BargainWiththeBeast (11 page)

“Tell me about yourself, Gwen.” He brushed his lips along
the curve of her ear as he spoke and she squeezed her eyes tighter before
lifting her lashes to stare down at his long-fingered hands, holding the reins
in a loose grip. “I want to know you again.”

Once more she angled her head back to regard him. “Do you?”
she asked and managed not to wince at the vulnerability in those two words. But
she didn’t glance away. Didn’t pretend as if his request for intimate knowledge
of her didn’t carry importance in her heart. Didn’t feign as if a hidden part
of her soul wasn’t dancing in delight at the possibility she may be more than
an available body to him.

“Yes.” His solemn gaze met hers and held it. “Yes, I do.”

She resumed her forward position. Where did she start? With
Joshua’s death? The years of guilt she’d come to terms with only last night in
his arms?

“A few months after Josh’s death, I assumed the role of
program director at the community center. I’d been on staff there a couple of
years and after Josh…” She paused and allowed the spasm of hurt to pass. “After
Josh, I started spending more time there so I was thrilled when the board
offered me the position.”

“It was your lifesaver,” he added and the wealth of
understanding in his voice loosened the knot in her throat.

“Yes,” she said. “It saved me. The people, the children, the
purpose. I poured all of myself into the center and the kids there.”

“They needed you.”

She shrugged. “I’m not saying it was healthy and, in
hindsight I was definitely avoiding dealing with my grief by burying myself in
work, but in time I found a measure of healing.”

“A measure?”

The throb of a wound covered by a fresh scab pulsed in her
heart. Forgiveness was so new. Even after six years she hadn’t found complete
absolution and release. But unlike days ago, she now possessed faith she would
one day.

“Yes,” she whispered. “A measure.”

He slowly nodded. “You still love him.”

The statement contained no accusation or anger—no emotion at
all. But the deliberate emptiness declared more than a speech.

Gwendolyn tipped her head back to stare at the crisp blue
sky. Two birds soaring through the clouds snagged her attention. One hovered a
short distance behind the other as if promising to catch its mate if it fell.
She yearned for the same security, commitment and trust. The assurance that
when she faltered, love would buoy her up.

“I’ll always miss him,” she stated, choosing her words with
care. “He was my best friend, my first relationship. He gave me the stability
my mother never did. For his friendship he will always hold a special place in
my heart.” She tightened her grip on the saddle horn as the last part—the
hardest part—of her admission arrived. “But I don’t hold a torch for him.
Nothing is preventing me from caring for someone again. I want to…love.”

“But you haven’t been with anyone.” Xavier shifted behind
her and pressed closer. The stiff column of his cock pushed into her lower back
and, though he only held her close, liquid need pooled between her legs. “Your
actions don’t show you’re ready, Gwen.”

She lowered her head. How could she respond to that? Not
with the truth.

“Seven years,” he wondered aloud. “You said it’d been seven
years since you’d been with a man. Joshua has been dead for six. Why,
sweetheart?”

Dust coated her mouth and her pulse echoed inside her head
like a bass drum. She swiped her tongue over her dry lips and filled her lungs
to respond, but nothing emerged. Again, words eluded her. Somehow,
I
couldn’t abide having sex with your brother any longer since every encounter
left me sick with guilt, as if I were cheating on you instead of him,
didn’t seem like the appropriate thing to say.

“Gwen?”

“We agreed to be celibate a year before we married.” Partly
true. She’d requested it and Josh had agreed. At the time, she’d been shocked
at his acquiescence. But had he suspected her love for Xavier even then?

“I always thought Josh was a saint,” he murmured, switching
the leather reins to one hand and lifting the other to her cheek. A gust of
breath shuddered from between her lips as he trailed the backs of his fingers
over her skin. Her lashes fluttered closed as love squeezed her heart. “Now I
have clear evidence. He must’ve had a fucking halo to agree. There’s no way I
could have you and not be inside you at any given opportunity.”

Molten heat throbbed in her core as if the hard thrust of
his cock filled her, stretched her. The rhythmic rise and fall of the horse
beneath her did nothing to alleviate the ache. The mare’s gait inflamed the
need, stoked it until her breathing grew shallow and she shivered with the
longing to touch and be touched.

Xavier called to the horse and drew back on the reins. As
the mare halted, Gwendolyn glanced around a lovely glen with a small brook
running next to it. The quiet peace of the oasis called to her as Xavier
dismounted, and she didn’t utter a protest when he gripped her waist and lifted
her from the saddle.

“This is beautiful.” She smiled at him over her shoulder.
Several quick steps brought her to the clear water. It babbled over the dark
bed of the creek and the cleverly placed stepping stones leading to the stretch
of vibrant green on the other side. “How did you find it?”

He stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.
“I’ve spent a lot of time out here.” Again, the carefully neutral voice.

She turned away from the idyllic scene and studied him.
Though he stood motionless, power emanated from his still form. His vitality
tugged at her like a siren song. She’d crashed on the shores of his desire, had
drowned under the waves of his passion. And she longed for a repeat
performance.

Gwendolyn’s gaze clashed with his narrowed regard. “My
turn.”

Xavier lifted both brows, but remained silent. Even when she
retraced her steps across the grass, halted before him and raised a hand to his
face—the left side. She gave him credit. He almost managed to stifle his flinch
as she neared the scar. If she hadn’t been scrutinizing him so closely, she
would’ve missed the nearly imperceptible jerk.

She stroked his clenched jaw and stubble the sharpest razor
couldn’t remove grazed her knuckles.

“Your turn?” he questioned, his voice a low rumble in the
still glen.

“To ask about you,” she explained.

With a sigh of delight, she thrust her fingers under the
bound tail of hair at his neck and cupped his scalp. The black fan of his
lashes flickered, but his eyes didn’t close. His faint hiss smacked of approval,
not distress.

“You have beautiful hair, Xavier. I remember being so
jealous of it. It didn’t seem fair God gave you—a man—such thick, gorgeous
manageable hair while cursing me with the wild mop I had—have.”

A corner of his full lips quirked at her disgruntled
complaint.

“I’ve always loved your hair,” he murmured.

Lord.
She gasped, her eyes almost rolling to the back
of her head as he twisted a handful in a gentle but firm grip. He’d tugged on
the curls in the same manner when kissing her. Who would’ve guessed nerves in
the scalp were connected to the clit? A little-known medical mystery.

“I used to have fantasies about it. About fisting a handful
of your curls around my cock and fucking your hair.” A self-deprecating smile
curved his mouth. “Depraved, isn’t it?”

Hot. Erotic. Orgasmic. But no, not depraved.
“You
never let on…” She swallowed in an attempt to wet her mouth which had gone dry
as the Sahara. “When?”

Xavier dropped his hand and the suddenness of the action
left her alone, bereft. As if she’d been abruptly shoved into the freezing cold
after warming herself in front of a comforting, lovely fire. His gaze—which had
burned with desire—cooled. A door had slammed in his head, locking her out of
his thoughts. “Long past the time I should’ve.”

“What does that—”

“What did you want to ask me?”

She snapped her mouth shut, the questions trapped. For a
long second, they examined each other, the past sandwiched between them like a
fucked-up ménage.

Finally, she flexed her fingertips against his head. “Why do
you wear your hair tied back? I haven’t seen it loose except for last night…”

She sucked in a hard breath.

Held it.

All sound in the glade fell away until an unnatural, thick
silence reigned. Nothing moved. Not the soaring birds. Not the gurgling brook.
Not Xavier.

Her throat burned from the lack of oxygen. But it couldn’t
compare to the utter agony in his eyes.
Jesus.
Air exploded from her
lungs and she snatched her hand from his hair and cradled it in her other palm.
No one should hurt like that.

“Never mind.” She shook her head. “You don’t have—”

“I’m a monster,” he said. And she could have wept at the
conviction in the stark statement. “This way no one forgets.” If possible, his
features tautened even more. “Do you know why Evelyn and I broke up?” He
released a humorless bark of laughter. “I walked in on her having sex with
another man. And still I didn’t have the balls to end our relationship. She
did. Because she couldn’t stand to look at me. Apparently pulling my hair
forward to hide my face while we fucked wasn’t cutting it any longer.”

* * * * *

Xavier bit back a curse and told himself to shut the fuck
up. Especially when a bright sheen dampened her brown gaze. He jerked his head
away from the sight of her pity and squeezed his eyes shut. Joy, laughter,
passion—those were the emotions he loved to see light her lovely face. He even
preferred anger to pity.

For a short precious while the acidic bitterness he’d
existed with for a year had loosened its hold. After last night, he’d been
stupid as shit to surrender to the tentative fantasy that the hurt, shame and
anger were in the past, burned away by the welcoming heat of Gwendolyn’s arms
and body.

When she’d kissed each of his scars with gentle tenderness,
he’d gritted his teeth and tightened his jaw. At first he’d wanted to rip free
of his binds and shove her away. He hadn’t wanted to be reminded of the network
of puckered flesh marring his chest and abdomen. But with each pass of her
lips, his body had hardened and his heart—his soul—had softened.

She’d accomplished the impossible.

She’d made him forget.

But now, as the old emotions of pain, rejection and
loneliness returned like a millstone around his neck, truth slapped him in the
face with the clarity of an ice-cold bucket of water.

Gwendolyn might
—might—
be able to look past his
disfigurement, but no one else would. Evelyn hadn’t managed it. And while he
may be capable of coming to grips with and accepting that realization, a very
ugly, cowardly fear still remained burrowed deep within his psyche. Would the
day arrive when Gwendolyn regretted having him by her side? When she would be
ashamed to walk next to him in public where people pointed and whispered? The
thought of her regret—her shame—he couldn’t abide.

Nor could he allow the intimacy of the past two nights to
blind him to the reason she stood in this place with him. He’d blackmailed her.
Yes, she cared about him but affection and love weren’t the same things. And in
this idyllic setting, away from the outside world, he could so easily delude himself
into pretending they were identical.

Evelyn had taught him the harsh lesson of believing in fairy
tales.

“That bitch.”

The furious growl startled him. He swung his head back to
stare down at Gwendolyn’s infuriated features. Her eyebrows formed a deep vee
and the sensual curve of her mouth had flattened into an angry slash.

“That disloyal, traitorous bitch.”

He shrugged. “Could you really blame—”

“Stop it.”

He snapped his jaw shut, shocked into speechlessness by her
vehemence.

“What, Xavier? Because of one heartless woman—and I use the
term ‘woman’ lightly—you use your face as some kind of ‘I’ll fuck you before
you fuck me’?” She thumped a balled fist into his chest. “How dare you.”

Stunned, he couldn’t respond to the accusation or the
language. What the hell was she talking about?

“I don’t give a damn about your ex or your
friends
.”
She sneered the word, her disgust telegraphing her opinion of those he once
called by the same name. “How they react out of their petty shallowness is
their
shame, not yours. What pisses me off is how you wield your appearance like some
kind of weapon to prove to them their cruelty doesn’t hurt. When it clearly
does. Don’t deny it,” she snapped, glaring at him when he parted his lips.

“Xavier.” The ferocity suffusing her face bled away.
Gwendolyn shifted forward, cupped his cheek and swept a thumb over his damaged
skin. The caress rocked him, cauterized the bleeding wound in his soul. He
shuddered.

“Xavier,” she repeated and he opened eyes he hadn’t realized
he’d closed. “No, you’re not perfect anymore. And I thank God for it.” Her
voice cracked then steadied. “I love this scar. It means you survived. You’re
alive and here with me. You could be—”

“Baby,” he murmured and dragged her into his arms. The
fresh, vanilla scent of her shampoo surrounded him as he buried his face in her
light curls. Her arms encircled his torso and squeezed so hard his ribs bleated
a faint objection.

Shame again assailed him. But this time he attributed the
guilt to his selfishness and ingratitude. Since the accident, he’d railed at
God for leaving him in such a broken, lonely state. His resentment had colored
every aspect of a life he used to enjoy. Even after the grief of his father’s
death passed, his anger had never extinguished.

Gwendolyn’s compassion and honesty revealed who he’d become.
Someone so consumed with all he’d lost he’d never appreciated everything he
still had. Someone so embittered he’d measured his value by others’ opinions
and on something as shallow and fleeting as appearance. Someone so cold he’d
extorted the body of a woman who would have freely given him her friendship.