In Bed With the Beast

by Tara Sivec

  “You’re not a stripper yet. And I trust those jackasses you’ve been going on dates with even less,” he replies, his thumb brushing back and forth against my cheek, making me lose focus again.

  I give my head a slight shake before looking back up at him.

  “So, does this mean you’re going to help me learn how to be sexy and flirty?” I ask hopefully.

  I mean honestly, the guy can’t just kiss me like that out of the blue and think I’m going to walk away and forget it ever happened.

  He lets out a sigh and I’m guessing if we weren’t still pressed together from thigh to chest, and if he weren’t still touching me, he’d be pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Christ . . . I guess I am.”

  Chapter 16: Food, French, Eyelashes

  “Flirt with me.”

  I look up from the book I was reading to find Vincent standing in front of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest, staring down at me.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I ask in confusion, closing the book and setting it on the cushion next to me.

  “You want lessons on how to be sexy and flirty. So, flirt with me. Show me what you’ve got.”

  Oh, God. I’m not ready for this. I thought I was, but I kind of hoped these lessons would just be him kissing me a bunch more, not me having to perform like a monkey in the circus.

  I uncurl my legs from underneath me and push myself up from the couch to stand in front of him, wiping my nervous, sweaty palms down the front of my sundress, trying to remember how all the heroines in the books I’ve read went about this flirting business.

  Food. That’s the way to a man’s heart, right? I’m pretty sure I read that somewhere.

  “How about I go in the kitchen and whip you up something delicious? Maybe a nice, juicy steak with a baked potato and a side of green beans,” I tell him in a soft voice, hoping it’s coming out sexy and breathy and not like I’m having trouble breathing.

  Which I am. Having trouble breathing, that is. Standing this close to Vincent always makes it hard for me to remember how to take air into my lungs.

  One of his eyebrows quirks up in puzzlement as he looks down at me, and I quickly realize my mistake.

  “Scratch that. No green beans. Green beans aren’t sexy,” I say with an uncomfortable laugh. “How about a steak, potato and . . . soufflé.”

  I don’t know if a soufflé is sexy, but it’s French. Speaking French always sounds sexy.

  Suddenly, I remember a scene in the book I was reading just a few minutes ago, where the woman in the story batted her eyelashes at the man she liked, and he immediately took her in his arms and kissed her. I’m not exactly sure how blinking rapidly turned into kissing, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

  Food, French, eyelashes. Let’s do this.

  I smile up at Vincent and flutter my eyelids so quickly that it almost makes me dizzy.

  “Soufflé, croquet monsieur, foie gras . . . ,” I whisper seductively, trailing off when I can’t think of any other French food items.

  Okay, so maybe goose liver isn’t the sexiest French food I could have come up with, but my French is limited to what I’ve seen on cooking shows and it will have to do.

  “What. In the hell. Are you doing?” Vincent asks.

  The little bit of confidence I had disappears in an instant, and my shoulders droop in defeat.

  “I was flirting. That was me flirting,” I tell him with a shrug.

  “That wasn’t flirting. That was . . . I don’t know what that was. Listen, you can’t learn how to flirt by trying to mimic something you read in a book,” he informs me, causing my cheeks to heat in embarrassment because that’s exactly what I was doing. “Flirting is about making someone feel like you’re attracted to them with your body language, not necessarily with actual language, unless you’re giving them compliments. Making eye contact, touching, showing them you’re interested. Just be yourself. Do what comes naturally. Touch me. Give me a compliment.”

  Touching him and giving him a compliment does not come naturally, is he insane? I tamp down my nerves and realize I’m not going to learn anything unless I do exactly what he says. Lifting my hand, I awkwardly pat the side of his arm a few times.

  “That’s a great T-shirt you’re wearing. Is it new? The cotton is really soft,” I tell him, my palm now rubbing against the sleeve of his shirt.

  The corner of his mouth twitches, but thankfully, he doesn’t laugh at me. He wraps his hand around my wrist, pulling it between us and presses it against his chest, flattening my palm against his muscles until I can feel the beating of his heart.

  “Move closer,” he orders.

  I swallow nervously, my eyes on his big hand holding mine in place against his chest, and shuffle my feet an inch nearer to him.

  “Closer,” he urges in a low voice.

  I take a full step this time, bringing myself right up against him. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act naturally when the heat from his body and the smell of his skin makes me tingle in a way I’m unfamiliar with. Being this close to him, being forced to touch him, it makes me want to ask him if he has hyperthyroidism which produces too much of the hormone thyroxine, and an excess of this hormone can cause your body’s metabolism to increase, which leads to a rising of body temperature, and would explain why he’s so damn hot.

  Good grief, even in my head I can’t be sexy and flirty.

  “Look at me.”

  My eyes slowly move up his chest and over his throat, pausing on his full lips. My heart stutters in my chest, wishing he’d just kiss me again. I forgot all about being nervous around this man when his lips were on mine the other night. Realizing that’s not going to happen right now, I keep looking up until my eyes meet his. He’s got such beautiful brown eyes and full, dark lashes that staring into them makes me forget where I am and what I’m doing.

  With his palm still resting on top of mine, holding it securely against his chest, he starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth against the skin on back of my hand, putting me in a trance.

  “You have beautiful eyes,” I whisper distractedly, my tongue darting out to wet my dry lips. “Brown eye color is a dominant genetic trait and is created by the presence of melanin in the eye. Over fifty percent of the world’s population has brown eyes.”

  Vincent lets out a low groan, and I can feel the rumble of it in his chest, right against my palm. My hand curls into a fist, clutching the material of his T-shirt, tugging him closer to me.

  I hold my breath as I continue staring into his eyes, watching as he slowly starts to lower his head, his mouth moving closer and closer to mine. My eyelids flutter closed and right when I brace myself to feel his lips pressed against mine, he suddenly drops his hand from on top of mine and takes a step back.

  My eyes fly open when he clears his throat, and I watch him roughly shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, giving me a nod.

  “Lesson’s over. Nicely done.”

  I review everything that just happened between us in my head, realizing I rambled some stupid, useless fact in the middle of trying to flirt with him, wondering if that’s what killed the mood and why he moved away from me.

  “Don’t lie. There was nothing nicely done about that. There’s nothing sexy or flirtatious about me giving you facts on eye color,” I tell him with a roll of my eyes.

  “I’m not lying. You were being you, which is exactly what I told you to do. When you’re lost in the moment and not stuck in your own head, you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”

  My mouth drops open in shock, and my heart starts beating so rapidly, I’m surprised it doesn’t explode.

  Suddenly, he turns and walks away from me, heading towards the hallway, and I wonder why he’s walking away so quickly if he really believes what he just told me.

  “Where are you going?! Come back! Teach me more!” I shout after him.

  “Lesson’s over,” he repeats without stopping. “I need a fucking cold shower.
”

  I wait until he disappears down the hallway and I hear the slam of the bathroom door to let the excited smile take over my face.

  Chapter 17: The Jig Is Up

  “And THIS is the hallway,” I announce, sweeping my hand out to the side and sloshing a little of my wine onto the floor. “Isn’t it a nice hallway?”

  I press my cheek against the cool wall, closing my eyes with sigh.

  It’s been two days since Vincent gave me my first sexy, flirty lesson, and there hasn’t been a second one. Or a second kiss, no matter how hard I’ve tried. Sure, we’ve only seen each other for a few minutes after he’s woken up and before I needed to leave for work, but I spent those minutes practicing my flirting game by complimenting him and just being myself, and not being nervous about standing close to him when I did this. I’ve pressed my hand against his chest without his help, and I’ve even slid my shoulder against his body when I’ve walked by him in the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. Yesterday, I went so far as pressing both my hands to his chest and lifting myself up on my toes to get closer to him when I told him to have a nice night at work. And still, all I have is my memory of that first kiss to keep me warm at night.

  That kiss . . . the cause for all the tossing and turning I’ve done since Vincent gave me my first lesson, and why I invited Cindy and Ariel over tonight to commiserate with me. The wine was just an added bonus, provided by Cindy.

  “Okay, fine. I’m convinced this isn’t a torture den. It’s actually a really nice place,” Ariel relents after I finish giving them the grand tour. Then she walks over to the closed door across from Vincent’s bedroom. “What’s in here?”

  I open my eyes with my cheek still pressed against the wall and watch her rattle the locked door handle.

  “There’s a room down the hall, across from my bedroom. It’s locked. It’s always locked. Don’t touch it, and don’t try to get in it. That room stays locked and no one goes in it. Grrrrrr,” I speak in a deep, grumpy voice, imitating Vincent as best I can, with a little growl at the end. “That’s house rule number eleventy-ten. Math is hard.”

  Pushing away from the wall, I take another sip of my wine while Ariel continues trying to twist the handle.

  “And that doesn’t scream serial killer to you?” Cindy asks, moving around me to stand next to Ariel.

  She pushes Ariel out of the way and tries the handle herself.

  “Still locked, genius. Did you think you would magically touch it and it would open for you?” Ariel complains.

  “I tried to get PJ to tell me everything he knows about Beast, but he was tight-lipped. Even after I gave him the best blow job of his life,” Cindy complains, stepping back from the door to cross her arms in front of her and look the thing up and down. “He said Beast is his friend and it’s up to him to open up about his life when he feels ready. But he reassured me that Belle is in very good hands. He said Beast can be a little rough around the edges, but deep down, he’s a good guy.”

  “A good guy who promised to teach me how to be sexy and flirty, and aside from one lesson a few days ago, hasn’t done anything else,” I tell them with a pout, draining the rest of my wine and swaying a little.

  When I told Cindy and Ariel that I had decided not to come right out and ask Vincent if he likes me and instead would say I needed his expertise so we could spend more time together, they shocked me by applauding it as a brilliant plan, since he’s so tight-lipped about himself and his feelings.

  “I don’t want to be a nag and scream, GIVE ME YOUR SEXY EXPERIENCE AND MORE KISSING, ALREADY, but come on! What is taking him so long?”

  “I’d still be holding a grudge after he accused you of pretending to be sweet and innocent. As a matter of fact, I’d have chopped off his balls, framed them, and hung them above the fireplace, just so he’d never forget,” Ariel informs me.

  “But, that wouldn’t work. I kind of need his balls don’t I? Especially if he really does like me, and him teaching me how to dance sexy turns into him doing sexy things to me. During arousal the testicles increase in size due to vasocongestion, the accumulation of blood in the pelvis that occurs during arousal. The skin of the scrotum thickens and the testicles increase in size usually by approximately fifty percent at the height of arousal. However, Masters and Johnson found that if sexual excitement is sustained long enough, the testicles could almost double in size, returning to normal size after orgasm.”

  Cindy and Ariel look back over their shoulders at me blankly.

  “I did some research about sex and balls the last couple of days, just in case.” I shrug, bringing my wine glass up to my mouth and frowning when I remember it’s empty.

  Honestly, I don’t know why it doesn’t bother me that Vincent didn’t apologize for what he said to me. Maybe it’s because I’ve come to understand him a little better. He’s not really a talker. He’s more of a show-er. And that kiss he gave me, as well as him deciding to help me and giving me a lesson, even if it resulted in me not being able to sleep because I want more, was sort of his way of apologizing and possibly showing me that he likes me a little bit, so it’s hard to stay mad at him.

  “We need to see what’s in this room. Cindy, hand me a credit card,” Ariel orders, holding her hand out.

  Cindy quickly turns and races down the hall, stumbling a little bit and bumping into the wall on her way, giggling as she goes.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” I whisper, moving the rest of the way down the hall to stand behind Ariel.

  “It’s a perfectly good idea. He’s at work. We’ll sneak in, take a look around and make sure he’s not some kinky bastard into S and M shit, with whips and chains hanging from his wall, then we’ll lock it back up like we were never here.”

  Cindy comes giggling back down the hallway a few seconds later, waving a credit card above her head with one hand, another bottle of wine tucked under her arm. She hands Ariel the credit card and refills my glass.

  I snatch the credit card out of Ariel’s hand before she can try to use it.

  “Hey!” she shouts, trying to grab it back, but I hold the card out of her reach.

  “Seriously, we can’t do this. He’s letting me stay in his home for free. This is a huge invasion of his privacy. We’re not going in that room.”

  “Sweetie, I know you don’t want to break his trust, but it’s kind of weird that he specifically told you this was the only room off-limits, then didn’t say why. I mean, that’s like telling a toddler not to touch something,” Cindy states. “It just makes them more curious. It makes me more curious. You’re our friend and we’re worried about you. We just want to make sure you’re safe and he isn’t hiding any dead bodies in here. Like Ariel said, we’ll go in, get out, and pretend like it never happened.”

  Ariel grabs the card back out of my hand before I can stop her. I suck down my wine nervously as she slides the credit card between the door and the frame, jiggling it around while trying to turn the handle. After a few minutes of trying, she starts muttering under her breath.

  “Piece-of-shit door.”

  Handing the card back to Cindy, she starts hitting her shoulder into the wood repeatedly. When that doesn’t work, she takes a few steps away from the door until her back is pressed against the opposite wall. With a loud war cry, she races forward and slams her shoulder into it, immediately bouncing off and landing on her butt.

  Cindy and I both laugh at her as she curses and rubs her shoulder, and I momentarily forget we shouldn’t be doing this, because it’s really funny and wine is delicious.

  “Here, hold this,” Cindy suddenly announces, passing me the bottle of wine.

  I bring the bottle up to my mouth and drink straight from it, even though I have a full glass in my other hand, watching with fascination as she lifts her leg and kicks the door as hard as she can.

  “Damn it. That always works in the movies,” she complains when the door still doesn’t budge.

  “Anyone have a bobby pin?” I ask as Ar
iel gets up from the floor and we all stand staring at the door. “See that little hole in the middle of the handle? It’s obviously a push-button lock. All we need is something sharp to stick in there, and the lock should immediately pop open.”

  They both turn around and glare at me.

  “Maybe that’s something you could have shared with the class five minutes ago, asshole,” Ariel complains

  I just shrug my shoulders and take another swig from the bottle as Cindy reaches up into her long mane of blonde hair and pulls out a bobby pin that was holding her bangs back. Ariel and I crowd against her back, looking over her shoulder as she bends open the pin and sticks it in the hole. A few seconds later, there’s an audible pop.

  We all look at each other in surprise.

  Even with all the wine I’ve consumed, I still know this is wrong. I still know we shouldn’t be going into this room right now. I’m hoping that since I wasn’t the one who actually picked the lock, I’ll be absolved from all the guilt I’m feeling. Technically I didn’t break in, Cindy did.

  “Are you ready for this?” Ariel asks me, grabbing the bottle from my hand and taking her own big gulp from it. “What are you going to do if we walk in this room and there’s dead bodies all over the place?”

  “For the average human, a stench is usually perceived about twenty-four hours to three days after death, depending on a few factors,” I tell them. “I’ve been living here for almost two weeks. I would have smelled dead bodies by now.”

  Ariel moves away from the door and points at Cindy.

  “You go first.”

  “I’m not going first, are you crazy?” she protests, moving back from the door as well. “What if something jumps out at me? My reflexes are slow and I won’t be able to defend myself. I’ve had too much wine. You go first.”

  She grabs Ariel’s arm and yanks her closer to the door.

  “Oh, hell no! There could be anything in there! What if he keeps wild animals in there? What if a tiger jumps out at us as soon as we open the door? My face is too pretty to be eaten by a tiger!” she whines.