Beauty Dates the Beast(13)

“Aren’t you even the slightest bit curious as to what I talked to Giselle about?”

I opened the file cabinet and dropped a stack of Qs into a J folder. Who cared? I’d fish it out later. “All right, then. What did you talk about?”

“You and me seeing each other. Giselle is fine with it; you’re not in any trouble. In fact, we’re going out tonight.”

I plopped another set of files randomly into the drawer. If only he knew the truth: I wasn’t in trouble because of the simple fact that I was being blackmailed. “Great,” I said, trying to force enthusiasm into my voice. “I can’t wait.”

Actually, the small, selfish part of me was very excited about going out with him again. The practical, thinking-of-my-sister’s-safety side was worried. And all of me was concerned about Giselle. “What about the rest of the week? Until your heat?”

“Taken care of, If you’re willing to put up with me,” he said with a smile.

I didn’t have a choice. “I’m sure I’ll manage,” I said in a voice that I tried to make light and teasing. “You’re pretty hard on the eyes, but I’ll try and suffer through for a good cause.”

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. The warm feeling fluttered in my stomach at the thought of seeing Beau again so soon. It grew when he moved closer to me and put his hand on my arm. He smelled terrific, sun-warmed. I wanted to lick him and taste it.

I blushed at the thought.

“Tonight at eight,” he said, reaching out to touch the soft end of my long ponytail. “Dinner. Wear your hair down, please. For me.”

Giselle emerged from her office, a hint of a frown crossing her lovely face at the sight of the two of us standing so close together. I skittered backward and rammed into the file cabinet. Ow.

Beau glanced over at Giselle, then took my hand and pressed a light kiss to the back of it. “I’ll pick you up here,” he said, and left the office with a quick nod and smile to Giselle.

Uck. Giselle. I froze against the file cabinet and didn’t move until Beau disappeared from sight and the bell on the front door clanged against the glass. Then Giselle slithered forward like a snake with prey in its sights. “You’re going out with him at eight.”

The tension in my shoulders eased. “I know.” I took the information sheet from her with cautious fingers.

“To be on time, you’ll need to be dressed and ready to leave by two.”

Where were we going to dinner? Timbuktu? “Two?”

Her smile was brilliant. “You have a date with one client at two thirty. Another client at five. Then you see Beau at eight to placate him.”

She was going to stack my dates one after another, for maximum use of her new toy—me. I immediately felt dirty but shoved the feeling aside. I’d agreed to do this, even if it made me feel used. “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. Then I asked, “Clothes?”

She handed me a pink business card from her dress pocket (where did she have pockets in that thing?). “You’re going to see my friend Francesca over at Saks in the Galleria. She’ll get you set up with some decent clothing.” Giselle studied my appearance. “See if she can’t do something with your hair and makeup, too. We want innocent but seductive.”

“Right.” I said, taking the card from her. In the corner of my eye, I saw Sara exit the filing room, and just as quickly go back in at the sight of Giselle.

“So who am I dating?” I forced a smile to my face.

“Do you remember Mr. Jason Cartland? He was in yesterday.”

I drew a blank for a moment, then gasped. “The hot guy? Were-cougar?” We seemed to be brimming with horny were-cougars lately.

“It would seem so,” she said smugly. “He’s your two thirty.”

Well, this might not be so terribly awful. Jason was a beautiful man, and he seemed nice. Comfortable, despite his too beaming white smile. “Who’s the five?”

“His name is Garth,” she said with a look of delight, as if she’d just seen dollar signs flash in front of her eyes. “He’s very rich. Middle-aged, never been married. Country music song writer. He likes baseball and trucks. He’ll be quite a catch.”

Blech. “Sounds lovely,” I said. “And he is …” Tall? Short? Fat? Desperate? Deaf? Mute? Lord, I hoped he was mute.

“Naga.”

I blanched. “Snake?” I hated snakes.

“Snake,” she agreed. “And you’re going to tell him that you love snakes. Understand?”

“I love snakes,” I parroted back in a gushing, idiotic voice. “Snakes and baseball and country music. They’re my favorites.”

“Good girl,” Giselle said, patting me on my cheek like I was a dog.





Chapter Five





A couple of hours later, I looked utterly delicious and felt completely miserable. Francesca had picked out a few outfits for me, not one of them practical in the slightest. I was currently trussed in a black lace cocktail dress with terribly cute but impossibly high heels. My feet hurt after just five minutes, but I had to admit that the effect was impressive.



So was the bill for everything.

Francesca had sent me to a beauty salon after she’d picked out my clothing. My long straight hair had been fluffed and teased and blown-out within an inch of its life, and the resulting white-blond mess atop my head was gorgeous, artfully tousled, and crunchy with hairspray. It looked great as long as you didn’t touch it. The makeup artist had lined my eyes with a delicate gray liner that made them seem bigger, and had pinked my complexion with some artful blush. The resulting effect was dewy, and I looked very much like a nubile ingénue.

Jason seemed to think so, too, and the looks he was giving me were going to cause a permanent blush.

He was every inch as dazzling as I’d remembered. He had a heavy build, all muscle and tanned flesh, whereas Beau ran toward lean (but with very broad shoulders). He wore a charcoal wool jacket with an open-neck pale blue silk shirt. He looked every inch the rich playboy—except for one thing. For all his gorgeous looks and his money, Jason was very heavily into cheap cologne. Very. Heavily. Either BRUT or Old Spice.

Still, the character of a man wasn’t determined by the quality or quantity of his cologne, and I resolved to look past it. I gave Jason a faint smile over my water glass.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?” he said, indicating my small salad. “Please order anything you’d like.”

I gave a small shrug. “I’m really not that hungry.” Actually, I was ravenous, but Giselle had two more meals scheduled for me, so I was holding back. Plus, everything I put in my mouth seemed to taste like Old Spice. So I drank my water and pretended interest as Jason talked.

And tried not to think about Beau. He’d smelled really nice. Last night when I’d been cuddled up against him, a faint, spicy scent had clung to his skin that I hadn’t been able to figure out. Deodorant or body wash, maybe. Very subtle, and clean.

My nose itched. I decided that I liked subtle and clean.

“—friends with Beau Russell?”

I focused back in on my date, who was beaming a megawatt white smile at me. “I’m sorry?”

“I was asking about Beau. He’s a friend of yours?”

Blank, I stared at him. He’d heard my phone conversation and wanted to call us “friends”? “I guess you could call it that.” Is that what Giselle was calling it? Best to play along.

“I hear he’s an important man in his clan.”

Talking about him made me unhappy, so I said, “I wouldn’t know.”

To my relief he took the hint and switched the topic to other things. Jason was a wonderful date—he was witty, charming, laughed at my attempts at humor, and made me feel pretty. Women slowed as they walked past our table, checking him out. He touched my hand repeatedly, devoured me with his eyes, and made it obvious that he wanted to eat me up like candy.

So why was my brain entirely focused on the man I’d been out with last night? Both men were were-cougars. Both men were handsome. Jason was the epitome of niceness, while Beau’s playful smile drove me crazy with desire.

Torn between two cougars. Strangely enough, not a problem I’d ever thought I’d have.


My next date wasn’t much better.



It was another restaurant (the default setting, of course) and it started out well. At least for the first five minutes. After that we steered directly into uncomfortable territory.

“So,” Garth the naga said, “what do you do?” His eyes watched me with entirely too much interest, his gaze focused on my cleavage. At least Jason had had the decency to look me in the eye.

I toyed with a bit of chicken parmigiana. Was I supposed to admit that I worked at the agency, or should I lie about it? As I hesitated, Garth’s tongue flicked over his lips. Good God, was that thing forked?