BargainWiththeBeast (3 page)

More than his next breath, he wanted to lift the long sweep
of material hiding her long legs, pretty thighs and sweetly curved ass. His
palms itched as he conjured the silky glide of her smooth skin and the wet,
creamy flesh of her pussy.

Wet for him.

Yeah, he may be a grade-A bastard for blackmailing her into
fucking him, but damn if he could rummage up a conscience about it. His dick
overruled principle.

“That’s not funny,” she bit out. “And your joke is in poor
taste.”

“I don’t joke about half a million dollars.” He paused. “Or
fucking.”

“What happened to you, Xavier?” The outrage bled from her
tightened features, leaving behind the pity he detested. “Did that witch you
called a fiancée hurt you so deeply you would sink to,” she waved a hand back
and forth between them, “to this?”

He stiffened. Like hell they would discuss Evelyn. He didn’t
want to think about her. Didn’t want to remember walking into their bedroom to
discover his soon-to-be-bride—the woman he’d loved—riding another man. Didn’t
want to recall her tear-filled eyes as she blamed his disfigured face for her
betrayal.

“Are you involved with someone?”

“What?” Her brow crinkled as if she were puzzled at the brusque
question and switch in subjects.

“Are you involved with someone?” he repeated.

Her head jerked as if an invisible fist had clipped her
chin.

Impatience jabbed at him, hardening his voice. He couldn’t
contain the urgency stemming from the alarm constricting his chest as he waited
for her answer. If she responded in the positive, he would call the deal off.
The knowledge he could lose her with one word clawed at him. But the pain and
humiliation of Evelyn’s betrayal continued to haunt him like a stubborn ghost
refusing to go into the damn light. No matter how much he
wanted—needed—Gwendolyn, he wouldn’t inflict that torment on another person.

He was a bastard, an asshole and pathetic enough to extort
sex from a woman he wanted, but he would
never
force her to betray a man
she loved. So much for his dick overriding principle. It appeared he had one
moral standard left.

How fucking inconvenient.

“No,” she snapped. “Do you think I would even consider
your…your blackmail if I were seeing someone?” Anger curled her lip. Yet
beneath the ire a note of pain quivered, adding a slight tremble to her
objection.

He steeled his heart against an annoying prick of sympathy.

“The time for consideration has passed. Yes or no,
Gwendolyn,” he demanded, the ice freezing his veins mirrored in his tone. “Make
a decision. It’s your choice.”

“What choice?” she spat and crossed her arms, turned her
head away. A muscle ticked along the delicate, vulnerable line of her jaw and
he almost rescinded the gauntlet he’d cast down. Almost.

“Simple, sweetheart.” He eliminated the inches separating
them and shifted forward, bringing them chest to chest, thigh to thigh. He
lifted his hand and, pinching her chin in a firm but gentle grip, forced her to
face him. Her small, sharp gasp brushed the skin on his throat and savage
triumph surged through him. This close she couldn’t hide the rapid rise and
fall of her chest or the small whimper she bit off.

His heart pounded in his chest like an animal attempting to
free itself from its prison. Gwendolyn wanted him. She may not like her
attraction for him or even be ready to admit it, but the body couldn’t lie. If
a slim chance of rescinding the ultimatum had existed, the shudder of her
breath across his skin obliterated that possibility to hell.

“Either give me your body for seven days or relinquish your
precious community center in fourteen. Sacrifice yourself to the beast or watch
the doors of the center close. Is it going to be you or the kids you claim to
love so—”

“You’re right.” She wrenched her chin from his grasp, but
didn’t shy away from his close scrutiny. “You are a monster.” The insult
stabbed him in a heart he’d believed no longer existed. “And I accept
your…terms,” she whispered.

The victory possessed an acrid tang even as his pulse pounded
and his gut knotted with anticipation. In days he would be balls-deep inside
this stunning woman. Nothing, not even the tiny flash of remorse, could conquer
the need to find oblivion in her pussy. Would she be fierce, demanding her
pleasure? Or would she reveal a shier side, one he would enjoy shocking with
the acts he planned to exact from her? Would her sheath cream for him, easing
the tight fit around his cock—

“Don’t misunderstand, Xavier. I’ll lie on my back for you
because the other choice sucks worse. But when the week is over, know you’ll
have taken more than my body. You’ll have stolen my memories of the man you
were.”

She pivoted and stalked toward the door. The rigid spine and
the sultry sway of her hips in the deep-red dress waved at him like a red flag
to a raging bull. Shame and lust mingled, swirling together in a toxic mixture.
He rushed across the room. His chest slammed her back and only the anchor of
his arm snaked around her waist prevented her from tumbling to the floor.

He didn’t pause to analyze or reassess his actions. His
cock, nestled in the crease of her ass, commandeered all rational thought. The
bottom curve of her breasts pillowed over his arm, the mounds a warm, sensual
weight. But her full, sexy ass…the soft cushion cradling his dick… He groaned,
ground his erection into her flesh and groaned again.

Lust claimed him. He tightened his hold around her waist and
gripped her hip with his free hand, restraining her for the slow, hard strokes
of his cock. The miniscule section of his brain not yet consumed by arousal
comprehended Gwendolyn didn’t fight him. She arched in his arms, her spine
forming a perfect bow. The sweet curves of her bottom circled against his dick
in an eye-crossing grind. Hell no. The low whimpers weren’t pleas for
escape—they were encouragement. Sweet need.

“One taste, baby,” he muttered and released her hip to cup
her chin and angle her head back. He dragged his lips along the exposed,
graceful line of her neck. Fresh and pure, the taste of her skin was like water
to a thirsty man. He savored another sip. The muscles in her throat bobbed
under his teeth as he grazed a path to the slope of her shoulder.

“So good,” he praised. “So damn good.” He transferred both
hands to her waist and whirled her around. As her chest bumped his, he
swallowed her soft, surprised gasp into his mouth. The flavor of her…
Jesus
.
Like the honeyed
bamieh
his mother used to make when he was a boy
combined with the punch of whiskey-laced coffee his father enjoyed after
dinner. Sweet. Potent. Addictive. He plunged between her parted lips,
tongue-fucking her mouth the same way he hungered to thrust his cock into her
body.

She gripped his arms and clung to him as if he were her
anchor in the midst of a violent tempest. He sucked on her tongue, not allowing
her to withdraw. Not allowing her to leave him. The need clawing his gut
transformed him into the ravenous beast he called himself.

He clenched the material of her dress and bunched it in huge
fistfuls, drawing the skirt up her thighs. The muted swish of silk sweeping
over skin caressed his senses, waltzed over his nerve endings in a sexy duet of
anticipation and need.

She dug her nails into his arms and the bite stoked the fire
in his balls. But when he tucked his hand between their bodies and dipped
between her thighs, the flame raged into an inferno.

Damn, she was soaking wet. Awe filled him, momentarily
eclipsing the gnawing hunger
. For me. She’s wet for me.
He groaned.
Flexed his fingertips against her swollen flesh.

“No!” Gwendolyn cried. She wrenched free and stumbled
backward a couple of steps before steadying herself. For several long moments,
only her labored pants and his harsh breathing reverberated in the room. The
tension thrummed like a living, breathing entity. Head lowered, hands fisted
alongside her thighs, she stood as still as a statue, warm flesh transformed to
cold stone.

Look at me!
Look at me, dammit!
The demand
screamed like a wild gale in his head, but fear squeezed his throat. Shame
glued his lips shut. Would he identify disgust in her dark gaze? Disgust and
disbelief because she’d allowed him—a disfigured beast—to touch her? Or worse,
abhorrence because she’d been aroused, her hoarse whispers begging for more of
his touch, her tongue tangling with his, her sex soaked with cream?

Coward.

He snarled, loathing scalding him as if he’d been dipped in
an acid bath. He didn’t have the nerve to examine her features and find the
answers.

“No, what?” he drawled. “Don’t make you wet? I believe that
ship has sailed, sweetheart.”

* * * * *

Gwendolyn sucked in a deep breath and held it in vain hope
of extinguishing the hurt like fingers snuffing out a candle’s flame. The pain
ricocheted against her rib cage, vied with the lust clenching her stomach,
heating her pussy.

Exhaling, she forced herself to meet Xavier’s impassive
stare. How did he do it? How did he turn his emotions on and off like a faucet?

One moment he held her, caressed her with so much passion
need had overwhelmed her. And in the next he coldly studied her as if he hadn’t
palmed her sex and moaned into her mouth. How many nights had she lain awake
dreaming of his kiss, of his hard, powerful body covering hers? She shivered.
Too many to count.

Part of her—the part she allowed free only in the darkest
hour of night—secretly thrilled at the idea of discovering what it meant to be
his lover…of finally learning how he made love. Slow and tender? Fast and
fierce? Did he gently guide a woman into ecstasy with whispered assurances and
soft praise? Or did he catapult her into rapture, pushing the limits of her
sensuality until she exploded in a hard, cataclysmic break? She bit the inside
of her mouth, swallowed the moan welling in her throat.

After Joshua’s death, she’d given up the dream of finding
out. Now she had the chance…but at what cost? Accepting his offer reduced her
to a prostitute. Yes, her submission would save the community center. But
regardless of the altruistic reason, she had agreed to trade her body for
money. Resentment tangled with regret. Xavier had blackmailed her for what she
would have freely given him—had
yearned
to give him for years.

Pride demanded she tell him to shove the bargain up his ass.
She could find other means to save the center. And need whispered at last she
would know the heat and warmth of his skin sliding against hers. Know if his
eyes burned bright with passion or darkened as desire rose. Know how his cock
would stretch her pussy…fill the emptiness.

And after the passion cooled, in those quiet moments when
the sweat dried on their skin and their racing pulses returned to normal, she’d
find out if he would hold her close, her ear pressed to his heart. If he would
caress her back, murmur loving words, or brush his lips over hers softly, so
softly…

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as if she
could imprison the taste of him between her lips.

Eyes that had been coolly assessing went arctic as they
narrowed on the gesture. She dropped her arm and in her mind hit rewind then
play, viewing her action through his eyes.
Damn
. From Xavier’s point of
view, it may have appeared as if she was wiping his kiss away.

“Don’t worry,” he said, the soft tone at odds with the cold
fury burning in his jeweled gaze. “You have seven days to get accustomed to my
mouth. Believe me, I plan to have it on you often enough.”

Anger swirled in her belly, hot and welcome. The reminder of
his devil’s bargain erased the shame, the pain…the desire.

“But the week hasn’t started yet,” she growled. “And that
kiss is the only freebie you’ll receive.”

His lips straightened into a grim slash and the harsh lines
of his face hardened into an even more forbidding mask.

She paused, blinked. What? He didn’t appreciate being
reminded of his own terms? She silently snorted.
Ridiculous.
After all,
he
was extorting
her
.

“Be at my house by six o’clock Saturday evening or I’ll
assume you’ve changed your mind about our agreement and my check will remain in
my account. Do we understand each other?”

“Perfectly.” Not trusting herself to remain in the same room
with him any longer, she turned, stalked the small distance to the door and
exited.

Let the countdown begin.

“As soon as he was gone, Beauty sat down in the great
hall and fell a crying likewise…for she firmly believed Beast would eat her up
that night.”—Beauty and the Beast

“I am so screwed…and not in a good way.”—Gwendolyn
Sinclair

Two and a half hours.

One hundred and fifty minutes.

And Gwendolyn prayed the entire ride as her stomach pitched
and heaved, every curve and dip in the road like a lunch-defying loop on a
roller coaster. Sweat beaded on her forehead and coated her palms. Her slippery
skin slid on the steering wheel as if it were the last life preserver on the
Titanic.

“I can do this,” she murmured the mantra. “Only a little
farther to go. I can do this.” Her stomach chose that moment to lurch hard and
the ginger ale she’d purchased at the last stop surged. With a couple of
desperate swallows, she coaxed the swell of liquid back down her throat, but
not before it left behind an acidic burn on her esophagus. “Oh God, I can do
this.”

Minutes later, the sign for Great Barrington came into view
and hope that the hellish trip would soon be over momentarily eased the
debilitating queasiness. According to Xavier’s e-mailed instructions, he lived
right outside of the town. Even trepidation over what awaited her at the end of
this drive—Xavier, a week of indentured-love servanthood—couldn’t compete with
the flood of relief.

In just a few more minutes, she could pass out in blessed
oblivion.

At another time, she would have appreciated at the grand
elegance of the historical First Congregational Church of Great Barrington.
Marveled over the beauty of the Berkshires in the golden-and-auburn glory of
fall. But with her raging fever and her gut threatening to turn inside out, the
forest’s natural splendor failed to impress. She needed a toilet or a bed—and
it didn’t matter which came first.

But as she coasted past the town’s limits and the GPS
chirped the number of miles before arriving at her destination, mortification
returned with a vengeance. A tight knot coiled deep in the pit of her stomach.
Images of the night in the study flashed through her mind. Like a video
complete with audio, she viewed herself clinging to Xavier, arching into his
kiss, grinding against his cock.
Hell.
She grimaced. It shamed her how
easily he’d aroused her body. Five minutes with him and her nipples had beaded
into tight points, her palms had prickled with the need to stroke his golden
skin and her clit pulsed in a wild rhythm. As primed as she’d been, his one
touch had almost catapulted her into nirvana.

Heat unrelated to her fever flamed her neck and cheeks. She
wouldn’t have been surprised to find third-degree burns blistering her face.
Even now as her sex clenched in memory, arousal and guilt assailed her. Arousal
because just the recollection of his caress dampened her panties—again. And
guilt for the same reason.

This arrangement had nothing to do with love or even
affection. Thinking back on the man she’d encountered several nights ago, she
didn’t believe he
liked
anyone. Himself included.

Xavier had transformed from the warm, funny man she’d known
over half her life. His father’s death and fiancée’s defection had shriveled
his heart, stealing his gentleness and kindness along with them. She should hate
him for using her passion for the community center as hostage. That he would
take advantage and exploit her desperation illustrated just how little of the
man she’d grown up with remained.

And yet as much as she wanted to introduce her toe to his
family jewels, the desire to pull him close, hold and comfort him, outweighed
her anger.

Xavier’s vitality and beauty had always captivated her—like
a beautiful exotic bird she could admire yet never touch. Not until she’d grown
older did she realize the vitality he emanated was an innate sensuality that
blazed from within like a torch. And at some point, fascination had transcended
to love and a terrifying need.

Her love and desire for Xavier was her secret…and shame.

Joshua had been safe—her best friend, a kind man and
considerate lover. The stability he’d offered was the exact antithesis of the
unreliable and emotional volatility of her mother. He’d been her haven. She’d
never doubted she’d been first in his heart, in his love. His devotion had
given her a security, an elusive sense of worth that had been missing from the
time she’d been old enough to understand her mother had begrudged her every
breath. Even when she’d recognized her love and desire for Xavier, the
frightening power of it made her cling tighter to Joshua. Xavier scared her…or
rather her need for him scared her. And even as her teenage attraction for the
elder St. James brother deepened to a very adult desire, too many years of
being Renee Sinclair’s unwanted, unloved child kept her devoted to Josh.

And she had been devoted—even as she worshipped his godlike
older brother. Xavier St. James had been a mesmerizing, barely contained blaze
while Josh had been a warm, comforting fire in a hearth. Though beautiful,
Xavier represented a risk she hadn’t been prepared to face.

But this precarious balancing act had all come crashing down
in the most horrific way. Her unfaithfulness of the heart had driven Joshua to
his death when she’d finally, after years of living a lie, gathered the courage
to confess she couldn’t marry him. She hadn’t mentioned Xavier, but Joshua had
known. And she hadn’t denied his accusations.

Gwendolyn had betrayed Joshua…and sent him to his death.

She released a tremulous breath.

The burden of loving one brother and lying to the other had
weighed on her until she could no longer look at herself in the mirror…or bear
to meet Joshua’s gaze. She’d convinced herself the fascination with Xavier
would fade. What she had with Joshua was stable, lasting. But by the night of
their wedding rehearsal dinner, she could no longer lie to herself or him. She
waited until their guests left his parents’ home and broke their engagement.

He’d seen through the flimsy excuses she’d given and she’d
realized then Joshua suspected her true feelings for his older brother. He
exploded, but before she could respond, he had stormed out. Hours later, Xavier
had arrived at her door to deliver the news of his brother’s death. Joshua had
wrapped his car around a telephone pole. She had fallen apart in Xavier’s arms,
knowing it had been her fault.

Her love for one brother had killed the other.

Perhaps her quick capitulation to Xavier’s extortion was her
means of penance. Penance for a love that refused to abate. Atonement for the
need urging her to be with Xavier and snatch up the scrap of time their deal
allotted.

“Turn left here. You have arrived at your destination,” the
GPS announced cheerily.

Oh shut up. What are you so damn happy about?

Her stomach executed a flip worthy of a perfect ten. Bile
roared up her digestive tract, scalded her trachea and played handball with the
back of her throat. She whimpered as the white elegant marker for Xavier’s
house came into sight.
Oh, thank God.
Nerves tap-danced under her clammy
skin, but the anxiety over beginning her service as Xavier’s temporary mistress
paled in comparison to her desperate gratification of finally arriving at her
destination without puking in the car. She slapped her left turn signal even
though the road behind her was empty of traffic and turned onto the narrow
lane.

Besides, if she died from the plague twisting her insides
into a pretzel then she wouldn’t have to worry about being Xavier’s sex slave
for a week.

“Oh. Wow,” she breathed. Her foot eased off the accelerator
and the car slowed to a crawl as the sprawling home came into view.

Good Lord. This place differed from her small, West Roxbury
apartment like the majestic mountains contrasted with Boston’s steel giants.

A quintessential New England farmhouse greeted her, with a
wide, spacious front porch and an emerald green lawn that seemed to stretch for
miles. Out her side window, a fence as pristine white as the house ran the
length of the driveway. Several elegant horses grazed behind the barrier and
their regal beauty momentarily distracted her from the nauseating twists of her
stomach. A city girl, she’d never had the opportunity to be around the animals
much less ride one. They were beautiful.

Shaking her head, she pressed the gas pedal, continued up
the long lane and soon pulled to a stop in front of the house. She shoved open
the door and spilled out of the front seat. Every ounce of her strength and
concentration was poured into covering the space from the car to the front
door. In reality, the distance was most likely a couple hundred feet, but it yawned
to the size of a football field with each shuffling step.

Finally she climbed the steps and knocked on the door.
I
made it.
She sighed. But the respite was short-lived. Nausea cramped her
insides and a wave of darkness swamped her. It faded almost immediately, but
the calling card of unconsciousness left her reeling on her heels and gold
sparks twinkling in her peripheral vision.
Oh shit. I’m not going to make
it.

One of the front red double doors opened. She stared up at
Xavier through a dim veil of misery. Yet even her abject suffering didn’t
detract from the potency of his sexual magnetism. Dammit.

He arched a dark-brown eyebrow. “Congratulations. You made
it without a second to—” He frowned and the sarcasm melted from his tone to be
replaced by confused irritation. “You look like shit.”

“You charmer, you,” she whispered. And then her world
crashed to black.

* * * * *

She met Jesus.

And he was hot. Like gorgeous hot.

Was that sacrilegious?

Must be, because He’d tossed her blasphemous ass into hell.
And God—did one call on God when roasting in hell?—she was
burning up
.
The flames licked and roasted every part of her body. Tears stung her eyes as
she flipped to her left side. So this was how Joan of Arc had felt…

Wait. Not hot. Cool. Refreshing coolness. She
cried…blubbering like a person who’d been redeemed from infinity as Satan’s
bitch. Maybe she hadn’t been condemned to eternal damnation after all. Everyone
knew there was no ice water in hell. How many times had her mother warned her
of that?

God—she could call on him now, right?—the bracing cold on
her skin was wonderful. Must be back in heaven.

And Jesus was still a hottie.

* * * * *

Gwendolyn fought to lift her eyelids. When had they been
glued shut? After several more seconds, she won the battle and a bright, hazy
light immediately assaulted her eyes. Groaning, she tried to roll over…and
remained still.

What the hell?

Bewildered, she sucked in a breath as anxiety crept into her
chest like a stealthy thief. She attempted to move again and this time shifted
to her side, but not without a lot of effort and heavy breathing. Jeez. Her
breath rushed in and out of her nose and her muscles whined as if she’d just
completed a marathon.

“So you’re finally awake.”

That voice blasted the confusing lethargy away. It all came
crashing back. Xavier’s proposition. Driving to his home.

Burning up…

Jesus?

Rolling to her back—which was a hell of a lot easier than
moving to her side—she stared up into Xavier’s gorgeous, scarred features. His
sharp gaze examined her face as if tracing every line and dimension. She
resisted the urge to skim her fingers over her skin. Not that she possessed the
energy.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been beaten like a runaway slave and hot pokers
have been jammed into my eyes.” Was that her grumpy response?
Sheesh
.

The corner of his full, sensual lips quirked before he
turned toward the huge bay windows that allowed sunshine to spill across the
blue comforter she huddled under. He dragged the curtains closed, shutting out
the worst of the bright rays, and the fascinating play of muscles between his
shoulder blades snagged her attention.

“Better, Kunta?”

“Much,” she grumbled.
Smart ass
.
“Thanks. What
happened?”

“You’ve been sick with fever for two days.”

She gaped at him. Her mind reeled. She’d arrived in Great
Barrington on Saturday evening. And Sunday…Sunday… She frowned. What the hell
happened to Sunday?

“That’s impossible,” she protested.

“The doctor has been here three times since Saturday night.”
He arched an eyebrow as if daring her to object again. “If your fever hadn’t
broken yesterday afternoon, he was going to have you admitted into the
hospital.”

“But
I
went to the doctor and all I had was a
twenty-four-hour virus.”

Xavier crossed his arms. “When did you do that?”

Gwendolyn dropped her gaze to the blanket. He would ask
that. “Friday,” she mumbled.

Apparently he didn’t just own the eyes of a hawk, but the
ears of one too. “Friday?” he repeated, narrowing his gaze. “You were sick
since Friday and still drove up here feverish on Saturday?” His arms dropped
and his hot glare pinned her to the bed like a butterfly on a corkboard. “You
fucking fainted on my doorstep, Gwen.” She flinched at the quiet menace in his
dark accusation. “If you had passed out behind the wheel instead of in my arms,
you could have been seriously hurt. Or worse.” Xavier stalked closer. Tension
corded his body and his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. “Why the
hell didn’t you call and tell me you were sick?”

“You wouldn’t have believed me,” she shot back, irritation
rising and infusing her body with enough strength to struggle to sitting.
Weakness be damned. She wouldn’t spend another second lying flat on her back
while he towered over her like a stern parent lecturing a recalcitrant child.
“What are you so angry about, Xavier? I arrived here on the designated day by
the designated time.” All she contained in her arsenal to battle him with was
the derision in her voice and she wielded it like a broadsword. “What? Are you
mad because you’ve lost two days off your precious bargain? I humbly apologize
that my fever cockblocked.”