[English] BEAUTY DATES THE BEAST

Beauty Dates the Beast
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A slow smile curved his lips, and my heart stuttered. I’d seen beautiful men, and I’d seen ***y men. But I’d never seen a man who was as powerfully masculine as this one.

I was finding it hard to breathe.

It wasn’t the sleepy, ***y eyes with the dark lashes. It wasn’t the piercing gray irises that assessed me as if they could see me naked. It wasn’t the impressive spread of his shoulders or the narrow waist, or the thick fall of tousled brown hair over his tanned forehead. None of that caused my breath to evaporate quite like the confidence that poured from him. It was there from the easy way he carried his big frame to the crooked smile that tugged at his lips and emphasized his amazing cheekbones.

This man was going to be trouble.

The room grew fuzzy at the edges, and black stars flashed in front of my eyes as he crossed the floor to meet me. Everything about him was effortless, graceful motion, like a predator stalking its prey.

He leaned in close to me, and I could smell his musky clean scent. “You need to breathe, Bathsheba.”

Breathe. Right. I sucked in a breath and my vision cleared.

He smiled at me again, that soft, lazy smile. “That’s better.”

I fought the urge to wipe it off his face, annoyed that he’d made me wait while he’d been here all along.

He gestured at the sea of white-linen-covered tables. “Shall we sit?”

That depended on his answer. “How long have you been here watching me?”

The smile widened into a grin. “You caught me,” he admitted. “I wanted to watch you for a few minutes. Is that so wrong?”

“It was very uncomfortable for me,” I said coolly. “I believed I was being stood up.”

He took my hand in his and lifted it to his mouth for a kiss. His lips brushed against my skin, sending a shiver through me. “I apologize,” he said, looking serious. “That was thoughtless of me.”

I tried pulling my hand out of his.

He didn’t budge.

I raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Russell, you know that humans aren’t allowed to date in the Alliance. On behalf of my company, I didn’t want to leave you stranded tonight—but I could lose my job over this. So if I stay, Giselle must never know about it.”

His thumb rubbed against the back of my hand. “Of course not. The last thing I want is for you to get in trouble at my expense. Please stay—I ordered the tasting menu,” he coaxed.

I’d never been to a tasting dinner, with its multiple courses of fancy tidbits, all designed to show off the chef’s culinary skills and imagination. It would be fun—and he seemed sincere. I pulled my hand away and nodded. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

“Thank you.” At the table, he pulled my chair out as the waiter hovered nearby, then he sat down across from me and flicked his napkin into his lap with a flourish.

The waiter opened a bottle of expensive wine and, as we each took a sip, I said, “I feel that I should point out my first rule of dating, Mr. Russell. Just because you wine and dine me doesn’t mean I’m obligated to have *** with you. So going to the Worthington after dinner is not happening.”

He smiled, clearly not offended in the slightest. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Bathsheba. If I pay for dinner, the only pleasure I expect is your company.”

I stared at the six and a half feet of masculinity on the other side of the table. He looked amused, as if he liked a challenge. This could end up being very, very dangerous in a way I hadn’t expected.

I changed topics, trying to put a wall up between us. “So why did you want to watch me at the bar, Mr. Russell? Just in case I had warts and a hunched back, so you could make a hasty escape?”

“I wanted to see if the voice and name matched the body.”

“And? Do I look like a Bathsheba to you?”

“You do,” he said. “Soft. Delicious. Warm. Curvy.” His eyes glinted as he leaned across the table. “I bet you’d taste the same.”

Oh. My. An instant flush crossed my cheeks. “That’s a first,” I said, recovering swiftly. “Usually I’m told that the name Bathsheba reminds them of an old lady clutching her knitting.”

“They’d be wrong.”

Red alert. Red alert. All hormones on deck. “Mr. Russell—”

“Beau,” he said, interrupting me. “Short for Beauregard.” He gave me a sheepish look. “Old Southern family.”

I finally smiled. “I’m not about to give you a hard time about your name. You’re speaking to a woman named after one of the greatest adulteresses in the Bible. My sister’s lucky she wasn’t named Whore of Babylon.”

He laughed, his silvery eyes warm and crinkling at the corners. He lifted his wineglass and raised it to me. “Two very unusual names for two very normal people. We’re a match made in heaven, Bathsheba Ward.”

I wasn’t sure how normal he was, but I clinked my glass against his anyhow. I wasn’t used to hearing my full name all the time, so when we set our glasses down, I said, “My friends call me Bath.”

He clasped my hand between his warm ones. “But I don’t want to be your friend.”

His skin against mine was incredibly distracting. I felt the calluses on his palms, felt the strong grip of his warm, large hands, his nails lightly scratching at the back of my hand in an absent, comforting gesture.

Oh, dear. I liked that far, far too much for my own good. Licking my lips nervously, I asked. “So what’s on the tasting menu tonight?”

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He grinned. “I have no idea. I just asked the maître d’ what was good and that’s what he recommended.”

The waiter arrived and we pulled apart, though Beau’s hand seemed to linger on mine.

“An amuse-bouche for the monsieur and the mademoiselle,” the waiter said, a hint of a Texas drawl coloring his French. He set down two tiny plates. “A patisserie with caviar and crème fraiche,” he said, then left.

Beau popped the amuse-bouche into his mouth. After a moment his expression changed and his chewing slowed.

I eyed the concoction on my plate. “How is it?”

He chewed for a moment more, then swallowed hard. “Interesting.”

Well, that was a ringing endorsement. I eyed mine, and nodded that I was done when the waiter arrived to take the plates away. He returned a moment later with two bowls of bright orangey-yellow soup.

My eyes widened at the brown thing floating in my soup.

“Butternut bisque,” the waiter announced, “with quail egg in nest.”

Oh, dear. The waiter left and I looked at my bowl, then at Beau. He was staring at his food with an odd expression on his face.

“Is that a real bird’s nest?” I asked him. “Are we supposed to eat it?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, then tapped his spoon against the egg. “I know I’m a were-cat, but this is ridiculous.”

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I giggled and took a large swallow of wine, no more eager to eat mine than he was. “Maybe I’m not as adventurous as I should be when it comes to eating,” I admitted. “What’s next on the menu?”

“Cheese,” he said, looking down at the piece of paper.

“Why the face? That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“A savory mixture of goat and … yak cheeses,” he said, continuing to read.

“Er … oh.” I took another swig of my wine. “The wine is very good, at least.”

Beau looked chagrined. “I’m sorry you’re not enjoying the meal.”

“We haven’t even started the meal,” I quipped. “The entree will probably be some unfortunate exotic animal served on a bed of seaweed. French seaweed.”

He laughed, then glanced at me. “There’s a sports bar next door. Want to go grab a burger?”

“And leave my bird’s nest behind?” I pretended to protect my plate, resisting the urge to break into laughter. At his grin, I put down my wineglass and stood. “Let’s go.”

He threw a wad of bills on the table.

In the sports bar, we grabbed a comfortable booth and ordered. As we waited for our burgers, an uncomfortable silence fell. Sitting across from him in a cozy booth in a dark corner felt far more intimate than sitting stiffly across from him at a fancy French restaurant had.

I clasped my hands together, trying to think of something to break the silence, but nothing came to mind. Crap. I hadn’t dated in so long that I didn’t know what to talk about. Football? I didn’t know if he was a big sports fan. The weather? No, that was just stupid—

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, misinterpreting my awkwardness.

“I’m just not very good at small talk. Or dating. I don’t date.”

He looked fascinated. “I can’t imagine why not. Tell me about yourself then.”

I froze. Talking about me meant talking about Sara, and I couldn’t talk about Sara. “There’s not much to tell,” I said in a stiff voice. Was this a probe for information? Was he going to sell it to the wolf packs? “I’m a very boring girl.”

He shook his head, that beautiful smile flashing across his face. “I sincerely doubt that anyone with a name like yours could be boring.”

I remained quiet.

“You really aren’t good with small talk,” he teased.

Shoot, what could I talk about that wouldn’t alert him to our secret? “I … like to read.”

He smiled at me over the plate of cheese fries the waiter set down in front of us. “Who doesn’t?”

Well, how could you not like a man who said that? “That’s about it, really. Now, your turn. Tell me something you like.”

I caught a flash of white teeth. “I like women. Soft, curvy women.”

I rolled my eyes. “That doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a given—like if I said I liked men with large packages.” I reached over for a cheese fry. “That’s like saying that you like breathing, or eating.”

“Sounds like we’re a match made in heaven,” he said lazily. “I like to eat, love to breathe”—he leaned over the table—“and I have a very large package.”

I choked on my cheese fry. “Not nice,” I coughed, trying to catch my breath. “You play dirty, sir.”

He picked up a fry and gestured at me with it before popping it into his mouth. “Your turn.”

“There’s really nothing else to tell.”

He ****ed an eyebrow at me. “Nobody’s life is that dull. I get the impression that you’ve got something to hide, Miss Bathsheba.”

Why, yes, Beau. When I was nineteen, my younger sister started dating a werewolf. He bit her and turned her, and I had to drop out of college to take care of her as she adjusted to growing fur and a tail. And since the werewolf pack wants her back, we keep a low profile in case we have to leave town again. Oh, and I like frat boy comedy movies. You?

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I finished chewing my fry, pretending to think it over. I needed something bland and nondescript, to angle the conversation back toward safer ground. Aha! “I like bookkeeping.”

It was the one phrase guaranteed to scare a man off. Most women would say that they liked to date, or dance, or curl up at home with a movie. I liked general ledgers and balancing someone’s books.

He did a catlike tilt of his head that was a bit unnerving, reminding me that he was slightly more than human, for all his ***iness. “Bookkeeping? Like accounting?”

I waited for his eyes to glaze over with disinterest. “I find it enjoyable.”

He reached for another cheese fry. “Do you like math, then? The challenge of it?”

That wasn’t the bored look I was used to—or worse, the derisive sneer. It startled me, and I gave him a genuine smile. “I like the control aspect, being the one in charge. At first I hated it, but then it became like a puzzle to me, to figure out how to balance the books and find the right numbers that make everything click.” I enjoyed managing Giselle’s office. It made me think I could own my own business someday, so I considered it good practice.

“You ever think about starting your own business?”

“Maybe someday,” I said, uncomfortable again. I didn’t want to talk about my personal hopes and dreams with him.

“You could start up your own accounting business. I’d hire you to do my company’s books.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

He grinned back at me and my heart flipflopped. “The offer stands. You’re welcome to get your hands on my books anytime.”

It was amazing that he could make something as benign as accounting sound like a turn-on. I turned to my drink—a fresh mojito—and took a gulp, feeling a sudden need for liquid courage.

He smiled and leaned back, studying me like he might a delicious roast that he was about to devour. But then the smile faded and his shoulders formed a tense line.

Someone slid into the booth next to me. “Well, hello,” said a man in a low, growling voice.

I looked over in surprise, scooting farther back reflexively. Beau’s jaw had clenched into a hard line.

“What do we have here?” The man gave me a roguish grin, displaying big, crooked teeth. He had wild, thick hair that stuck up in tufts from his head, and a wrinkled polo shirt hung from his enormous frame. There was something wild about him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but I recognized the way his nostrils flared, sniffing the air to catch my scent.

Shifter.

My pulse pounded in my ears and I stiffened, thinking of Sara. ****. ****. ****. This man could be a wolf, and therefore dangerous.

The man tilted his head, the crazy grin never leaving his face, his eyes on Beau. “Who’s your friend? She from out of town?”

I waited, afraid to breathe, for him to pick up Sara’s scent on me. To expose my secret.

Beau’s eyes narrowed into a distinctly unfriendly look, though the pleasant smile remained on his face. “Go away, Tony. This is my personal business, not the pack’s.”

Tony leaned even closer toward me. I shoved him away, not caring in the slightest that it was rude. “Get away from me.”

Undeterred, Tony grabbed my hand. He sniffed me and his eyes widened. He looked back to Beau with a knowing grin. “She’s not a were at all, is she?”

I took another gulp of my mojito, relief warring with anxiety. Sara was safe … but now I had a whole new set of problems.

Beau was supposed to have been dating a supe through the agency, but I was a normal. This was sure to get back to my boss. ****.

As I drank, Tony reached out to touch my ear. I jerked hard, spilling my drink all over the table.

Beau reached over and plucked Tony’s hand off me. “If you touch her again, I’ll break your fingers,” he said in a bored voice, but his eyes were flinty with dislike. “Understand?”

“Tsk tsk,” said Tony in a mock-playful voice. “It’s silly to get upset over human trash, Beauregard.”

Beau’s eyes narrowed into slits and I could feel the rage radiating off of him.

One wrong move and these two would fight. Beau looked ready to destroy the man, and Tony didn’t seem to have a lick of sense in his body. He just continued grinning and looking at me, his gaze flicking over my neck and pulled-up hair as if he wanted to touch me. “She’s cute for a normal, Beau. Not what I’d call your type, though.” He looked me up and down once more, his eyes a little too interested, then turned to Beau. “So where’s Arabella?”

I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. Oh, God. Was Beau involved with someone? Or even married?

“I don’t know,” Beau said, his words a careless drawl. “I’m not her keeper.”

I checked his finger—no sign of a ring-sized tan line. Good. Not that I cared, of course.

“I can see I’m not wanted here,” Tony stood and grinned. “You know you’re not supposed to date humans. I believe that rule was set down by your very own little Alliance. Funny how you’re the one to break the rules.”

Beau looked right at me and answered Tony, “It’s none of your business who I date. When I need permission from someone, I’ll ask.”

“Suit yourself.” The shifter smirked in my direction. “The others are going to find this really interesting, though.” Tony winked at me. “Later, chicken.”

Silence fell as he turned and left. Beau clenched his hands, glaring at Tony as if he’d like to jump up and rip the man’s throat out. The other man didn’t look back, as he took his sweet time circling back to the far side of the restaurant and disappearing from sight. The waiter stopped by to mop the table and left me a new drink. Beau said nothing.

--- Gộp bài viết: 27/01/2016, Bài cũ từ: 27/01/2016 ---

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I was the first to break the silence. There were a hundred things I wanted to ask about. “Chicken?”

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Beau’s response was grudging. “Chicken is Tony’s term for non-supes. He likes to say that they taste like chicken.”

“That’s fairly disturbing.”

“He’s trying to be tough. His pack is full of ass**les who like to push around as many people as they can. They refuse to join the Alliance.”

Well, that explained why they’d been going at it like cats and dogs. It also made me want to throw up. To think that he’d sat next to me … tried to touch me … to think that he could have smelled Sara if I hadn’t been careful. I took a hasty sip of my mojito, my hands shaking. And then I choked, my throat too tight to swallow properly.

“You all right?” Beau said, the growl receding from his voice. “I’m sorry if he scared you.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. My drink just went down the wrong way. So who’s Arabella?”

He sighed. “My ex,” he admitted. “I haven’t seen her in months.”

“Word must travel slow.”

“Yeah. We don’t talk to the wolf pack much.” He didn’t seem to want to expand on the subject.

Thank God for that. “What kind of supe is Arabella? Were-skunk?” I asked, my tone sweet.

His lips twitched with mirth. “No, just a were-cougar that hung around far too long. Haven’t you ever dated someone like that?”

I gave him a look. “I can’t say that my little black book is full of were-cougars.”

He laughed. “Then I am delighted to be your first.”

My entire body tensed. But that was silly. Beau couldn’t possibly know that I was a virgin.

“Before I forget,” Beau said, pulling out his wallet. He flipped through it, then handed me a small salmon-colored card. “Sign this.”

I took it from him and turned it over, reading. Lots of very small print crept across it on both sides. “What is it?”

“Your visa.” At my startled look, he flashed a grin. “It says you are legally approved to date in the Paranormal Alliance.”

From what I’d heard, this sort of permission took forever. “So why did you let Tony think that I don’t have one?”

He picked up his drink. “Maybe I want you all to myself.”

Chapter Two

Several drinks and a delicious, normal meal later, we wandered out of the restaurant, smiling. He had my hand clasped in the crook of his elbow, and I had enough drinks in me—and good conversation—to let him.

I found myself liking Beau quite a bit more than I should have. It was a mistake, through and through, but when he smiled down at me, I got a little weak in the knees and even weaker in resolve.

He was supernatural, I kept reminding myself. That meant bad news for Sara, bad news for me. He was everything I was supposed to avoid. Dating Beau meant Alliance politics I couldn’t even begin to understand, mortal enemies (every supe had them), and all kinds of complications. As a human on the fringes, I knew my fair share about how their secret society operated, but there were levels that I’d never be privy to. For all I knew, the guy turned into a ravening, man-eating cougar at the full moon.

Suspicious, I glanced up at the sky. No full moon.

Everything about the setup of our date told me to run away, and run away fast. But he was charming, and funny, and incredibly ***y. He listened to everything I said with an interested look on his face. I could talk about the bizarre goings-on at Giselle’s office and knew that he’d understand because he was part of the Alliance. It was seductively freeing, even more so when he chuckled at my anecdotes.

I also learned a bit about him. Beau was the eldest child of his family and had three younger brothers. His dad had died when he was eighteen, and his mother lived in California with her second husband—a were-lion. He loved his clan. He was the head of the Paranormal Alliance and owned a large security firm staffed by shifters.

He was … nice. I liked him. I couldn’t like him, though. Sara was in danger if I allowed my feelings for someone—especially a supe—to come between us. I was her shield to the world.

Lost in thought, I was quiet as we walked out of the restaurant. Neither of us spoke, but he still had my arm in his, possessive. A taxi stand was just down the street.

He started to steer me away from the taxi line and toward the restaurant’s private parking lot, and my happy, almost-bubbling mood dissipated. I stopped. “I think it’s time for me to head home.”

“Want to go have a nightcap somewhere?” His hand slid over my shoulder.

I slid it right back off again. His hand was very warm and felt great on my bare skin, but I wouldn’t let that sway me. “I’m not going to the hotel with you.”

His lips quirked. “I won’t lie—I would love to get you into my bed. But I was thinking more along the lines of a drink. Or coffee, if you’d rather.”

Sure, and I was just whistling Dixie. “I’ll pass, thanks.” I pulled away and turned toward the cab stand.

When a cab pulled up, Beau opened the door.

Before I could get into it, however, he shut the door. Irritated, I slapped his arm lightly. “What are you—”

“Shhh,” he said, turning back toward me. His eyes were slitted like a cat’s, gleaming yellow-green and reflecting light.

I stared at him, openmouthed in surprise. His nostrils flared slightly as he sniffed the air, searching for something. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but I remembered his request for quiet and obeyed.

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He blinked and the unnatural shine faded from his eyes, his pupils a regular size once more. Then he looked down at me. “Don’t take the cab.”

“Why?” I glanced over at the waiting taxi, unnerved.

He pulled me closer to him in a protective grasp and led me back down the sidewalk. “The cab driver smelled like … like alcohol.”

Something about his statement rang false. I remembered the way his eyes had gleamed, as if he’d been hunting prey. “Uh-huh.”

“I’ll take you home. How far are we from your place?”

“About twenty minutes,” I said.

“Got a roommate?”

“My sister,” I said, wariness returning. “Why?”

“Good.” He handed me his cell phone. “Call her and tell her you will be home in twenty-five minutes, and to call the police if not.”

That seemed trustworthy enough. I took the phone from him and dialed my home number. Sara answered on the second ring, and I could hear her computer game blasting in the background. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” I said, my eyes on Beau. He watched me calmly, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t seem like he was setting me up, at least. “I’m still out with Mr. Russell. He’s driving me home, so I’ll be there in twenty-five minutes.”

“All right,” she said slowly, and I couldn’t tell if she had picked up on my anxiety. I needed to tell her about the other wolves we’d seen tonight, the veiled references he’d made. Maybe we needed to move again.

“Tell her that if we’re not there on time, to call the police,” he said, misunderstanding my awkward silence.

I parroted it back into the phone, feeling a bit like an overly paranoid freak. He was being so calm and easy about this.

“I guess I don’t need to tell you that Giselle just called and gave you a late assignment?” Sara said, reciting the excuse we’d agreed upon in case the date went badly and I had to exit fast. She dropped her voice into a whisper. “He must be cute.”

Oh, jeez. Had my were-cougar date heard that? I glanced over at my date and saw his mouth curl into a faint smile.

“Very cute,” he agreed.

I nearly died of embarrassment. “Look, twenty-five minutes, okay? Will you keep track?”

“Sure,” she said, yawning. “I’ll start an egg timer or something. You two kids have fun.”

I hung up and handed him the phone back, disgruntled. Sara wasn’t taking this seriously, and Beau had just heard the entire conversation, thanks *****pernatural hearing. “We have twenty-five minutes,” I announced.

“I know,” he said. “We’ll be there in fifteen.”

“You’re very confident in yourself.”

“I am,” he agreed. “I know what I want, and I get what I want.” He gave me a pointed look.

I ignored it. “All right then. I’ll get in the car as long as you tell me what you smelled back there.”

He hesitated. “A shifter. I know you don’t want to be seen with me, so I thought it might be best if we took my car.”

That made sense, and I felt relieved that he’d been so quick to catch that. “Thank you.”

He simply grinned at me.

Beau’s car was a Viper. I nearly melted at the sight of it. The valet at the parking lot had the same expression I did—he looked loath to hand the keys over to Beau.

I ran my hand along the hard top as he opened my door to let me in. The inside was cramped, but posh—just what I expected for this kind of car. It was amazing that a tall man like Beau could fit in the car. I eyed the size of the seats. Pretty much in the clear, here. This was a date-rape-safe car—there just wasn’t room for that sort of thing.

He slid into the car next to me and paused, his eyes flashing that odd color again for a moment.

“What is it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just me being paranoid.”

The drive home was a brief one. I’d considered not giving him my home address, but Sara knew he was taking me home, and we had his information on file at work. If there was one thing that the Alliance didn’t cater to, it was killers and lawbreakers. They were extremely careful to keep up appearances, and someone who couldn’t follow the basic rules of normal society was usually “disposed of” pretty readily.

Kind of like the mafia, but a little hairier and with less garlic.

About fifteen minutes later we pulled into the driveway of the small suburban house Sara and I rented. I saw her part the drapes and look out the window. She saw the car and I raised a hand to let her know it was me.

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She nodded and pulled the curtains shut again, giving Beau and me privacy.

I wanted to stay in his company for a few minutes more, but part of me was on edge. My mind was stewing with Tony’s appearance tonight, my thoughts full of wolves and Sara’s safety … and I couldn’t stop thinking about Beau’s smile and when his fingers had brushed my palm earlier.

But I’d accepted my role as my sister’s protector a long time ago, and it didn’t leave room for a man in my life, especially one with a tail.

Beau put an arm behind my shoulders and I stiffened, but he only toyed with a lock of hair that had escaped my bun, his fingers brushing against my neck in a small motion that sent shivers down my spine.

“I had a nice time tonight,” he said.

Lord, he was gorgeous. His dark brown hair looked inky black in the darkness, his eyes pale. “Listen, Beau—”

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He laid a finger over my mouth, silencing me before I could shoot him down.

“Shh,” he said, not perturbed in the slightest at my reluctance. “The week is young, Bathsheba. There’s plenty of time. I have until Saturday before things get desperate.”

“I don’t follow you.”

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “How so?”

“You call the agency and demand a date—any date. And when you decide you don’t want to date a harpy, a vampire, a doppelganger, or anything else I can pull up on file, you ask for a stand-in. Me.” I threw my hands up in the air. “And now you’re saying it’s okay, because we have time until Saturday. What does Saturday have to do with anything?”

He stared at me, and then he laughed.

I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling wounded and embarrassed. “What’s so darn funny?”

“I thought you knew. I figured someone in your line of work would guess …” He smiled. “I have to say that this puts a new spin on things.”

“What are you talking about?”

He leaned in close, setting my pulse to thrumming hard, and I instinctively leaned back.

“I’m going into heat,” he said.

Chapter Three

I shied back at his declaration. “You’re what?”

He reached for the lock of hair again, playing with it. “In heat. So to speak.”

“I … I …” I blinked, trying to gather my thoughts. “I thought only females went into heat.” Didn’t men have the wrong equipment for that? Trying to be nonchalant, I flicked a glance at his package. Well, now. Either he truly was in heat, or he was as well built as he claimed.

“We all use the term, and you’re right, only females go into heat.” His mouth twisted. “One of the female cougars in my clan is about to go into heat in a few days. Her need affects all the males, so there’s fighting among the unmated guys to claim her, and clan politics get really messy right about now. Normally she would just leave town if she didn’t have a mate, but … she can’t this time.” His face grew tight.

“Oh,” I breathed, thinking hard. My gaze darted rapidly to the sensual curve of his mouth, the hint of tongue that touched his lips. Oh, my. “So why don’t you and the female hook up?”

“It’s complicated,” he said, and slid a little closer to me. “And I want you.”

“Oh,” I repeated, retreating. The back of my head smacked against the fogging window of the Viper. Maybe it was taboo for him to date her? I didn’t know much about Alliance politics—or cougars in general—but they had their own special hierarchy. “Is that why … Rosie … ?”

He nodded and whisked his hand to my hair, pulling out the clip that kept my tight bun in place and releasing the blond strands to spill over my shoulders. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he said, running his fingers through it and then kneading them against my neck, like a cat kneading its paws. His voice was a low growl. “Your hair is ***y as hell. How long is it?”

“To my waist,” I breathed, my breath quickening to match his, my eyes locked on his face. “So you were using the dating service to find someone because you were in heat?”

He lifted a handful of my hair and let it slide between his fingers like silk. Definitely a hint of purring in the back of his throat. “I don’t give a **** about Rosie. Your dating service was the only option available for a last-minute date that wouldn’t mind what I am, so I paid the ridiculous fee and set up a profile in the same hopes.”

I jerked my hair back out of his hand. “Our business is not ridiculous. We cater to a very specific need.”

“It’s a dangerous business, and Giselle knows it. What’s worse is that she doesn’t care.” His gray eyes searched mine. “She’s a fool for hiring humans to do a delicate job. You’re going to cross some line you won’t even know about, and then you’ll all end up in trouble.”

“Oh?” I shoved my hair back over my shoulders. His eyes followed the move, and my body tingled with awareness. “Like the way you crossed a line by dating a human?”

“Something like that,” he growled, leaning in.

I planted my hand on his face and shoved. “You picked the wrong girl for your heat.”

His smile curved against my fingers. “What makes you say that?”

“I’m a virgin.” No one had gotten into my panties for twenty-five years, and this ****y guy wasn’t going to be the first.

“I suspected as much,” he said.

I opened my mouth to ask why when something caught the corner of my eye. A shadow passed behind the upstairs window, blocking out the light. “Someone’s in my bedroom.” I leaned forward, staring out over the dashboard.

Sara never went into my room. She was too afraid of her scent contaminating my clothing.

His eyes were intense on me. “Are you trying to distract me?”

But then Sara peeked out of the downstairs window—in the living room—and the shadow passed behind my bedroom window again. My heart pounded, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Beau tense.

“Hold this,” Beau said, handing me his keys and his cell phone and leaping out of the car.

“Wait,” I called after him, throwing my door open. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll get her out of there,” he said. “Stay in the car.” He disappeared to the far side of the car and out of my sight.

Beauty Dates the Beast
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I stared at my bedroom window, wanting the shape to reappear so I would know I wasn’t mad, and dreading it at the same time. Sitting in the car was pointless. I jumped out of the Viper and dialed the home phone, my hands shaking so hard it was difficult to dial. I had to try twice before the call went through.

“Hello,” Sara said, confused.

“Sara, are you there with Beau? Is he in there with you?” I was babbling so fast that I sounded incoherent.

“Beau? I thought he was with you. Why are you calling from the driveway?”

“Never mind. Just get out of the house, right now. Come meet me on the front lawn.”

“I’m not dressed—”

“Just do it, Sara!” I ended the call and scrutinized every window. Where was the intruder? Where was Beau? He was nowhere to be seen.

And neither was my sister. Damn. If she wasn’t coming out, I was going in after her.

I tossed Beau’s keys on the hood as I ran forward … and stumbled over a man’s shoe. Confused, I looked down. There was the match to it, along with a pair of slacks and an expensive shirt matching the one Beau had worn to our date.

It didn’t register in my mind at first.

The sound of breaking glass made me look up, and I saw an enormous tawny shadow disappear through the downstairs window.

Had … had Beau shifted to go after Sara? I heard the roar of the cat inside—and Sara’s scream.

****.

I ran forward, the urge to protect Sara overwhelming, nearly blinding me with fear. My sister needed me—

As my hand touched the doorknob, the bushes on the side of the house rustled. I turned, drawn in that direction despite myself. My purse wasn’t heavy, but I’d use it as a weapon anyhow if I needed to. I took a few steps toward the bushes. “Beau? Is that you?”

A low, unearthly growl met my ears.

Was it Beau … in his cat form? I took another step toward the bushes, then stopped. Would he recognize me if he was in his cat form? Was this quite possibly the dumbest move ever?

I took a step backward and decided to try another tactic. “Sara,” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Beau!”

“Over here,” Sara said, her voice distant and odd.

I turned and saw the most beautiful sight in the world—Sara’s tiny frame was cradled in Beau’s arms. They stood on the far side of the Viper, having emerged from our small backyard on the far side of the house. I bolted toward them. “Sara! Thank God!”

My sister was in a pair of pajamas, her body stiff with fear, shoulders hunched in a way that I recognized—trying to make her body smaller in the hopes that she might curl it tight enough to mask her scent. As I ran toward them, I realized Beau was buck naked. With the massive breadth to his shoulders and the light sprinkling of hair on his chest—much lighter than I’d imagined for a were-cougar—and the narrow hips and …

Oh, boy.

“Hi,” I blurted, my voice cracking, but fear for Sara quickly overrode my awkwardness at Beau’s nu***y. “What happened? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Beau said, still holding her against him. “When I came in through the back of the house in cougar form, I scared her and she fainted.”

Of course she had. She had probably thought he’d been coming for her, or she’d been on the verge of doing another shift. Sara gave me a tiny smile of embarrassment and rubbed her arms, as if warding off another involuntary shift.

I could understand that. I felt a little faint myself. “Who was in our house?”

Beauty Dates the Beast
Page 20



His gaze darkened. “No one that I could find. When I went upstairs to check, the place was empty. It was like no one had been there, except there was a smell …” He frowned to himself.

“What sort of smell?”

“Like rotten meat,” Sara added. “I didn’t know what was going on, just that the house stank. I was changing the garbage when you called.”

I gestured at the bushes on the opposite side of the house from where they’d come. “I thought I heard something over there, but I didn’t smell anything.”

“I’ll check it out.” Beau immediately set Sara down and crossed the yard.

I watched his bu**ocks flex in the moonlight as he walked toward the bushes. It was hard to force myself away from the sight, but concern for my sister drew me back to her, and I turned, touching her arm and examining her with my gaze. “Are you all right?”

“Just trying to hold it together,” she said in a shaky voice. “He caught me by surprise. I … I hope he didn’t smell me.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, lying to comfort her. To be safe, I surreptitiously hid my hand behind my back and wiped it on my dress to try and remove her smell.

She looked over my shoulder, and choked a little. “He’s coming back.”

I turned. Blood roared in my ears as I stared at the man striding across the lawn, all tawny skin and rippling muscles and completely, utterly naked. And judging by his casual, graceful stance, he didn’t care that he was naked.

“Oh, I am in so much trouble,” I breathed, watching him move. Then I picked up Beau’s pants, holding them out to him with my eyes closed so I wouldn’t see anything else and be tempted. “I’m fine, really,” Sara protested from beside me in the Viper. The wind was high and icy outside, so I sat in the driver’s seat while we waited for Beau. “You’re making too big of a fuss.”