Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes)

by Le Carre, Georgia

  ‘I have my brother to thank. He started us off early. He got us into the property market, investing in Internet start-ups, bought us all citizenships in Monaco, and put us into every tax saving scheme available.’

  I look around in wonder. ‘It’s absolutely stunning, Shane. You’re so lucky.’

  ‘Come, I’ll show you the best part of the house.’ He winks at me. ‘Just in case you want a midnight swim.’

  Stunned by the grandeur of the place, I follow him through the rooms with their high ceilings and the lovely marble floors. In the main salon there are stupendous art deco chandeliers and superb antiques. He leads me toward the pool, which has been uniquely situated in the center of the property.

  I gasp when we reach it.

  It is like suddenly finding yourself in a different world—the sumptuous, luxurious, precious, lost world of an Oriental potentate. Lit by softly glowing lamps, it must be seen to be believed. Massive and round, it is surrounded by tall double Corinthian marble columns that form a veranda around the pool. The stone columns are slightly submerged, giving the illusion that they are rising from the water.

  The roof is covered in wisteria, throwing the reflection of the columns and dripping plants into the still water. There are white orchids growing in large bronze pots and loungers with cream cushions.

  Made speechless by the unrivaled luxury and beauty, I walk toward the edge of the pool. There are rose petals floating in the water.

  I hear him come up behind me. I turn around and look up at him. ‘Wow,’ I whisper.

  His eyes are hidden by shadows. There is a slight tension in his body. ‘Feel like a midnight swim?’

  I am suddenly wary. ‘I didn’t bring a swimsuit.’

  ‘There are swimsuits in the changing room, I believe,’ he counters.

  ‘I didn’t come here to sleep with you,’ I say, and my words hang between us. Both of us know that’s a lie.

  ‘Pity. Still, I’m only inviting you for a swim.’

  I bite my lower lip. ‘OK, let’s swim.’

  In the changing rooms, I find some plain black bikinis. I get into one and, after slipping on a toweling robe, nervously go back out to the pool. The air is warm and scented with the smell of the countryside. His back is to me and he is naked, but for a pair of briefs. He turns slightly when he hears my approach, and smiles.

  And he takes my breath away—he’s the sexiest, most delicious thing I’ve ever seen. I gape at him like a silly teenager with a crush. The air changes between us. I feel goosebumps scatter quickly on my skin like millions of insect legs. A shiver goes through me, and between my legs a strange throbbing begins.

  I breathe in deeply. What the hell am I doing?

  I force my eyes away from him. If I’m planning to sleep with him, I should have drunk more alcohol at the restaurant.

  ‘Could I … er … have a drink?’

  He turns fully then. Tattoos. Muscles. Ripped body. And a beast of a cock, barely held in check by his swimming trunks. All as if carved from glowing marble. There is no fear or shame in his face. He is the most self-assured, beautiful thing I have ever seen. Powerful male sexuality radiates from every pore of his impressive form. My mouth feels dry and my body does something it has never done before.

  It aches for him.

  Eleven

  SHANE

  She stands in the glow of the lamps with absolutely no idea of just how fucking beautiful she is. She looks like she’s made of porcelain, or fairy dust. I want to go up to her, strip her naked, and ravish her right there on the cold tiles, but I can see that she is so nervous, her knuckles show white where she is hanging on so tightly to the edges of her robe’s front.

  ‘Sure, you can have a drink. What do you want?’ I say, ignoring my raging hard-on, and sauntering over to the concealed bar to the left of me. She trails behind.

  ‘Vodka and orange juice,’ she says.

  I pick up a bottle of Grey Goose and a tall glass. ‘Say when,’ I tell her, and begin to pour.

  I am nearly halfway up the glass and she is still staring at it. I carry on pouring, my eyes on her face.

  ‘When,’ she says.

  I stop pouring and put the bottle on the bar. She lifts her eyes to mine. What kind of strange, sexy creature have I got standing in front of me? No woman has captivated my interest like she has.

  ‘You can fill it to the top with orange juice now,’ she says.

  I don’t move. ‘You’ll drown if you drink this much alcohol before you get into the water,’ I say softly.

  ‘Oh! I guess I should have asked you to stop pouring earlier.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Snow?’

  ‘Nothing’s the matter.’ She bites her lower lip. It is sweet, glossy, and plush. A whore’s mouth in an angel’s face. I picture her lips on my abdomen and going lower still. My cock hammers and heat churns in my balls. Fuck, my dick is begging me to throw her against the nearest wall.

  ‘Is this what you have to do before you let Lenny touch you?’

  Her eyes fly open, and she takes a step back from me as if I have struck her. ‘You have no right. You know nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing!’ she cries and then she begins to run.

  My reflexes are fast, propelled by the hellfire of lust burning in my blood. I catch her easily and spin her around to face me. She gasps, sharp and sudden, and looks up at me with startled, wide eyes. Her robe is gaping open, and I can see the soft curve of her breasts as they rise and fall with her agitation. Hell! I want to fuck her senseless. I can feel myself pulsing.

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,’ I apologize. My voice is tight with frustration.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I overreacted. I’m just nervous. You’re the only friend I have. I don’t want to fight with you.’ Her voice is wobbly.

  I let go of her forearms and flash her a good imitation of a grin. ‘So, let’s not fight then. How about a swim?’ I say, and, turning away from her, dive cleanly into the pool. With slow strokes I swim away from her. I’d need to do fifty laps to burn off this sexual frustration.

  When I reach the other end, I turn back to look at her, and she is sitting at the edge with her legs moving languidly back and forth in the water. In these surroundings she is like a fantasy figure, a figment of my imagination. I experience a strange sense of possession. The urge to mate with her is primal, strong and rabid. If I was an animal, my fur would be bristling, my tail out and wagging stiffly, and my ears erect.

  The drive to mount a woman, possess her and claim her as mine is an unfamiliar one. Sure, I could write a whole fucking encyclopedia about the impulse to mount a woman, but to possess and claim her? I exhale the breath I am holding and, swimming back to her, grab her feet. They are small and soft.

  She giggles. ‘That’s ticklish.’

  ‘Are you coming in, Miss Dilshaw?’

  She doesn’t stand and take off her robe the way any other woman with a body as dazzling as hers would have. Instead, she slips it off her shoulders awkwardly while still sitting, and pushes it off her hips and thighs just before she slides into the water. I catch her in my arms.

  Her body is narrow and slippery. She gazes up at me, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes so dilated they are almost black. And it’s clear I’m not the only one who fucking wants it bad. She wants it too.

  ‘You can let go of me now,’ she whispers.

  ‘Give me one good reason I should.’

  ‘Because I want you to,’ she says.

  ‘Liar,’ I counter softly. ‘Here’s what I think you want. I think you’re aching for the taste of my cock.’

  ‘Mighty sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ she scoffs, although bright red is crawling up her neck and into her cheeks.

  ‘Shall we put it to a test?’

  She looks alarmed. ‘What do you mean?’

  I move my head closer and she jerks back.

  ‘What’s the matter? Don’t trust yourself to resist even a little kiss?’ I taunt.


  ‘I trust myself,’ she says, and, holding her chin high, closes her eyes like a schoolgirl expecting her first kiss. This is unfamiliar territory! It’s been a long, long time since any woman behaved in such a virginal way. If I wasn’t bursting out of my trunks to get to her, I would have found it funny.

  I pull her toward me, bend my head and touch my lips lightly to hers. Her reaction is explosive. She moans, her hands snake around my neck to twine in my hair, and she practically melts into me. The water laps around us as her mouth opens and her nipples are like little pebbles burning against my chest.

  I kiss her full and hard, my tongue pushing into the warm softness of her mouth. And there is not a damn thing tentative about the way she sucks on my tongue. She looks like a little spring flower, but she kisses with the kind of wild, reckless passion that blows my mind. She does it with the kind of desperation of someone starving.

  I wrap my hands around her waist and push her upwards. Water cascades down her beautiful body, as I lift her onto the edge of the pool and place her firmly on her butt. I haul myself out. Getting on my haunches, I untie her bikini top. It falls away easily.

  ‘Shane,’ she whispers, my name catching in her throat.

  Her breasts are small and perfectly formed, the areolae, shy rose buds. She gazes up at me, her eyes enormous, the eyelashes wet, and her delicious mouth swollen and red. My lips brush the side of her neck and she leans her head to the side and offers me her throat. It is a call to mate as much as it is when a female wolf lifts her rear and exposes her vulva to tell her alpha that she is in heat. My tongue trails down the silky skin. I’ve done this a thousand times before, but this time my movements are jerky with urgency.

  I lay her on the cool tiles and wrap my lips around her nipple. She groans and closes her eyes. My hand slides down her body and moves toward her bikini bottom. I hook my fingers into it and suddenly she starts struggling under me. I lift my head in surprise.

  Her hands move to cover her breasts.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says.

  I feel a surge of searing temper. This is fucking bullshit. I’m too old to play these cock-tease games. I grab her wrists and pull them apart and hold them high over her head so her breasts are exposed to me. She does nothing to stop me. Then I look deep into her frightened and excited eyes.

  ‘Well, I’m fucking not,’ I grate. I don’t hide the feral hunger in my eyes as I let my gaze roam her whole body, lingering lustfully on her breast, as if I own it all. And in my mind I do. She will be mine if it’s the fucking last thing I do. ‘I will have you, Snow Dilshaw. Fucking count on it. Not tonight, but you will be mine. And you know it too. You just like dragging things out. But you’re wetter than you’ve ever been, aren’t you?’

  She says nothing, just stares up at me.

  So, I slip my fingers in that last scrap of cloth between her and me, and brush my fingers between the soft lips. They are fucking soaking. I smile. I take my fingers out and suck them. Her eyes widen with surprise.

  What is it about her? She is like no other woman I have been with. Even at a time like this, I can’t be angry with her. All I want to do is wrap her in my arms and tell her it’s going to be all right.

  I stand and pull her to her feet. I pick up her discarded robe and tie it around her waist. And the strangest thing happens to me. I had a raging hard-on and yet at that moment I could have been belting little Liliana into her coat. I feel only a fierce sense of protectiveness toward her. Anybody touches her or tries to hurt a single hair on her head and I’ll break their fucking backs.

  The day will come when I will yank her hair and she won’t be afraid of what comes next. She will just call my name, and tighten her muscles around my cock as I thrust it deep inside her. She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.

  ‘Come on, I’ll show you to your room,’ I say.

  I need to put some space between us. I don’t completely trust myself with her. I need to be level headed.

  Because this one’s a keeper.

  Twelve

  SNOW

  I wake up, confused by the faded splendor of my surroundings. And then I remember where I am … and what happened last night. And I touch my lips wonderingly. No one has ever kissed me like that. So dominant and possessive, as if he owned me. And I have never felt so alive, almost high. Like that time I was buzzing from drinking too much cough medicine. Heat and lust had pooled between my legs and I longed for him and yet I stopped him.

  I think of Lenny saying, ‘Before I’m finished with any man who touches you, he’ll be wishing I had killed him.’

  The thought makes me turn and bury my head in the soft, fragrant pillow, away from the wrongness of what I am doing. Sharp guilt slashes through me. It makes a bright new wound. I am betraying Lenny who has never been anything but kind to me when I was broken, and, to make matters worse, I am endangering Shane.

  Lenny will have him for breakfast. Shane is a playboy; Lenny is a psychopath. Right now, just lying in this stupendous bed alone, I am cheating on Lenny and implicating Shane. Last night … Oh God, if he knew.

  Oh God.

  Show some freaking spirit, Snow.

  I sit up suddenly, with a new resolve. No, I won’t betray one whole year of kindness for one stolen night of dark pleasure. In my own way I care about Lenny and I’ll never forget what he did for me. I won’t do this to Lenny. I will leave him in a good way. A way that I can be proud of. Without betraying him. Without anyone getting hurt.

  I feel empowered by my new resolve. I won’t have sex with Shane. I’m not some slut who can’t control herself. Today, I will be very careful not to get into any kind of situations where we are both half naked again.

  Today, I will be more guarded.

  But the resolution makes me feel trapped. The future stretches bleak and pointless. Excruciating, actually. What about what I want? A wretched knot of nerves deep inside me shudders painfully. Don’t think about it now, Snow.

  I square my shoulders and, kicking away the fragrant sheets, leave the splendid room fit for an Oriental potentate. I wash in a fabulous green-veined marble bathroom. Water plinks from the polished gold taps onto the ancient stone.

  There are glass jars of sweet-smelling salts and I drop in handfuls and watch them bubble and fizz. The air fills with their perfume. The longing for the unattainable feels only like a faint ache. I am used to that feeling. I brush my teeth as the bath fills. I undress and slip into the warm, silky water.

  ‘Ahh …’

  I lean my head back and sigh. I don’t allow myself to think of anything. When the water cools, I step out of the bath, dry myself on a soft lemon-scented towel, and pull on an apple green T-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. I stop and look at myself in the gilded mirror. The color of my top makes my eyes look good.

  I make the bed before closing my bedroom door and going downstairs.

  As I walk down the grand steps, I try to imagine what it must be like to actually live here. There can be only one word to describe it: magnificent. I wonder who else lives in that vast property. Someone must be cleaning the house, the pool, the grounds. Whoever they are, they are doing an admirable job. There isn’t a speck of dust to be seen anywhere.

  As I get to the bottom of the stairs, an unsmiling woman appears in the archway leading to the other end of the house. She has salt and pepper hair that is neatly tied into a bun at the back of her head, and she is wearing a black dress and heavy shoes with gleaming buckles that I associate with Victorian times.

  ‘Bonjour, mademoiselle,’ she greets. Her voice is as somber as her attire, and her lips have barely moved.

  I am pretty certain she is saying ‘Good morning,’ and that the reply should be ‘Bonjour, madam,’ but I’d be stuck after that. The extent of my French is ‘Bonjour,’ ‘Bonne nuit’ and ‘Merci.’ ‘Sorry, I don’t speak French,’ I admit with an apologetic shrug and smile.

  ‘Ah, oui. Monsieur Eden est à l’extérieur,’ she says formally, and poin
ts in the direction of the pool.

  ‘Oh, merci,’ I say.

  ‘Je vous en prie,’ she replies, which I presume must be ‘You’re welcome’ to my ‘Thank you.’

  I smile politely.

  She nods again gravely, and retreats into the shadows behind the arch.

  I walk out to the pool. In the daylight, it has lost its magical appeal. It seems newer and more nouveau riche, but it is stunningly beautiful all the same. I go beyond the submerged pillars and see Shane working shirtless in the garden. His body is magnificent in the morning sun. I walk up to him.

  I shade my eyes and call out, ‘Good morning.’

  He turns to look at me, and I find myself inhaling sharply. Damn, the man is edible.

  ‘Mornin’,’ he says, and wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He sticks the shovel he was using into the ground and takes a few steps toward me. I swallow hard. Dear me!

  As he approaches, I see everything I did not see in the soft lighting of the pool. His chest is a mass of glistening, rippling muscles, and his shoulders are covered in beautiful tattoos. Sweat is running off his body in rivulets. My heart swells and I feel almost intoxicated, but I try to appear unaffected. He stops about a foot away from me and I can actually smell him, and he smells damn good. Wow! Who would have thought that sweat could smell so tantalizing? Oh, God. I can’t believe I’m crushing on him like a schoolgirl.

  ‘Um … what are you doing?’ I babble.

  ‘I’m planting some rose bushes,’ he says.

  ‘Mmm …’ I say, my eyes sliding hurriedly away from his body and finding about five pots of rose bushes on the ground. And all my high and mighty resolutions crumble to dust. I want to feel his velvety skin on mine and to taste his tongue again.

  ‘Don’t you have a gardener?’ I ask because my skin is sizzling and I can think of nothing else to say.

  ‘I do, but I like working with the land,’ he says.

  ‘Oh, OK,’ I say, my gaze following a drop of sweat as it travels down between his taut pectorals. I could lick that off him. The air between us buzzes with desire. Mine. The undeniable truth is: To hell with it all. I want this man with a burning need. I want to rest my chin on his hard chest and watch him sleep. And when I feel like it, I want to kiss him awake.