Beauty Dates the Beast(35)

He was leaving me here? When I didn’t want to be here anyway? I tried to hide my annoyance and exhaustion. “Look, Jason, we can do this some other time—”

He put his hands on my shoulders, and my eyes watered at the heavy smell of his cologne. “No, please, ’Sheba.”

Why did I find his stupid nickname for me so irritating?

“I promise I won’t be long,” he continued. “And then we can get to know each other better.” His eyes were pleading, and his thumb brushed against my shoulder as if he could convince me the more he touched me. “I want you to stay.”

He seemed to want it rather desperately.

How long it would take for him to tattle to Giselle if I left? “Sure,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “But I can’t stay too late. I have work early …”

He winked at me in a way that screamed total cheese. “I won’t keep you out too late, I promise. Let me have one of the servants bring you some wine while I make my calls.”

Servants? How very posh of him.

Jason disappeared, leaving me alone and sucking in clean, fresh air. What was it about him that seemed so overpowering and choking? His cologne was heavy, but I’d smelled stronger. Maybe he just wasn’t Beau, and so I rejected him. Beau always smelled clean and musky and delicious, never overpowering.

I shook away those thoughts and moved to examine the DVD collection. Lots of war movies, black and white movies, and foreign with subtitles.

Sheesh. Give me Revenge of the Nerds over Casablanca any day.

I picked through his movies for several long minutes, bored and checking my watch. He’d been gone for a while now.

“Miss?” There was a small knock at the door. A maid appeared with a tray holding a wine bottle and two expensive-looking glasses. She seemed nervous, and was small and thin, with limp brown hair and an oversized gray uniform. “The master sent me in to see to your needs.”

The “master”? Jason clearly had issues.

I pulled out my cell phone. “What’s the address here?” When she recited it, I typed it in, texting Ryder: COME GET ME NOW.

The maid looked at the tray uncertainly when I was done. “The master instructed me to bring this.”

I gestured to a nearby end table. “Just put it there. Thank you.”

She set the tray down, but the weight was balanced wrong, and as soon as she released it the whole thing toppled over, wine spilling into the pale silk Persian carpet.

We both sucked in a breath at the same time. I quickly reached for the bottle, placing it on the table. The damage was done—a deep red stain the size of a basketball had already soaked into the carpet. “Do you have any towels nearby? We can catch the worst of this before it sets in.”

No response. I turned and looked at the maid.

Her eyes were wide with fear, her pupils dilated. She wrung her hands, silent tears dripped down her cheeks, and shudders wracked her form.

Oh, Lord. “It’s just a little wine,” I said with a reassuring smile. “Towels?”

She fell to her knees and began to sob as if she’d been given a death sentence.

Either she was a total drama queen, or she was frightened out of her mind. Frowning, I went out into the hallway, looking for other servants. “Hello? Is anybody there? Jason?”

Another woman in gray appeared from another doorway. She looked at me with hunched shoulders, as if she expected to be backhanded instead of greeted.

What was wrong with these people?

“Can I help you, miss?” she said in a soft voice.

I nodded and pointed at the door. “Can you come in here for a second?”

She followed me like a timid little mouse. When she saw the other woman, prostrate and sobbing with fear, and the wine stain on the rug, she turned on her heel and ran.

“Are you running to get towels?” I called, unease niggling inside me. “Hello?”

I could hear her feet slamming up the stairs and a door shutting behind her.

All right, that was it. I didn’t care that Ryder wasn’t here yet—I’d wait outside. I took a pen and a grocery receipt out of my purse and wrote a note to Jason.

Can’t stay tonight. Sorry about the wine I spilled. I’ll pay for the cleaning service. Can we catch up some other time?





I signed it and handed the note to the maid. “Look, I’m going to take full responsibility for the wine, all right? I was reaching for the bottle and knocked it over—that’s the story we’re going to use.” I gave her a friendly smile.

Her tears dried a little, and her breathing calmed from those awful, gasping sobs. “Yes, ma’am.”

Something really weird was going on, and I wasn’t going to stick around to find out what. I gave her an encouraging smile and grabbed my things, then headed out of the house. Jason was creeping me out big time.

The mansion’s driveway was long and cobbled, and it snaked through the woodsy area surrounding his estate. Given that it was rather dark outside and my nerves were shot, it wasn’t the most relaxing walk. I kept hearing noises in the woods, and I walked even faster.

I punched the release for the gate and slipped out before it had even finished opening, then trotted down the street a ways so I could watch the oncoming cars.

Of all fortuitous, lucky things, a large truck slowed next to me. Ryder. Thank God.

I peeked inside to double-check that it was her, but the door opened and Beau slid out of the passenger seat. A squeak of protest erupted from my throat, and I stared inside the cab. Ramsey was driving.

“Where’s Ryder?”

“We were at the office and I told her I’d take care of this. Hop in.”

“How do I know this isn’t all some hilarious plan to kidnap me again and take me back to the Love Lodge?”

Beau’s grin was feral. “You don’t.”

I scowled and glanced back at Jason’s mansion on the hill. Creepy overbearing cougar in the mansion? Or too-sexy-for-my-own-good cougar I was trying to break up with? There was really no question, but I pulled my phone out to text Ryder and noticed that she’d sent a message a few minutes ago.

Don’t be mad. Beau is very determined to see you.

No shit, Sherlock.

“Why were you at Midnight Liaisons?” I asked.

“Marie had promised to pull some records on the Anderson wolves for me, to see if we could match up all their addresses.”

I softened, seeing the worry on his brow. “Still can’t find Savannah?”

He shook his head, then gestured at the truck. “You going to get in?”

I slid inside the cab. Beau got in beside me, shut the door, then pulled me into his lap.

While this was slightly better than being squeezed against Ramsey’s glowering hulk, it was still awkward. “Beau,” I said, trying to slide off, “I can’t sit in your lap.”

He gave me a teasing look but refused to let me go. “Remember that last conversation we had, where you said you didn’t want me in your life?”

“I remember,” I said, trying not to look him straight in the eye so I could hold onto my resolve.

He shrugged, and my eyes were drawn back to those wide shoulders like some starving nympho. I couldn’t have him in my life. I couldn’t.

“I don’t accept that,” he said.

I shook my head to clear it. “Accept what?”

“Your rejection of me,” he said, taking my hand. His hand was so warm and comforting. “I’ve decided not to take no for an answer.”

I shivered at the thrill his words gave me. I forced sarcasm to my voice. “Do you think I can just give you a nice little kiss and pretend that I haven’t dumped you twice?”

“That sounds real good to me.” Then his mouth was on mine, his hand moving around behind my neck to hold me against him.

Me and my big mouth.

Him and his delicious, sinful mouth. His lips were soft, warm, delicious. He knew what he was after, and like a single-minded general, he came, he saw, and he conquered. After the first stroke of his tongue into my mouth, I was lost. His tongue swept through my mouth, possessing and playful, and I met it with my own. No one tasted as good as Beau.

I was so not over him; I wanted him despite everything. My hand curled into his shirt, and I slid my thigh over his.

Ramsey cleared his throat, and I crash-landed back down to earth. Beau’s mouth stretched into a faint smile.

I punched him in the shoulder. “Stop doing that to me.”

He put his hands up as if surrendering, and his eyes locked on me. “Who were you with?”

I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “None of your damn business.”

His eyes flashed in the darkness, the were-cougar version of having a temper tantrum. “You reek of cologne.”

Yeah, well, so did my date. “Beau, stop it.”