This might be the closest I’ve ever been to him, just able to observe. Everything’s still slightly fuzzy through the haze of my fever and with the room lit only by the flickering fire in the fireplace. But still, I can see the fine hairs of his short beard on the half of his face that’s exposed, and his lips are full and yet somehow still manly. The skin around his eyes is smooth, young-looking, even though there are shadows there that make me think he’s rarely at ease.
I swallow but he doesn’t pull back and that’s when I realize he’s watching me just as carefully as I’m observing him. He lifts a hand and caresses it gently down the side of my face. “What am I going to do with you?” he whispers, but I have the feeling it’s more to himself than to me.
“Keep up your end of the bargain,” I whisper.
A smile crinkles his lips and he nods. That’s all the agreement I need as I slump against him. He’s so warm and I’m so cold. I’ve been so cold. I’ve been cold for so long. Longer than I even realized, I think.
But that’s the last thing I manage to think because sitting up and drinking down the pills took more out of me than I expected, and I’m soon drifting back off into the warm cocoon of sleep. Feeling safer than I ever have before in the Beast’s arms.
Fourteen
Beast
She fights a fever for days. I pace the floor, cursing myself. I forgot she was so weak, so fragile. Her beauty and brain are so strong, but their vessel is frail. Just like her mother.
I remember her father pacing the floor like this, wearing a tread into the carpet. Finding him in the lab with his head in his hands. He worked night and day for a cure. He never lost hope.
The second I saw her, I knew we were meant to be, he told me once of his wife, Isabella. With your success, son, you’ll have women throwing themselves at you. He placed a hand on my shoulder. Take my advice: wait. Wait for the one.
True love? I’d asked with a jaded smile. He was right; women did throw themselves at me. But only if they couldn’t get Adam’s attention. He always outshone me. Don’t tell me you believe in soulmates?
If by soulmates, you mean a woman made for you as you were for her, then yes. Dr. Laurel had been perfectly serious. A scientist who applied reason to everything but his relationship with the love of his life. True love does exist, son. And it’s worth the wait.
I press my head to the freezing glass, gritting my teeth against the cold. Winter has come with a vengeance. Below, in my rose garden, even the hardiest varieties are bowed under the weight of ice.
Daphne whimpers and I cross the room, kneeling by the bed to take her small hand. I check her forehead. The fever is breaking.
“Stay with me,” she whispers through parched lips. “Don’t leave.”
“I won’t, sweetheart.” I hold a glass of water to her lips until she drinks. When she’s done I ferret out a jar of salve from my lab to smear over her chapped lips. Caring for her feels natural. Like everything in my life led to this moment.
For years I’ve burned with one purpose: revenge. It’s her father’s fault that I’m a Beast, too ugly and gruesome for anyone to love. Far from throwing themselves at me—if women ever saw me now, they’d run. Just like Daphne did.
And yet, I forgive her. How can I do anything else when she clings to me so trustingly? My heart was frozen as the winter earth, and her touch melts the bitter frost.
“I’m here, Daphne. I’m not going to leave you.”
Fifteen
Beauty
“Open for me, sweetheart.”
I glare at the masked man sitting across from me. He regards me steadily. He still hasn’t replaced my glasses but in the past few days, the slightly blurred angles and contours of his face, neck and hands have become familiar to me. For all the torment he’s dealt, he can be surprisingly gentle.
Even when his patient is increasingly grouchy. And mouthy.
“You know, I’m not a baby. I can feed myself.” I cross my arms over my chest.
He says nothing and proffers the soup spoon until it’s a millimeter from my lips. I sigh and open my mouth as instructed. Ugh, broth.
“Chicken soup? Again?” I settle back on the pillows as he scrapes the bowl for another tepid spoonful. “What I wouldn’t give for a cheeseburger.”
“You need to replenish your fluids and electrolytes.”
“Thank you, Dr. Obvious,” I mutter. His good brow raises. I curl my fingers into the blankets to keep from reaching up and touching his face. Not the first time I’ve had the urge.
He spoon feeds me a few more mouthfuls. Ever since I grew strong enough to sit up, he’s insisted on feeding me. I give him a hard time but secretly I love it.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than feed me? Tend your roses? Torment another prisoner? Play your giant organ?” I let my gaze flicker to his crotch. Like always, he’s dressed impeccably, with well-tailored slacks and dress shirt, shoes and cufflinks polished and gleaming. A veneer of elegance that only draws attention to his powerful body. Always enclosed in such fine clothes, but lately, with nothing else to distract me, I can’t deny that sometimes my thoughts wander to wondering what he might look like underneath…
Now both his brows are raised. “My giant organ?”
I blush. “Um, yeah. The instrument, oh Masked One.” I flutter my fingers in the air and hum Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor. “Like, for composing an opera.”
He studies me and I bite my lip, wondering if I’ve pushed him too far. I’ve let more of my joking personality out in the last few days, because, fuck it, what do I have to lose? It feels good. I usually keep this side of myself stuffed down. The only one who’s seen silly Daphne is Rachel.
“No organ,” he says finally, scraping the spoon in the bowl to scoop up the dregs. “No other prisoners. Just you.”
“Lucky me.”
“Indeed.” He feeds me the final bit of soup.
A smile cracks my face. He blinks at the sight of it. I’m as surprised as he is. Here I am, getting nursed back to health by a crazed man in a mask, and I’m almost…happy. I have a million questions swimming around my head—why do you have a lab? How long have you been studying Battleman’s disease? Are you close to a cure?—but I don’t want to break the moment, this temporary truce.
And my instincts are right, because his stiff jaw loosens a moment and the Beast almost, almost smiles.
“I’m feeling better. Stronger. Can’t I get out of bed?” I’ve already been up today. He helped me to the bathroom and gave me a bath. Not as torrid as our first bath together, but enough to make me blush.
“Maybe tomorrow.” He sets the bowl down and heads over to the fireplace to add a few logs. He keeps the place toasty warm now. There are brocade curtains adorning the giant windows, and thick Persian rugs on the floor. Not that he lets my feet touch the ground. He treats me like a princess. And even though he used to despise me for my supposed addiction to luxury, each day he seems to resent me less and less.
He draws the bed curtains, cocooning me in velvety darkness. His finger ghosts over my cheek before he strokes my hair. “Sleep now.”
I catch his hand. He stiffens and I drop it. “Sorry.” He never lets me touch him.
A pause. “It’s all right.”
“Stay with me a bit?”
“And do what?”
It’s my turn to stiffen. He’s touched me all over, and held me in this very bed, and I know we’re headed to something more, but I’m still weak and—
“Shhhh, Daphne. It’s all right. I’ll stay. Right here.” He seats himself in his usual chair beside my bed. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes. Tell me a story?”
He studies his hands. He often wears gloves but he’s left them off to tend to me. The skin is mottled and scarred, as if they sustained chemical burns. “I’m no good at stories.”
“Then I’ll tell you one.”
“You should rest—” he starts, but I grab his hand. He stiffens but I
don’t let go. I clutch his hand with both of mine, holding on like a lifeline. After a second he relaxes a fraction. Not perfect, but it’s a start.
“My mother used to tell me stories. There once was a princess who lived in a castle…” I launch into one of my favorites, a blend of Princess Bride and Rapunzel, with a couple of dragons because why not? “And they all lived happily ever after in their castle surrounded by rose bushes.” I finish with a yawn. The Beast hasn’t moved a muscle since I took his hand. He might as well be a statue, a dark gargoyle watching from afar.
“That’s a lovely story,” he rumbles.
“Mmmm,” I close my eyes. My grip on his hand loosens. He pulls away, but he takes one of my hands between his, holding it like a little bird. “I like stories,” I murmur. “As long as they have a happy ending. My mother said all stories should have happy endings.” She felt my childhood was filled with too much pain and sadness.
“And your story, Daphne?” The Beast’s voice turns harsh, even as he strokes the back of my hand gently. “Does it have a happy ending?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh. Sleep’s closing in. Even though the Beast is growling again, his big body vibrating tension, I know now he’d never really hurt me. I feel safer with him than I have in a long time. “I guess it’s up to you.”
* * *
Morning finds me curled in a Beast-sized armchair by the fire. Outside a winter storm beats freezing rain against the window, but my body’s stronger than it’s been in days.
I can’t believe the Beast tended me all this time. He’s been inordinately gentle. He even let me touch him last night. I held his hand, though I can barely remember our conversation.
The bedroom door creaks and the Beast appears. He sees me and stops in his tracks. “You’re awake.”
“I got up and dressed all by myself,” I brag.
“Well done.” There’s that glimmer of a smile. I’m addicted to it.
“I brought breakfast.” There’s a cart with a tray just outside the door. I wrinkle my nose at the shiny silver dome covering the plate. It’s probably more broth.
But no, when he whips off the cover with a flourish, a steaming omelet with a side rasher of—
“Bacon!” I reach with both hands, already drooling.
“Ah ah,” he holds the plate aloft. “Not until you eat your porridge.” He hands me a bowl and spoon. Topped with fresh berries and cream, it’s hardly gruel, but it’s not bacon.
“You’re heartless,” I tell him, but dutifully dig in.
“So I’ve been told.” Another glimmer of a smile.
“Careful,” I mutter to the bowl. “I’ll one star you on Yelp.”
“Too late. I’ve already been voted best Evil Captor three years running.” As my mouth drops open—he made a joke!—he adds, “Having a castle helped.”
“I bet. How did you get a castle just outside New Olympus anyway? Did you build it?”
“Inherited it. My predecessor brought it over from the old country, stone by stone.”
My mouth is hanging open now. The Beast isn’t just making jokes, he’s sharing information? Before I get too excited, he raises his chin and orders, “Eat, Daphne.”
I lift my spoon and plunge it dramatically in the bowl. He watches me take a few bites before kneeling to build up the fire. I can’t help but admire the taut line of his backside, set off perfectly by exquisitely tailored pants.
“Remind me to thank your stylist,” I murmur.
“What?” he rises, dusting off his hands. Today he’s in a chunky off-white knit sweater. His black hair is tousled. Mmmmm.
“Nothing.” Daphne! Stop perving on your captor! My spoon clinks in the bowl as I shovel away at the oatmeal.
“Careful. Don’t make yourself sick.”
“I want bacon,” I say with my mouthful.
He makes a frustrated noise and kneels beside me, commandeering my spoon. “Slowly,” he says, feeding me a smaller bite.
“Fine.” I let him feed me as he’s done before, exaggerating my movements. “Mmm,” I hum and lick cream from my lips. His gaze hones onto my mouth. I nibble on a strawberry and he looks away, jaw clenching. Is that a flush on his swarthy skin?
I sit back, satisfied. I’m not the only one affected.
“Are you finished?” he asks.
To my disappointment, I am. “I’m full,” I sigh.
He sets the bowl down and picks up the plate. “Because I’m hungry.”
“That was my bacon!” I cry.
“Mine now,” he grins outright now, his teeth white and even under his mask. Without the tension in his jaw he looks…handsome?
I flop back in my chair. “One star.” I wave a hand at the grand furnishings, beautiful enough to adorn a modern palace. “Decor is great but the service leaves much to be desired.”
“Be nice, now,” he admonishes, dragging a second armchair closer before seating himself. “Otherwise I won’t share.” He holds up a slice of bacon. Gaw, it smells heavenly.
I hold out my hand and he shakes his head. Now I’m flushing. But it’s not the first time he’s fed me, so I lean in and get my reward. Is there an amused glint in his eyes as he feeds me? Fuck, I don’t care. Bacon is the best.
He feeds me all the breakfast meat like that. I wave away a forkful of the omelet, but gleefully accept the tiny cup of thick hot chocolate he serves from a china teapot. With the fire crackling and good food in my belly, I’m as spoiled as a princess from my mother’s stories.
When was the last time I had a leisurely breakfast? Without lab reports or quarterly filings to go over? Rachel would be slack-jawed. And not just because I’m enjoying a meal with my evil captor.
By the end of breakfast, it’s stopped sleeting. The day is brighter even though the clouds are grey.
“I want to go outside,” I tell the Beast.
“It’s too cold.”
“I can bundle up. Come on, the storm’s long over. I want you to show me the gardens.” The labyrinth. If I don’t dare ask him about Battleman’s or my company’s patents, maybe I can learn more about him.
A ploy, I tell myself. A way to guard myself against my captor. Not because I want to know him as a person. A friend or, gods forbid, a lover.
I mean…sometimes I might have had a few stray fantasies over the past few days, but those don’t count, right? I was half-delirious with fever most of the time. I blink away the confusing thoughts when the Beast starts talking again.
“It’s winter. They’re not at their best.” He twists to look out the window. My breath catches at his profile. It’s somehow familiar. A memory tickles me…
He turns back, his dark brown eyes catching mine, and the memory is gone.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” I say as he plumps my pillows. “The roses look amazing. My mother would love them.”
“Yes, she did love her roses, didn’t she?” he murmurs.
How do you know? What do you know about my mother? About me? I bite back the questions.
He puts the plate aside. “It’s time for your punishment.”
Sixteen
Beast
“My punishment? What for?” She sits up straighter, pushing back a lock of hair that’s fallen over her cheek. Her skin is newly flushed—her healthy glow returned. She doesn’t look upset, but curious.
“For running from me.”
“Running…” Her forehead creases as if she doesn’t remember. Just days ago we were at odds. “Oh, into the labyrinth. I thought you were going to hurt me.” She sounds matter-of-fact, unafraid.
“And now?”
She tilts her head to the side, studying me. I hold my breath, waiting for her to recognize me. But she never does. I was too thorough with the details of my disguise. But she murmurs, “I don’t think you will. Hurt me, I mean. Not more than I can take.” Her lashes lower, fanning across her bright pink cheeks.
Once again I am staggered by her strength. Her willingness to trust. And the way her
body responds to me.
Only me.
“Go to the bathroom. Refresh yourself and return to me,” I order in a hoarse voice.
Her brow wrinkles for a moment, but she obeys. Just before she disappears into the bathroom I call out. “Oh, and Daphne?”
She turns back, responding instantly to my command. A good start. I rise, savoring the moment.
“When you return to me, you need to be naked.”
She bites her lip but nods. The bathroom door closes. A few seconds later, the shower turns on.
Ignoring my painfully hard erection, I spin into action. Normally I’d follow and enjoy washing my little captive, but she’s going to submit to me. Willingly. And I want to be ready.
This is a new step for us. After the labyrinth, things changed. Taking care of her…it wasn’t like anything I’ve ever experienced before in my life.
I’ve been alone as long as I can remember. It’s just been me vs. the world. Alone all growing up, fighting for my place in the group homes and then a series of brutal disappointments as an adult.
I hadn’t left the castle for a year before her. I thought it was better that way.
But fuck was I was wrong.
Because when she reached for me in her feverish delirium? When she begged me not to leave her? Her little hands grasping desperately onto whatever part of me she could reach?
I— I just— Fuck. I can’t even think straight when she’s around.
Beyond one clear thought: I need to make her mine.
Right then the bathroom door opens and my heartbeat ratchets up a notch. The lights are dimmed. A few candles and the fireplace add an ambient glow. I’ve stripped the bed and changed the sheets, leaving off the pillows and blankets.
Billionaire’s Captive: A Beauty and the Rose Box Set Page 9