BargainWiththeBeast (5 page)

“What about the time you scheduled a fight for three o’clock
behind the community center with the biggest eleven-year-old God had ever
created, and I had to break it up before that girl handed your ass to you in a
sling?”

“She was a bully.”

“And the time I had to drive out in the middle of the night
to pick up you and your girlfriends on the side of the road because your car
broke down on the way home from sneaking into that all-male revue?”

“A rite of passage?”

“And we can’t forget about the streaking incident in
college. Not only did I have to go down to the police station and bail you out,
but I also had to promise all sorts of things to the dean of students so she
would agree not to suspend you from school.”

“You did take one for the team that time, Xavier.” She
chuckled and leaned her head back for another rinse. Her grin stretched wide.
“But at least she was pretty.”

“She was at least fifty years old to my twenty-three and I
had to dodge her phone calls for a year after our dinner,” he growled and
playfully tugged her hair.

Her exaggerated yelp drew a rusty laugh from him.

“I wouldn’t have made it through college without you.” She
closed her eyes as he threaded his fingers through her thick, sodden hair,
ensuring all the shampoo had been washed out. “Sacrifices notwithstanding, the
phone calls to check in on me, unexpected visits to cart me to dinner, even
help with my papers and exams…” She shook her head. “You were the best friend I
had. I never admitted this before, but when Joshua announced he was attending
Rhode Island University and leaving me in Boston, I was scared as hell. For the
first time since we were kids, I faced being alone. But with you there, I
wasn’t by myself. I’ve never thanked you for that. I’m sure you had better
options than spending evenings with your younger brother’s girlfriend.” She
lifted her lashes and he stared down into her dark-brown gaze. The laughter had
disappeared from her voice and the smile had faded from her lips.

“I missed you.” Her quiet admission resonated in the still
room. “After Joshua returned and you stopped coming around as much, I missed
you.”

The steady spill of water from the showerhead filled the
silence. Like a coward, he glanced away, switched the nozzle off and twisted
the faucets.

“Joshua asked me to look after you while he was away. When
he graduated and came home, my end of the bargain had been fulfilled.” He rose
and reattached the apparatus. The explanation revealed half the truth. But how
could he confess he’d purposely stayed away once his brother returned because
the resulting jealousy and possessiveness had confused and disturbed him?

At some point, he’d come to think of Gwendolyn as his, had
resented Joshua’s homecoming and what he’d viewed as his younger brother
usurping his place in her life. The antipathy and envy had horrified him so
he’d placed distance between the two of them until he could occupy the same
space as her and not feel…cheated.

“You and your bargains,” she murmured and rested her chin on
her drawn-up knees. He paused, arm outstretched toward a towel hanging on the
wall rod. If anger had laced her tone, he could have shaken her accusation off.
No, irritation wouldn’t have touched him, but the sadness in her solemn voice
knocked at a conscience he’d believed silenced long ago.

“Gwen—”

“If you leave the towel on the tub, I can manage. Thank you
for washing my hair.”

An instinctive protest rose up in him, but he squashed it
and lifted the towel from the bar.

“I’ll get dinner for you.” Placing the cloth on the edge of
the tub, he studied the long elegant line of her naked back another moment
before pivoting and leaving the room. As he closed the door and crossed to the
hallway, he didn’t know whether he was thankful for or regretted her
interruption.
Thankful.
His fingers curled into a fist.
Definitely
thankful
. The words he may have said would have only embarrassed them both.

Because, really…who could care for a beast?

“Welcome Beauty, banish fear, you are queen and
mistress here. Speak your wishes, speak your will, swift obedience meets them
still.”—Beauty and the Beast

“I sleep with one eye open…and the other one is only
napping.”—Gwendolyn Sinclair

Gwendolyn swung open the frosted-glass shower door and
stepped free of the steamy cubicle. The steady drum of the water had loosened
her muscles and eased the faint aches remaining from her bout of illness. She
sighed, whipped a towel from the rack and rubbed it over her damp skin. For the
first time in days, she felt human.

Good thing too.

Her reprieve was over.

Tuesday and Wednesday had passed in a hazy blur of naps,
medicine and more naps. Xavier had been as solicitous as he’d been since she’d
woken Monday. Nothing in his actions or tone had hinted at what thoughts
transpired behind his mask of pleasantness. No, he’d been the perfect Florence
Nightingale. Yet heated speculation glittered in his emerald gaze. If his
fingers grazed her thighs when he set meal trays on her lap, tension invaded
his muscles.

Now it was Thursday evening and her nerves danced a rumba
that would have made Patrick Swayze proud. If Xavier had attempted to keep his
anticipation under wraps the days before, he had abandoned the pretense today.
Arousal had been stamped on his features, thickened his voice and set his gaze
on fire. Not to mention the hard ridge of his cock a hazmat suit couldn’t hide.

She would be a hypocrite if she denied the hunger excited
her. God, it did. With a capital, bold, font size seventy-two “E”. She just
wished the circumstances were different. That he hadn’t used her love for the
community center and his wealth as hostage to compel her compliance. That he
didn’t want her only because he believed no other woman would have him. Out of
all the wishes, the last one stung the most. No, she didn’t possess the beauty,
status or silver spoon his ex-fiancée and the women of his acquaintance did,
but she wasn’t a damn booby prize.

Now if her pussy would just get on the same page as her
pride. Unfortunately the two had completely different agendas.

Her sex swelled and clenched whenever she was within feet of
him. Hell, if she envisioned him—the hard body, sensual unsmiling mouth, hooded
green eyes, beautiful face and tragic scar—her pulse slammed into overdrive and
blood pounded through her veins and pooled in her clit, engorging the tiny
muscle to the point of madness. He was a fever no aspirin could alleviate.

A shiver scuttled over her skin as she drew on her panties,
pajama bottoms and tank top. After folding the towel, hanging it back on the
rod and tidying the bathroom, she grasped the doorknob and twisted. The hour
had to be almost nine. Maybe he’d changed his—

Oh. My. God.

Shock crashed into her, knocking the breath from her lungs.
Barely inside the bedroom, she stilled like a deer trapped by a stalking
predator. Every fiber of her being was claimed by the silent man sprawled on
the wingback chair across the room.

Air rushed back into her lungs with a painful whoosh as if
her body had fallen asleep, and blood flooded her veins with needles of
awareness, trepidation…and anticipation.

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. A black V-neck
sweater molded to his wide shoulders and broad chest. Dark pants encased his
long legs and she shivered at the barely contained power emanating from his
motionless form. He resembled a panther. Sleek. Sensual. Elegant. And with his
thick golden-brown hair drawn back to his nape and the scar visible—dangerous.

“What are you doing here?” Outrage. Outrage would have been
more effective than the mortifying breathlessness.

“You’re my houseguest,” he said and the tone stroked over
her like a luxurious fur over naked skin. Rich. Soft. Sensual. “I came to check
on you. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Fever-free.” She bared her teeth in a smile, adding a
casual shrug for good measure. He had one purpose for entering her room
tonight. If Xavier’s intention was to check on her health, he would’ve knocked
and turned on the light. No, tonight she fulfilled her end of the bargain.

“Good. I brought you a gift.” He nodded toward the bed and
the small pink box on top of the light-blue quilt. “Open it,” he said softly,
but brooking no argument.

Sit, Boo-boo, sit. Good dog.
She scowled, but moved
from the doorway and edged closer to the bed. She stared at the box as if it
were one of Australia’s deadly dozen. The small pastel package was embossed
with the name of a popular lingerie boutique. Her stomach plummeted even as her
sex heated.

“Open it, Gwendolyn.”

She jerked her gaze to him and just as quickly glanced away
from the bold, intent scrutiny. Cowardice didn’t sit well in her gut, but the
alternative—revealing the arousal his jeweled stare ratcheted from flame to full-out
conflagration—was a more foolhardy move. Already she shivered like the prey of
the big cat he resembled. She was hunted, snared. And God, she wanted to be
taken down.

Her fingers fisted before she consciously relaxed them and
reached for the gift. It required little fuss to unwrap the present—just a tug
on the ribbon and remove the lid. Inside, atop white tissue paper, rested
pale-blue lace. Wary, she lifted the delicate material and it transformed into
a tiny bra too flimsy to support a feather much less her breasts and a pair of
miniscule panties that—

Oh hell, no!
Her back stiffened and heat blasted her
face. She couldn’t see her cheeks, but she harbored no doubt she’d just
debunked the myth that black people didn’t blush.

She’d fortified herself for this evening. Yesterday morning
when the doctor had declared her on the mend she’d assumed tonight would most
likely be the commencement of her week as Xavier’s lover. As “paramour”
couldn’t be included on her resume, she hadn’t known what to expect. Darkness.
Quick shedding of clothes. Sex under the covers. The dark part had been right
on target, but this… Again she dropped her gaze to the fragile material. Did he
expect her to parade around for him? Place herself on display?

The hell she would.

“You must be kidding me,” she blurted. “I can’t.” But his
raised eyebrow assured her he wasn’t and she would.

The crotchless underwear dangled from her finger as if
mocking her. The bra she could deal with. It would barely conceal her nipples,
but at least provided some cover. But the panties…

“I won’t put these on,” she said and silently congratulated
herself when the announcement didn’t sound like the hysterical shriek
reverberating in her head.

“Oh, but you will, Gwendolyn.” Xavier contradicted her with
a nod. “You seem to possess an affinity for those words—no, can’t, won’t. And I
am constantly reminding you the time for choices and objections presented
itself a week ago.” He tsked. “I think you’ve forgotten the details of our
arrangement. As soon as you decided to come to me, you agreed to submit your
will to mine. You’re here for my pleasure. And it will please me to see you in
my gift.” Lust thickened his deep voice, mirrored in his hooded green gaze.
“Now put them on.”

Anger swelled and wiped out her embarrassment. So the
asshole from a week ago had reappeared, locking the man who had cared for her
the past five days inside a carefully constructed prison of cold ruthlessness.

Helplessness fed her rage—helplessness because he was right.
Once she arrived on his doorstep, she’d surrendered the right to object to his
plans.

She crumpled the insubstantial material in her fist. Fine.
She’d entered this devil’s bargain with her eyes wide open. It wasn’t enough
she had to crawl to him and prostitute herself. Now he had to humiliate her
too. Well, fuck him. She’d put on the bra and bits of lace he called panties.
But she’d be damned if she’d cower in front of him. She whirled on her heel and
stalked toward the bathroom door.

“Where are you going?”

She screeched to a halt and slowly turned, contempt burning
a hole in her chest. “To the bathroom to put on your shi—
gift
.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You’ll dress out here. In front of
me.”

“Fine,” she gritted through clenched teeth. What had she
expected? Tenderness? Compassion? Seduction? In the secret depths of her heart,
she’d hoped he would treat her as a lover and not as a body to dress, position
how he wanted and screw.
Lovers.
She curled her lip. That term denoted
intimacy. They would fuck. That was part of their bargain. Fucking and intimacy
were two different animals. One involved surrendering her body. The other, her
heart.

Maybe he noticed the clenching of her jaw or the tension
threatening to snap her body in two, for a small half-smile curved his lips.

“That sounded nice, Gwendolyn, even if you didn’t mean it.”
He tilted his head to the side and the tiny smile continued to play about his
mouth. “Don’t worry, though. By the time you leave here, no part of your body
will remain a secret. Every inch of you will be touched, kissed, sucked,” he
lowered his lashes until only the barest hint of green remained visible under
the thick fan, “and fucked by me.”

Oh Jesus.
Liquid fire gathered between her thighs.
Her clit beat in time with her galloping pulse. No. No way could she be furious
and
so damn turned on
at the same time.

“You’re being crude on purpose.”

“What?” he asked with a lift of his eyebrow. “Fucking is
crude? Did none of your previous lovers wax poetic to you?”

“No,” she snapped and, though it was fighting dirty, flung
the next words at him anyway. “Josh didn’t need to.”

The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees with the stony,
frigid silence that descended in the room. She wouldn’t have been surprised if
puffs of air clouded in front of her face. Xavier didn’t move a muscle, yet she
sensed the cold fury lying beneath his deceptively indolent façade. She drew in
a tremulous breath. Yeah, that was the thing about fighting dirty—a person
sometimes ended up grimy.

“Don’t bring him into this bedroom again,” he warned and she
shivered. “If you insist on dragging my sainted brother between us, then I’ll
enjoy reminding you who it is fucking you. Now,” he said, propping his elbows
on the arms of the chair and steepling his fingers under his chin, “you might
want to quit stalling. I’m growing bored. And if I walk out of here, I’m not
coming back.”

Bored? Yeah, right. Even the dim lighting couldn’t conceal
the long length of his cock pressed against his pants leg like an iron rod. At
the last moment, common sense prevailed and she abstained from hurling his lie
back in his face. She just had to get through this night. Bottom line—she’d
accepted the terms of his bargain. Now it was put up or shut up.

She retraced her steps to the bed and cast the lingerie on
top of the blanket. With economical, quick movements, she tugged the tank over
her head and dropped it to the floor. Fury kept the embarrassment of standing
bare-chested before him at bay.

“Slow, Gwendolyn. Go slower.”

And that fast her anger evaporated under the heat of lust.
His lust. Her lust. Or maybe the arousal-thickened voice issuing the command
inflamed her so the hunger no longer belonged to solely him or her, but to them
both.

She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of the cotton bottoms
and eased them over her hips, down her legs. His harsh intake of breath as she
stepped from the puddle of material shot a lance of desire to her clit and her
pussy spasmed, spilling creamy warmth over her folds.

“Keep going, baby,” he whispered.

Xavier’s rapt attention didn’t waver as she repeated the
process with the panties. He lowered his arms, tugged his belt loose.
Captivated, she couldn’t tear her gaze away as he lowered the zipper, reached
inside his pants and freed his cock.

Oh God.

He was beautiful.

And terrifying.

He encircled the base of the thick stalk and stroked up…and
up. The motion employed use of his arm not just his wrist, and as he closed his
fist around the fat head, she swallowed a whimper. It seemed impossible she
could take the intimidating length inside her, but damn, she wanted to try.
Even the bulbous head would stretch her wide.

Breathing deep, she reached for the bra. The small bit of
blue lace fastened in the front and the scalloped edges concealed her nipples,
but the dark areolas remained visible. She should have been mortified…moments
ago she would have been. But the lust-filled grimace every time he stroked his
flesh destroyed any vestiges of embarrassment. Even when she slid the
crotchless underwear up her thighs and hips, she experienced no shame. Especially
when his eyes narrowed on her exposed sex.

“Come here, Gwendolyn,” he beckoned and the sensual note
drew her forward as if he were the last slice of chocolate cake at a Weight
Watchers meeting. Tempting. Sinful. And dangerous. Except cake would be a threat
to her hips and he endangered her spirit, her pride…her heart.

She paused between his spread thighs and Xavier released his
cock to grip her hips. While she’d stood across the room, the heavy juice
coating her swollen lips had been easy to conceal. Yet as he urged her to his
lap and she straddled his thighs, the sexy lingerie hid nothing and he wouldn’t
miss the evidence of her desire.

His bright gaze bore into hers. An emotion flared in his
eyes, there and gone before she could identify it. He lowered his lashes and
the weight of his study caressed her like a physical touch.

“You’re soaked.” Fire scorched her face, shyness bumping
aside need. She dipped her chin and the muscles in her thighs quivered as she
shifted to conceal her bared sex.

“No,” he whispered, his hard grip stilling her restless
movement. “Don’t ever hide your desire from me. I need to see it.”