altogether human with her blonde curls trailing down her back, the woven strands of gold leaves like a crown on her head. They’d done an immaculate job of her costume. The robes fitted her just right, her one shoulder bare. The tips of her tiny, bare feet peeked out at the bottom, below the hem of the flowing folds of fabric.

  He wanted to tear that damn costume off of her, to gaze full on at the swells of creamy, pale skin, full breasts with the dusky pink nipples, sweet curves, her flat stomach and long, long legs.

  He managed to control himself since he figured she’d be angry if he ruined her costume. Instead, when his hands fell to her hips, he swept her up, onto the bed. She tumbled below him, fighting through the folds of her dress as he did. His body ached. It was a brand new form of physical torture, a hunger eating at him from the inside out.

  His cock throbbed, his blood soared. His heart hammered so violently he wondered if it was actually bruising the underside of his ribs. He knew nothing, nothing but the need to fill and sate every single one of his burning senses. He needed to see her, touch her, inhale her wondrous scent, taste her, mark her as his as he gave himself, or what he could of his tattered, tortured soul.

  Her robes gave and he finally made headway. He ran his hand down the length of her leg, memorizing every detail, the soft smoothness of her skin, the silk of her under his fingertips. His desire for her was yet another form of music, fighting, struggling inside of him, trying to make its way out. He wanted to show her, to teach her the song of herself, the song of their bodies joining.

  The hem of her robe rode higher, up over her knees, over her thighs. His hands kept pushing the gossamer fabric up until it reached her hips and the most delicate pair of white lace panties was bared to him. The sight of them drove him wild, stirred his senses, hit him and affected him in the most primal way. There was a strange sound in the room and he didn’t realize, for a second, that it was a low growl torn from his throat.

  “Dallas…” Leena whispered, uncertainty and doubt heavy in that one word. She tried to slam her legs shut, but his hand was there. He didn’t force them open, just slowly ran his hand along the burning heat of her. She was so warm and so very wet, soaking through the thin silk of her underwear.

  Her thighs parted automatically, and her hips bucked under his touch. He wanted to wait, to be slow and gentle, but he couldn’t. God, he’d known Leena for nearly a lifetime, but it was like he was seeing her for the first time. He’d finally opened his damn eyes, taken off the blinders and realized just how much he needed her.

  Those damn panties were in his way. He tried to remove them gently, but he was sure he heard them rip as he pulled them down her thighs, down the long planes of her leg and over her delicate feet. He threw them onto the floor, baring her to him.

  The sunlight played over her body, bathing her in golden perfection. Lord, she was perfect. She took his damn breath away. She was perfectly smooth and glisteningly wet for him. She tried to push his head away in a weak attempt at modesty as he came closer. He could tell, from the way her hand rested on the crown of his hair, her fingers slowly fisting in the golden strands, that she didn’t mean it. She didn’t want him to stop.

  The first taste of her was like a haven Dallas was damn sure he was never going to get to. She wasn’t just another form of music, she was the song, the work, the masterpiece completed. He tasted her sweetness, lapped at her, ran his tongue over her heated folds. He found her entrance, her clit, massaged and licked her gently. She squirmed and whimpered, bucked under him, clutched at his hair so tightly his scalp burned. Lord, she was perfect. Absolute, utter perfection. And he, for the first time in his life, felt perfect next to her.

  How could I have been so damn blind? She’s been right here the e
ntire time.

  The ache inside of him grew, fierce, maddening, consuming him until he thought that if he didn’t have her, he would truly go insane. He wanted her to come, wanted to taste her climax, wanted to hear her to cry his name. He moved his mouth up, paying homage to her clit, applying more pressure, teasing her faster, harder. The extra stimulation was all it took to send her flying over the edge. Her body tensed, and a rush of moisture coated his lips, his chin, as she came.

  He pulled away, watching her, loving the way her features tightened, her eyes closed, her lips parted. She whimpered, mewled sounds that were indistinguishable. Her body convulsed, her stomach tightened, and her legs trembled. Her hands fell to his shoulders and gripped the fabric of his tunic.

  The damn tunic.

  Dallas leaned back and all but ripped the costume over his head. He tore off his boxers next and shed the uncomfortable sandals that he hadn’t even felt until that moment. When Leena finally opened her glistening sea green eyes and realized that he was naked, they raked hotly over his body. They widened when they fell below his waist and she took in his cock, which was so damn hard it was pulsing and standing nearly vertical against his chiseled abdomen.

  The glow of appreciation, of outright hunger in her eyes fuelled his own wild need. His stomach muscles cramped while the rest of his body throbbed and burned. He moved swiftly, covering her with his hard body, bracing himself near her face.

  He bent and kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips. She moaned, and he realized that the tortured moan that joined the sounds she made was all his. She kissed him furiously. Her arms tangled around his neck, her nails biting into his shoulders.

  He reached between them, pulling up the folds of her robe around her waist and positioning himself at her entrance in a swift movement.

  She froze beneath him. He didn’t expect her to tear her mouth away from him or look up at him in abject fear. He read the hesitation in her eyes, no, the terror and stopped short. He pulsed against her thigh, his body straining, drawn so tight he felt that he was going to snap already.