BargainWiththeBeast

Naima
Simone

Breathlessly Ever After, Book 2

In a last-ditch attempt to save her
beloved community center, Gwendolyn Sinclair corners childhood friend Xavier
St. James, brother of her dead fiancé…and the man who secretly owns her heart.
Surely his wealth and contacts can save the run-down building from ruin. The
arrangement he proposes confirms what she’s long suspected. He’s become a beast,
and he offers a beast’s bargain, one that offends her pride even as it stirs
her every desire and titillating fantasy—submit her body to his whim for seven
days and the community center remains open.

Losing both his father and brother
has left Xavier scarred in more ways than one, but forbidden lust overrules conscience
when Gwendolyn appears, asking for help. He’s craved her for years. At last
he’ll discover if the passion in her eyes blazes just as hot between the
sheets. Her fiery surrender leaves him hungering for more, but their bargain is
only for seven days and, ultimately, she could never truly love a beast.

A
Romantica®
contemporary erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Dedication

To my husband and children, who love and support me
unconditionally. And who magnanimously forgive their domestically-challenged
wife and mother. Often.

Acknowledgements

Thank you, God, for Your monthly three fish and five loaves
of bread.

To Debra Glass and Jessica Lee. I just need to create
templates for both of you! There hasn’t been a book yet where either of you
haven’t contributed your time and patience. Your friendships mean the world to
me.

To Daddy and Nina for accepting or vetoing the quotes! Daddy
was a little—okay, a lot!—gentler than you, Nina!

To Violet. You make me smile and laugh even as you press me
to be a better writer with every book. Your gift with words enhances mine and
brings out the very best in me. I’m truly amazed at the end of every project!
Thank you for cheering, encouraging and challenging me. Love ya!

Author Note

The “Beauty and the Beast” quotes found at the beginning of
each chapter are from eighteenth-century French novelist Jeanne-Marie Leprince
de Beaumont, as well as eighteenth-century fairy tale collectors, the Brothers
Grimm. Beauty consented to dropping all extortion and blackmail charges as part
of the prenuptial agreement.

“What will you have, Beauty?” said her father.

“Since you have the goodness to think of me,” answered
she, “be so kind to bring me a rose, for as none grows hereabouts, they are a
kind of rarity.”—Beauty and the Beast

“Show me someone who says they don’t want anything
from you and I’ll show you some real estate in the land of Wake the Fuck
Up.”—Xavier St. James

“When did the freak show come to town?”

Gwendolyn Sinclair stiffened, caught off guard. The
comment—heavy with derision and horror—had come from her left. Attempting to be
unobtrusive, she glanced over her shoulder and spotted a tall young man whose curled
lip had transformed his features from handsome to disdainful and arrogant.

“What are you talking about?” the petite blonde next to him
asked.

He dipped his chin to indicate someone across the room.
Gwendolyn followed the couple’s gaze.

Her heart stopped. Then resumed with a dull thud that echoed
in her ears. Goose bumps pebbled her arms and a thin film of sweat dampened her
palms and underarms.

Xavier St. James.

Business mogul, former playboy and society-column darling.
The man who’d been avoiding her phone calls and e-mails for weeks. The man
she’d attended this pretentious gathering of Boston’s social elite to corner.

“You’d think he’d at least cover that thing with his hair or
even makeup, for God’s sake. Why should we have to look at it?”

As the meaning of the young man’s words struck her,
Gwendolyn gasped as if she were the target of his derision. Hurt and anger
mushroomed in her chest. She clenched her teeth to force back the torrid spew
of words burning her tongue. She inhaled a deep breath, held it and counted to
ten…then twenty. Getting thrown out of the event would only succeed in making a
scene and harm her chance at attaining her goal. She smiled grimly. Though it
might be worth the risk to yank the stick out of the guy’s ass.

“Stevie Wonder could spot that mutation. Mr. Perfect.” A
horrible, malicious glee entered his companion’s taunt. “To think he once could
have had any woman he wanted. Now he probably has to pay for it.” The woman
snickered and her delight in someone else’s pain and misfortune sickened
Gwendolyn.
Bitch.

“People like him have it all and believe they’re better than
everyone else only to find out they’re just like the rest of us. Human and
touchable.”

The remainder of the couple’s conversation faded as
Gwendolyn pivoted on the heel of her stiletto and walked off. Her stomach
couldn’t handle their spite
and
the dry chicken cordon bleu served at
dinner.

She wended through the bejeweled and tuxedo-clad crowd,
skimming past an aged socialite who would probably regret imbibing too many
glasses of champagne in the morning and the young man who was the recipient of
her amorous, drunken overtures. God. She silently snorted. Though the people
around her belonged to another tax bracket, eliminate the designer clothes and
you-paid-
what
-for-that jewelry and they were just the same as those she
lived among in her Dorchester neighborhood—ready and eager to take advantage of
free food, drink and gossip.

She drew to a halt several feet from the tall, forbidding
man she’d once called a good friend. He stood alone like a child exiled to the
time-out corner on the playground. Gwendolyn tilted her head to the side,
studying him. For him to
not
be surrounded by a throng of people was as
new as the inch-thick scar bisecting the left side of his face from hairline to
hard chin.

At thirty-four, Xavier had lived a charmed life—until a year
ago. As admittedly elitist and exclusive as Boston’s privileged society circle
could be, the exotic St. James family had been accepted and revered. And
Xavier, the elder of two sons, had been the golden child of his family and its
international real estate empire. An excellent student and athlete in high
school and college, he’d excelled in the family business and rocketed to the
office of vice president of operations. As hard as he’d worked, he’d played
with the same single-minded focus. Socialites, models, actresses. Xavier had
romanced legions of women and graced the glossy pages of many magazines and
social columns. And when he fell in love and became engaged, his fiancée had
been a gorgeous elegant woman—his equal in wealth and social status. Success.
Affluence. Love. Yes, he’d held the world in the palm of his hand…

Gwendolyn fisted her fingers, fighting the urge to cup his
damaged cheek, battling the need to curl against his chest and drown in the
rhythm of his heartbeat under her ear. But the stranger who surveyed the
ballroom and the partygoers with a cold stare didn’t invite warmth or even
human touch.

Cautiously, she edged around a laughing couple and stole
closer. From her vantage point, it appeared as if the terrible accident
responsible for stealing both his father and physical perfection had never
occurred.

The honeyed skin and thick golden-brown hair bound at his
nape bespoke a heritage of hot sands and sensual pleasures, while the tall
frame, wide shoulders and narrow hips called to mind the lush green hills and
magic of his father’s lands. Persian and Irish—Xavier was an exotic blend of
the two countries’ finest traits.

Then she glimpsed the marred left side of his face. The scar
didn’t inspire the disgust she spied on the patrician features of the guests or
the perverse glee from the spiteful couple. Nor did pity well inside her chest.
The scar didn’t ruin his features. On the contrary. The long ridge of raised
flesh only enhanced his beauty, magnified the unblemished perfection.

“Gerald. Melanie.” His dark baritone slid over her skin like
the finest silk. A shiver raced down her spine and poured through her veins in
a molten stream. A voice like his should’ve been locked up in Pandora’s box
along with Hope to keep the world safe—or at least her libido.

“Xavier.” An older couple jolted to a halt in front of him,
flustered. The silver-haired gentleman extended his hand, voice full of
strained joviality. His wife, Melanie, wore a similar bright smile—a bit too
dazzling to be genuine. “How are you? It’s been awhile.” Immediately a deep
scarlet surged up Gerald’s neck and bloomed in his cheeks.

“Yes, it has,” Xavier agreed, accepting Gerald’s hand and
briskly pumping it up and down before releasing it. “It would’ve been the
museum gala a year ago…right before the accident and Dad’s death.”

Damn.
Gwendolyn winced.

More color flooded Gerald’s face. He ducked his head and
cleared his throat while his wife lifted fluttering fingers to her throat.
Sympathy pricked Gwendolyn at the couple’s obvious unease. How the hell could
they respond to such a blunt statement that smacked of accusation?

But Xavier stared at them, full lips unsmiling, the lines of
his face hard, cold. He didn’t appear moved or apologetic over the discomfort
he caused. Surprise sang through her. The man she’d known wouldn’t have
deliberately embarrassed another person. Xavier’s natural charm had been one of
the reasons people gravitated toward him.

He remained silent as the older gentleman cleared his throat
and jerked on the bottom of his jacket to straighten nonexistent wrinkles. His
wife studied the silver shoes peeping out from under her gray dress, the
diamond bracelet on her thin wrist—anywhere but Xavier’s face.

“Well,” Gerald cleared his throat again, “yes. I believe
that was the last time. I still say it was a shame about your father and…and…”

Xavier arched an eyebrow.

“Gerald, the Carlyles are waving us over.” Melanie tugged
her husband’s arm. She beamed another brittle smile and, with a murmured
apology, hustled her husband away. The older man turned, but not before
Gwendolyn glimpsed the relief swamping his expression.

Irritated at the couple and Xavier, she moved forward,
eliminating the scant space separating them. “You did that on purpose.”

His back stiffened slightly. The perfectly cut black tuxedo
jacket did a poor job of concealing the power and strength of his body. The
urge to stroke her fingers across the hard muscle raged so strong, she clenched
her fingers until the short nails bit into her palms. As if in slow motion,
Xavier turned and, for the first time in three years, she came face-to-face
with her former childhood friend.

And the man she’d been in love with even while engaged to
another—his younger brother. His dead younger brother.

Joshua
. She swallowed hard, but nothing could force
the acidic burn of remorse and shame scalding her throat to disappear. Guilt
had dogged her for years like a relentless stalker. Joshua St. James had offered
her friendship, stability and love. What she wouldn’t give to have loved him
the way he’d needed—the way he’d deserved from a fiancée.

Ruthlessly, she slammed the door on those debilitating
thoughts. She couldn’t afford any distractions while facing this intimidating
stranger with the familiar face.

If Xavier was surprised to see her, his green unblinking
gaze did not reveal his astonishment.

“I did what on purpose?” he asked, his bland tone nearing
the point of boredom. Hell, she nearly reached out to check his pulse.

No
Hi, Gwendolyn, long time, no see
. Or
Gwendolyn,
how the hell are you
? Nothing but the same hard, blank mask. It alarmed and
annoyed her.

“Hijacked them. Put them on the spot.” She ticked the
options off on her fingers. “Take your pick.”

Xavier’s lip curled and the faint smile contained a wealth
of derision. “I’m just keeping them honest. Instead of giving me sidelong
glances and whispering about my face behind my back, I’m offering them a full
frontal view.”

That view packed the power of a sledgehammer. True, he was
no longer flawless, but this didn’t make him any less beautiful. Instead of a
golden Adonis, he’d become Odysseus—mortal, battle-worn and scarred, but
victorious because he’d made it through a tragedy that would have broken most
people.

Wow, she grimaced inwardly. Flowery much? Greek gods,
battles… She needed to pop
Clash of the Titans
out of the DVD player.

She caressed his features with her gaze. God, she’d bargain
her soul and only pair of Christian Louboutins to stroke the hard jut of his
cheekbone or trace the arrogant slope of his thin, patrician nose. Brush the
firm, sensual bow of his upper lip and the full cushion of the lower curve.
That erotic dream of a mouth would be soft—as certainly as any overture at
gentleness would be rejected.

She inhaled and mentally stepped back from the precarious
ledge she hovered on. “You’re punishing them.”
And yourself.

If possible, his expression hardened further, the harsh
lines drawn so tight his flaming-jeweled stare blazed.
Oh damn.
She
played the words back in her head. And winced.

“W-wait…” she stuttered. “Hold on. I didn’t—”

“Am I punishing you, Gwendolyn?” he murmured, eyes
narrowing. “Is looking at me such a hardship?”

She opened her mouth to object, but snapped her lips shut.
One glance at the grim line of his lips and the dangerous glint in his eyes and
she swallowed her explanation. Why bother? Xavier wouldn’t believe her concern
was for
him
, not the shallow socialites he’d once called friends. Yes,
he punished them for their hypocrisy by refusing to be regulated to a shameful
secret everyone whispered about. And yet, by confronting their thinly disguised
disgust and horror, he inflicted wound after wound to his heart—a heart Xavier
would probably deny possessing.

Gwendolyn waved a hand. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he drawled, cocking an eyebrow.

She sighed. “Xavier—”

“What are you doing here, Gwendolyn?”

Irritation flared at his abruptness. But since she’d come to
the event seeking him, she tamped it down and plastered a serene smile on her
face.

“I was invited,” she replied. “I used to attend this gala
with Joshua. I guess they never removed my name from the invitations list.”

If the mention of his brother affected him, Xavier hid it
well. “So you’re attending in memoriam of my brother?”

Gwendolyn bit back a blistering response at the droll
question.
The community center. Remain focused on the community center.

“Not exactly.” She bared her teeth in a tight smile. “I came
here to see you.”

* * * * *

Xavier studied the five-foot-nine-inch beauty before him.

Gwendolyn probably believed she hid her annoyance well. Yet
even as a kid, she’d worn her emotions on her lovely face.

Lovely… No, the word paled when describing the delicate bone
structure, almond-shaped eyes and wide, mobile mouth. Striking. Powerful.
Stunning.

Sexy as fuck.

Her toffee-colored hair, only a few shades lighter than her
smooth skin, had been drawn back into a classic bun. Still, he recalled the
explosion of unruly spirals that proclaimed her biracial heritage as if he’d
seen her just yesterday instead of three years ago. Tonight the tamed mass
accentuated her arresting features, emphasized the chocolate-brown eyes, the
high cheekbones. He clenched his jaw. The only sight capable of competing with
her face was the visual orgasm of her body.

Xavier lowered his inspection and swallowed a hungry groan.
Hell, those curves and dips could make RuPaul straight. Or envious. Her full
breasts would fit his wide palms perfectly. The small indentation of her waist
and feminine flare of her hips would provide the perfect spot to grip while he
fucked her long and hard. For kicks and giggles, throw in long, slim legs that
would wrap around his waist, her heels bouncing against his ass as he plunged
and withdrew from what he dreamed would be a tight pussy.