Beauty Tempts the Beast

by Lorraine Heath

  He unfolded his body and stood, and the more recent nightly tradition of traipsing off to ready themselves for bed at the same time began. When it was completed, she sat on the bed and waited, setting free the buttons on her nightdress that she’d secured while Hester was helping to prepare her for slumber. She loosened her hair that Hester had patiently plaited.

  The knock came. She opened the door. He closed it. They were together, alone at last.

  As he did every night, he doused the lights, leaving only the fire on the hearth to hold the shadows at bay, and it did a very poor job of it. She wanted to do what they did in sunlight, with the sunbeams caressing him so she could see every one of his movements in exquisite detail.

  She slipped off her nightdress. He tossed his shirt and trousers aside. They crashed into each other in the center of the space between door and bed, and hungrily joined mouths as though he’d returned from an odyssey that had spanned years instead of only an hour.

  She lifted her hand, and he threaded his fingers through hers before tucking her hand behind her back, arching her so her breasts were offered up for a feast that he devoured with such skill she almost came completely undone then and there.

  Since Christmas Eve, he had learned her body so well, had encouraged her to share what she liked, what she didn’t, when she needed him to be soft, when she required that he increase the pressure. When slowness would better suit the purpose. When speed was of the essence.

  She loved this aspect of him. That he was so comfortable with the act, made her comfortable with it, with something the upper crust preferred to pretend never occurred. It was certainly not to be discussed.

  The naughty words he uttered didn’t seem naughty at all, just sensual and erotic. At first, she’d only shyly muttered them, but now she used them when it suited her, when she wanted to drive him a little more wild with desire.

  He backed her up until she hit the bed. As though she was little more than a child’s rag doll, he lifted her and tossed her onto the duvet-covered mattress. Followed her down, taking possession of her mouth once more before leaving it to take his mouth on a languid journey down her throat, over her breasts, along her stomach to the heart of her core where he began licking her, and her limbs went lax.

  “I’m not going to become a courtesan.”

  He stilled, waited a heartbeat, lifted his gaze to hers. In spite of the shadows, the absence of enough light, she could still make out his beautiful features, see the fire burning in his eyes. “Why?”

  One word. A simple word. Yet, it contained myriad questions.

  She reached for him. He took her hands, knotted their fingers together, pushed himself up, placed their hands on either side of her head, and gazed down on her. “Why?” he repeated, and in his voice, she heard doubt and hope.

  “Because it’s no longer what I want. It’s not what I need. Because I’m happy here. With you. Because I love you.”

  With a groan that sounded as though his heart had been ripped from his chest, he lowered his head to the swell of her breasts, kissed one and then the other. Then he just lingered there, breathing in and breathing out, and she feared she’d made a terrible mistake in uttering the words.

  “It’s too big, Thea,” he said quietly, “to have your love. It makes me feel as though my heart will explode through my chest.”

  He shifted until he was once again gazing down on her. “Do you know when I first started falling in love with you?”

  Since she didn’t know he had, she could only shake her head, even as her own heart soared with the knowledge that this remarkable man loved her.

  “When you told me that you were none of my bleedin’ business. The first fall wasn’t much of a drop, but every day I learned something else about you that made me fall just a little bit further. I’m still falling. I suspect I’ll keep falling until I draw my last breath.”

  “Ben,” she whispered, too overcome by his admission to say much else. What they felt for each other was too big, yet not big enough.

  “As small as you are, it is inconceivable to me how when I am with you, I don’t feel as though I’m a great hulking beast.”

  She tried to break free of his hold so she could run her fingers through his hair, over his face, but he held tight. He always held tight.

  “Make love to me. Fully, completely. I don’t want to retain my virginity. I want to feel you moving inside me. I want to be only yours. I want you to be mine.”

  With a growl, he moved her hands to the small of his back before spreading his fingers over her throat, beneath her chin, and lowering his mouth to hers, his tongue sweeping along the contours. She scored her fingers up his back, outlining the defined delineations that flexed with his movements. So much strength. Such power. How could he consider himself hulking when he possessed an incredible elegance? Yes, he was taller than most and broad shouldered, but there was a sleekness about him, like a panther she’d seen at the zoological gardens.

  He nipped at her collarbone, soothed it with his tongue.

  She brought her hands around. He laced their fingers together. She stilled. Her brow furrowed. “Why do you do that?”

  He stilled as well, although if it was possible, he was more still than she. “Do what?”

  “Take hold of my hands—” No, it wasn’t hands, not always. But it was always the left one. “You won’t let me touch the right side of your face, your head.” It was an area he seemed to shelter. Never had she seen him without his hair covering it. “Why?”

  She heard his swallow more than saw it. “Because I didn’t want you to discover why they first began calling me Beast.”

  He shoved himself off the bed more with a sense of resignation than anger or frustration. Before they went any further, she had the right to know, to know everything about him. With the truth of him, she might decide she wanted to become another man’s mistress, might return to her original plans.

  The bed creaked with whatever movements she was making.

  He wished he had with him the match safe his mum had given him, that he had those matches available because they could ward off the darkness now threatening. Instead, he tapped his fingers over the bedside table until he found the matches he knew rested nearby, struck one, and lit the oil lamp, bringing forth a light that chased all the shadows away from the bed, away from her, away from him.

  She was sitting with her back to the headboard, the sheet clutched in her hands just below her chin, covering what she’d bared when he’d first walked into the room. A thousand times he’d yearned to see her unveiled in the brightest of lit rooms or in a field dappled with sunshine, had even considered not dousing the lamps, but he couldn’t shine light on her without shining it on himself.

  He sat on the bed, his hip resting next to hers. She’d yet to take her eyes from him. “Go ahead,” he said quietly, “touch what I’ve not let you touch, see what I’ve not let you see.”

  She continued to stare, to press her lips together, and to draw in one unsteady breath after another. It was as though this woman whom he’d seen demonstrate courage countless times was unable to find it now.

  “It won’t hurt you.”

  She opened her hand, fisted it back up. “That’s not my worry. Will it hurt you?”

  He wouldn’t experience any physical pain, but depending on her reaction there could still be hurt. “No.”

  Very slowly, she placed the flat of her hand where his shoulder curved into his neck and glided it up, stopping at the spot where his pulse thudded in his throat. For a moment she just waited as though counting the beats of his heart, and he wondered if she realized each one was for her. Tentatively, she slid her fingers up, the strands of his hair brushing over them. Another minute of stillness, looking into his eyes, before directing her attention back to where her fingers trembled slightly. A deep breath from her. None from him. She slipped her hand beneath the fall of his hair, raised—

  A tiny pleat formed between her brows. She lifted higher. She rele
ased her hold on the sheet and it dropped down to reveal the magnificent breasts that he’d denied himself the sight of in light, but his gaze only darted down for a second because he was too mesmerized watching her expression. It had yet to reveal horror. The hand no longer clutching the sheet cradled his other cheek, and she shifted her eyes over to hold his gaze. “You haven’t an ear.”

  “No.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was born without it.”

  “Can you hear?”

  “Not on that side. Sometimes I cock my head so nothing escapes my good ear. I’ve learned if I watch the movement of people’s mouths, I can discern the words I might not have heard clearly.”

  “You always sit me to your left.”

  “I don’t want to miss hearing a single word you utter.”

  “And they cruelly called you Beast because of this, something over which you had no control, something nature inflicted upon you?” A spark of anger hardened her voice.

  “Children, yes. Beast, monster, devil. Mum would keep our hair short to decrease the likelihood of lice. Eventually, I wouldn’t let her cut it. But even then, if I got into a scrap, it would be uncovered. And the taunts would begin. I can’t tell you how many noses my brothers bloodied trying to get them to stop. Or how often I ran off because I didn’t want anyone to see how I hurt, to witness any tears I couldn’t hold back. I don’t think they meant to be cruel. I was different, and I think the difference frightened them, because they feared it could have been them. Then one day I decided if I called myself Beast, if I pretended that it was of no consequence to me if I wasn’t exactly like them, I would take away their power to hurt me.”

  “You thought I would taunt you?”

  “No, I thought you would look at me as you are now—as though I’m to be pitied.”

  “I don’t pity you. I feel sorrow that others were cruel to you, especially when you were just a lad. If you’ll give me their names, I’ll arrange to best them at four-card brag.”

  The last thing he’d expected was to smile, to release a small laugh, to feel such a lightening of his heart.

  Leaning in, she brushed a kiss just above the spot where his pulse beat, and her tenderness caused his chest to tighten.

  “In my eyes, you are no less perfect, Benedict Trewlove.”

  Ah, Christ. All the tension flowed out of him like a river rushing to the sea. He claimed her mouth. He was far from perfect. She, on the other hand, was all goodness and light.

  Placing her hands on either side of his head, she drew him back, held his gaze. “I love you all the more for the way you have faced the challenges of your life. Douse the lamp and make love to me.”

  With a grin, he pushed her back down onto the bed. “No, this time I think we’ll keep the lamp burning.”

  She loved the freedom of plowing her fingers through the thick strands of his hair, cradling his face between her palms. The first time she’d done it, he’d stiffened, and at that moment she’d disliked every person who had ever made him feel . . . less. And she’d realized with sudden clarity that one of the reasons he understood her so well, had known what she had needed when it came to retribution with Chadbourne, was because for most of his life people had been metaphorically turning their back on him.

  She took his mouth, slowly, sensually, until with a low moan he relaxed into her arms. She reminded him that she loved him.

  When he had lifted himself up onto his elbows to look down on her, the heat smoldering in his eyes nearly unraveled her.

  So much had been lost when he’d pleasured her within the shadows, and now they gloried in the sight of each other, fully revealed. They traveled over each other, examining dips, curves, ridges, and mounds.

  “Your nipples are rosier than I thought,” he said, and she suspected her cheeks had gone rosy as well.

  “Your scar looks angrier than I thought.”

  “I like the pink hue that rushes over your skin when passion takes hold.”

  “I like the intensity with which you watch me.”

  And the way in which he caressed her, kissed her, licked her. She especially liked the attention his mouth gave to the valley between her legs. She liked that she could now knot her fingers in his hair and connect with him as he feasted.

  After she cried out with her release, he moved up, her legs hooked over his shoulders. She felt the nudge as he tested her readiness.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “I love you with all that I am, with all I ever shall be.”

  With a groan, he closed his eyes, opened them. “You humble me, Thea, that you should want me . . . Beauty to my beast.”

  “Want is too tame a word. Desire. Yearn. Crave. And you’re not a beast. Not in action, deed, or looks. You’re one of the most handsome men I’ve ever known. Become mine completely.” In so doing, she would become his. Nothing would have the power to separate them.

  With an almost feral groan, he began pushing his way into her, entering, withdrawing, over and over, a little deeper each time, giving her a chance to become accustomed to him. When he sank fully into her, stretching her, filling her, he stilled.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. I like how it feels . . . having you inside me.”

  He buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. “You slay me, Thea, so easily.”

  He began moving within her, slowly at first, his tempo increasing as she mastered the rhythm of his thrusts, as they parted and met. He was strength, power, and purpose.

  Hands caressed, sighs sounded, moans rippled through them. Her name was a litany on his lips, a benediction that caused molten heat to flow through her. Never in her life had she felt such a part of someone, had she felt that she was precisely where she belonged. The world in which she’d grown up lacked magic, depth, satisfaction. Only now did she realize it, only now did she understand that without him, her world had been an arid place where she never would have truly come into herself.

  The pleasure built until she was writhing beneath him, digging her fingers into his back, his shoulders, taking her hands wherever she wanted, no longer being denied access to any part of him. Instinctually, she knew he’d never shared so much of himself with anyone else, had never trusted anyone as he trusted her. Knowing the truth of that served to heighten the sensations, caused her to surrender completely, to hold nothing back, because trust was a precious thing. She had his, and he had hers.

  So many nights he’d brought her pleasure, but it had never been as all-consuming as this, cocooning her in so many various sensations. Anywhere he touched, her skin rippled with joy, her nerve endings tingled with appreciation.

  The entire world floated away until it was only them, their breaths, the slap of their slick flesh, the scent of carnal lust they created. The ecstasy increased until she thought she would die of it. When her release washed through her, he captured her cry with a kiss that enhanced and consumed. She’d never known such bliss, such fulfillment.

  He never took his mouth from hers, not even as harsh shudders cascaded through him, racking his body. She tightened her arms around his shoulders, dragged her hands up and down his glistening back. He groaned, bucked, stilled. Slid his mouth from hers, along her throat, settling it within the curve of her neck. Their breaths echoed around them, a sawing that hinted at unbearable pleasure experienced.

  Carefully, as though she’d turned into glass that could easily shatter, he slid her legs from his shoulders, eased off her slightly so she was only half-covered, reached a long arm down to snag the sheet and brought it up over her. His hand rested heavily against her breast. She didn’t know how he’d managed so many movements when she wasn’t certain she’d ever move again.

  They lay there replete, she in wonder that she might have never had this, might have never had him if not for bad decisions made by others.

  “As I won’t have a protector, will be no lord’s mistress, can’t teach Lottie and Hester forever, I shall have to fin
d other employment,” she said after a time. “I’m not certain what I shall do.”

  With a groan, he raised himself slightly, wedged himself between her thighs, and to her surprise, pushed into her once more, held still. She brushed his hair back from his face. He was studying her as though she was a treasure he’d unexpectedly found, hadn’t even known he was searching for. “You could have my children.”

  Her heart stuttered. “I beg your pardon?”

  He withdrew, entered her again. “Have my children, be my partner in the shipping business, handle Thorne every time he wants us to make a detour for something he needs that no one else does.” He kissed one corner of her mouth, then the other. “Marry me, Thea.”

  A little cry escaped her lips, tears burned her eyes. “Do you mean it?”

  “It nearly killed me every time I thought of you going to another man. Be mine, only mine. My wife, my love. We’ll purchase a residence, where only the two of us will live so you’ll no longer have to hold back those cries that carry my name. Marry me.”

  If he wasn’t resting on top of her, hard and thick inside her, she might have floated out through the window, the joy coursing through her making her feel as though she could fly. “Yes. I want you to be my husband. You’re already my love.”

  He kissed her deeply, soundly, began gently rocking against her. He slid his mouth to the sensitive spot beneath her ear, dragged his tongue over it.

  “But you’ll have to propose again elsewhere.”

  He shifted so he could once again hold her gaze. “Why?”

  “Because ladies always ask each other to describe the proposal in detail, and I can’t very well say he proposed while his magnificent cock was nestled deep inside me.”

  If he didn’t already hold her heart, the grin he bestowed upon her would have stolen it. “Just tell me where and when.”

  Chapter 24