Beauty Dates the Beast(34)

Giselle was thrilled and scheduled it for the next night. “Leave all your nights free,” she crowed. “Business is going to be better than ever.”

I managed to keep a polite smile on my face.

My dark mood blackened further when I went into the bathroom to change clothes and noticed the scent of strawberries mixed with roses, which immediately made me think of Beau. On a hunch, I opened the wastebasket and peered inside. Sure enough, a bouquet of beautiful red roses and a pretty container of chocolate-covered strawberries had been thrown in the trash. I picked the card out of the garbage and saw my name on it.

Damn Giselle. I’d have liked to have seen my present before she’d thrown it away.


I changed into a light gray sweater dress with opaque tights for my date with Jason. I’d found one of Beau’s love bites on my calf, and the sight of it had made me blush (and get hot at the same time), but my skirt hadn’t been quite long enough to hide it, so I’d had to change clothes before my date. The new ensemble itched, but it covered me from ear to toe, and that was important.



Giselle had seen the love bite, as well. She’d not been amused.

Jason was all boyish charm that evening, and I could tell he was out to impress me. He bought expensive wine, he told funny anecdotes about banking, and he encouraged me to talk. He was one of those touchy-feely types, too. He’d reach across the table and touch my hand, and I imagine any other woman would have been dazzled at the display of affection.

It annoyed the hell out of me. I pulled my hand away every time he reached out to touch it. For once the blushing virgin act did me a favor.

“Shall we go dancing?” he suggested as he handed the waiter his credit card and I toyed with my cherries jubilee. “There’s a great salsa club downtown that I can get us into.”

Salsa dancing? Shoot me now. “I have two left feet,” I admitted.

His white smile flashed again. “So modest. I thought all women liked dancing,” he teased.

The thought of dancing with Jason made my stomach lurch. Maybe it was because I’d be so close to him that his cologne would smother me. “Perhaps we’d better end the evening. I’m not feeling so well.” It wasn’t a lie; His heavy, musky cologne had become choking after ten minutes.

He looked crestfallen. “Is it me, Bathsheba? Have I done something to offend you?”

Great, now I felt like a monster. “It’s not you,” I said, forcing myself to reach across the table and grasp his hand to reassure him, because I knew he’d appreciate the gesture. “I’m just … not in a great place tonight.”

Or tomorrow. Or ever again.

He gave me an understanding look, and his hand squeezed mine. “I totally understand.” He accepted the bill from the waiter and signed his name without looking at the tab, then added several large bills—more than I’d spent at the grocery store in the past month—as a tip. “I recognize when my date’s too distracted to concentrate on dinner.”

Maybe it was the three glasses of wine or the soft, understanding tone of his voice, but I smiled at him. “You can see right through me.”

Frankly, I was just relieved our date was coming to an end. I couldn’t wait to get away from him. I let him tuck me into his nice, bland, champagne-colored Lexus and him drive me back to the office.

At least, I thought we were going back to the office. When we pulled up to a huge electronic gate with the initials JTC wrought into the ironwork, I gave him a suspicious look. “Why are we going to your place?”

“It’s entirely innocent, I assure you,” he said. “I thought you might like a coffee and maybe watch a movie. The evening is still early.”

He had a point, and I forced myself to calm the unease that skittered through me. If he dropped me off too quickly, Giselle’s radar would be on alert. “All right. Though I’m not really in the mood for coffee.”

Jason grinned. “Wine, then. Giselle told me you’re a fan of reds.”

I forced a tight smile. “Great.” I really hated Giselle sometimes.

Jason smoothly steered up the long, winding driveway and I tried not to let my jaw drop as we parked. Jason owned a veritable palace. Versailles, American style. Built as an old-fashioned plantation house, it had twenty-four windows along the front, and that was just the porch area. His house probably had well over a dozen rooms, each one grander than the last. The outside was rather spectacular, as well. Pretty columns supported the arching roof, and ivy wrapped around the columns.

Holy crap. Jason had money money. “When you said you were in banking, I thought you meant loans,” I said.

He nodded at the servant who opened my car door, letting me out. “I do loans,” he said agreeably.

“No,” I corrected. “I thought you were the paper-pusher. The monkey who writes down the info. You’re the freaking monkey with the money!” I gestured at the house. “Holy crap.”

He gave a boisterous laugh and came around to my side of the car, tucking my hand in his arm in an old-fashioned manner. “You’re still wrong, though.”

I let him lead me in. Holy crap, was that a crystal chandelier? “I’m wrong about what?”

“Not a monkey,” he said affably. “A cougar.” His eyes gleamed green at me, sizing me up in blatant fashion.

A shapeshifter joke, maybe, but it still freaked me out. “Figure of speech,” I said faintly. “I was kidding.”

He grinned. “I like it when you tease me.”

Oh, boy. I gave him an awkward smile.

Jason led me into the den, his hand moving to the small of my back. A massive plasma TV covered one wall of the study, and lines of DVDs trimmed the walls instead of books. Speakers were mounted in every corner of the arched ceiling. The man liked his toys.

Suddenly he turned me around and pulled my body up against his. “ ’Sheba,” he breathed. His fingernails dug into me, pricking through my clothing and breaking the skin. “I’ve been thinking about how sexy you look all night.”

I could feel a drop of blood slide down my wrist and I twisted my hands, trying to shove him away. “Jason, let go! Your claws—”

He released me immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said, breathing hard as he stared at me. “I don’t know what came over me.” He reached into a pocket and offered me a handkerchief.

Well, don’t let it come over you again. I dabbed at my wrist. The blood was just a trickle, and it dried up within moments. I thanked him for the handkerchief, then hesitated. Should I throw it away?

Jason extended a hand and gave me a rueful smile. “Here, let me take care of that for you.”

I handed it to him.

He turned his back and his shoulders hunched, and he didn’t move for a moment. I leaned to the side, trying to see what he was doing. Was he … sniffing the bloody handkerchief?

My weirdo radar went off.

Jason moved across the room and tossed the handkerchief in the trash, and I wondered if I’d imagined the whole thing. He reapproached me, stalking me like I was his prey. I took a step backward, my body pressing against the wall. My breath disappeared in a gasp as he pulled me against him. His arms anchored my body against his and he bent to my neck, pushing my collar down and feverishly laving kisses on my skin.

“Jason!” My hands pushed his shoulders—the man was impossible to budge. “What are you doing?”

His hands slid down to my ass. “Let me wipe him from your mind, Sheba,” he breathed against my neck, his tongue sliding over my skin. “You’re so beautiful, and sexy—”

I squirmed, trying to get away, and managed to slide out of his grasp. “Jason, what the hell?”

He stiffened, staring at me in shock. His eyes flicked to the weird cat gleam, then back again. “Your neck …” His nostrils flared.

Shit. I’d forgotten all about Beau’s rampaging marks all over my skin. Not that I’d expected to be mauled by my current date. I straightened my high collar and gave him an insulted look. “There’s nothing wrong with my neck.”

“I thought you were a virgin.” There was a dangerous note in his voice.

My face turned bright red. “I’m a virgin, not a nun.” I was counting on his not trying to check the virginity thing for himself.

Jason stared at me with hot eyes for a moment longer, then shook himself. “Forgive me. I was … overcome.”

“I should leave.”

“No,” he said, and the look in his eyes became soft and pleading. “Please. We’ll just talk. I promise. I’m sorry.”

I wavered, flustered. “I … I suppose.”

Smiling with relief, Jason showed me to a plush leather chair in the entertainment room. As I sank into the seat, he said, “I need to make a couple of calls. Can you give me a moment?”