Beast (2 page)

I knew that I’d see her eventually.

I just didn’t know it would be tonight.

“Liam, this is Jasmine Santiago,” Michael says to me. “She’s a first-year associate in the law firm’s Renewable Energy practice group.”

Oh – I know who she is
.

Eyes the color of chocolate, skin like caramel, hair dark like coffee. Every part of her looks edible. She’s the woman who’s haunted my mind since that night two years ago. She’s the woman who, with just one touch, caused my heart to roar to life after being dead for years. She’s even more gorgeous now than she was then.

Her hair is down in waves around her face and her lips are painted wild berry red, accenting her Latin American features. She’s wearing a short strapless dress that is so fucking tight that it borders on obscene. Her thick, shapely legs are bare and her toenails are glossy claret.

I step forward and extend my hand to her. “Hello Jasmine. Good to see you again.” My tone is cool but I already feel my blood heating up.

Her eyes narrow, but she accepts my hand and shakes it briefly. “Hello.” I wonder if she felt the electricity that I did where our fingers touched.

“You two know each other?” Ruth interjects, curiosity knitted into her brow as she props her hip against the counter and studies us closely.

Jasmine clears her throat and answers quickly. “I met Liam – Mr. Cartwright when he was working on the X.U.S. Industries file during my internship two years ago.”

‘Met’ is a rather vague descriptor for what happened the night Jasmine Santiago strutted her way into my life. We’d fucked on nearly every flat surface in my office. And what I’d felt went far beyond sexual gratification; she’d reignited a part of me that I was sure had died out in the cruel, broken deserts of Afghanistan.

I’d been so selfish the night she came to me. She was just an intern, so beautiful and eager and vulnerable. I knew I shouldn’t have put my filthy hands on her – I’m a vile creature, my face scarred and mutilated by war, my hands stained with blood. But the way she looked at me – the way she said my name – made me feel like a man again. So I fucked her on my desk, then I ate her pussy in the raggedy, old bed in my office. I took everything she offered me with no regard for the million ways I might hurt her.

I’ve thought about Jasmine every day since. But I can’t allow myself to have her again.

Her brown eyes drop to the floor as she tucks a strand of hair over her shoulder. “I should get going,” she says as she picks up her purse and her smartphone from the counter in front of her.

Michael puts a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “No – Jazz. Stay. Have dinner with us,” he says. “I’ve got a delicious, homemade lasagna in the oven.” He yanks the oven door open and glances inside. “Well, what’s left of it, anyway.” He smirks at his wife who grins bashfully.

Jasmine shakes her head as she clutches her purse tightly. “No. I really don’t want to intrude.”

“C’mon, Jazz. You’re more than welcome,” Ruth says. “I
want
you to stay,” she says in a suggestive tone with a slight nod in my direction. When Jasmine blushes, Ruth throws in a not-so-discreet wink.

Jasmine sighs, her shoulders slumping forward. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

“Great,” Michael says, tapping his fingers lightly against the counter, then turning to his wife. “Babe, help me set the table.”

Ruth makes small talk as she pulls pristine white tableware from the cabinets and lays them on the dining table. Michael busies himself setting out the lasagna, salad and cutlery. The married couple seems to be enjoying each other’s company so much that they don’t even notice that neither Jasmine nor I are participating in their conversation. I can’t stop watching her as she takes a seat next to Ruth at the table. Her eyes are downcast and she’s fiddling with her fork. I slide into the chair across from her, my heartbeat radiating throughout my entire body.

I don’t usually accept social invitations – I’m far too hideous and disfigured to keep the company of regular folks. I’m a decrepit ex-marine, a monster, a shadow of a man. My wounds make people uncomfortable. The polite ones try to compensate by being overly kind and accomodating. The impolite ones stare and move their chairs away from me – But when Michael Moretti suggested that we meet, I really saw no other choice.   

I’ve just taken over his position as managing partner of Cartwright Moretti Stevenson, the law firm that our fathers founded together over thirty years ago. I had been relieved when he proposed that we have dinner at his condo because I hate crowded restaurants where strangers can get a good look at my scars. Michael and I have known each other our whole lives. He knew me before I had these scars. So, I agreed to meet him here to discuss business. I could handle that without succumbing to a mini panic attack.

But, I can’t handle Jasmine Santiago sitting across the table from me. I wasn’t prepared for this.

God – she’s beautiful.

I wish I could read her mind right now. I’d bet that she’s embarrassed that she ever had sex with me. She probably looked at me when I walked through the door tonight, saw my wounded, damaged face and felt repulsed that she ever let me put my grimy hands on her immaculate body. To her, having sex with me was probably just one of those foolish things that women in their early 20s do and wake up to regret it the next day.

As we sit and eat dinner, Ruth asks questions about my experiences working at the law firm’s Texas office. I struggle with the weight of her stare. It’s so direct I can almost feel it penetrating my skin. I try to keep a pleasant demeanor as I offer her short, straightforward answers. But Jasmine is all I’m thinking about.

I can smell her…a sexy mix of grapefruit, soft florals and body heat. It all reminds me of the night when I spread her out on my bed and licked every inch of her. My cock stirs at the idea of doing it again.

I push the thought out of my head.
Get it together, man
. This woman isn’t pining away for me. She’s entirely too beautiful, too intelligent to be concerned with me. She has a bright future ahead of her. And me? All I have to offer is darkness.

Ruth stifles a yawn and her husband slides his arm across the back of her chair. “Maybe we should call it a night, guys.” But the look on his face says that sleep isn’t his true motive for wanting to get his wife to bed.

Jasmine pushes her half-eaten lasagna away from her. “Yes – I should get going.” She stands brusquely with her purse in hand, mutters a goodbye and snatches her jacket off of the coat rack on her way out the door.

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

I could feel Liam’s eyes on me throughout dinner. He was judging me. Reminiscing about how easy it had been to get me naked and on my knees with his big, thick cock halfway down my throat.

I couldn’t bear the weight of my humiliation any longer, so I bolted out of there.

Rain starts pouring almost as soon as I step out of the lobby door and onto the sidewalk. A groan tears out of me when I look up the street and see my bus swerving towards the next intersection
. Shit – just missed it
.

I can already feel my mascara stinging my eyes and I’m sure that the curls I’d spent 45 minutes twisting into my hair have fallen flat.

I debate whether or not I should just head back up to Ruthie’s apartment to wait out the rain. But from the look that Michael was giving her as I barreled out of their apartment, I bet that they’re both already naked and screwing their way through every position in the kama sutra by now. There’s no way I’m about to intrude on those perfect people having perfect sex in their perfect apartment. No – I’ll just cower in the bus shed at the corner of the block and wait for my next bus.

I lower myself onto the bench in the dark bus shed and riffle through my purse looking for some paper tissue to blot my stinging eyes. And of course, I’m thinking about Liam Cartwright, Mr. One-Night-Stand himself.

Still tall and wide-shouldered and gorgeous with his dark hair and beard just a touch longer than before and his skin wearing a kissable tan. He’d been completely unaffected by my presence tonight. “Hello Jasmine. Good to see you again.” Like we were just old work colleagues, acquaintances who hadn’t run into each other in a while. This man has been ghosting my mind for two years, his touch haunting my body for just as long and when we finally meet after all this time, all he has for me is impassive eyes and “Good to see you again”?

Fuck. I’ve never felt so small.

A twinge of caution ripples through me when a gleaming black motorcycle pulls up right outside of the bus shed. Instinctively, I reach into my purse and my fingers curl around the canister of pepper spray that Madison gave me a while back after Hailey got mugged in broad daylight at Union Square. If this sucker thinks I’m going down without a fight, he’s got another thing coming to him.

Only when the tall, broad-shouldered man draped over the motorcycle flips up the opaque visor of his helmet do I realize that it’s Liam.

His voice barely rises above the clattering of the rain against the thick glass of the bus shed’s walls. “Let me take you home.”

“No thanks,” I say dryly. “My bus will be here any minute.”

He spits out a mirthless laugh. “Sorry – you interpreted that as a question. It wasn’t.”

My eyebrows pinch together. “Excuse me?”

He kicks down the brake pedal and climbs off of the bike, leaving it idling at the curb. “I’m not about to leave you standing on the side of the road half-dressed and half-drunk just so you can prove how independent you are, Jasmine.”

Wow – I think that’s the most words Liam Cartwright has ever said to me all at once.

I fold my arms across my chest defiantly. “I don’t need you to save me. I would have been just fine if you hadn’t shown up here tonig –”

A bolt of lightening slices through the sky, scaring the shit out of me. I yelp.

Liam sighs as he marches back to the motorcycle and pulls another helmet out of the bike’s storage compartment. He comes to me and slides it onto my head. He lowers his face to mine. “Don’t be stubborn,” he growls low, causing my skin to prickle as his warm breath skirts my top lip.

I
could
protest, but I think I’ve already made enough of a fool of myself for one night. No need to be any more unreasonable. I trail him quietly as he heads off towards the bike. He swings his leg over the seat and I begrudgingly saddle up behind him. My arms slide around his waist and his warm, musky scent envelops me as he pulls away from the curb.

After I give him my address, we ride wordlessly thorough the streets of Manhattan, the sounds of Saturday night traffic providing a soundtrack for our silence. Liam zooms effortlessly between cars and yellow cabs. The warm, muggy rain washes away some of my inhibitions. I cling tighter to him, taking greedy inhales of his scent, stealing the warmth of his body.

It’s intimate. Being so close to him, smelling him, feeling the heat of his body. I could stay like this with him for a long time, the city zooming by at high speed, my head leaning against his wide shoulders. It all brings me back to that night two years ago. It makes my body yearn for the release that only he has ever been able to give me.

The rainstorm is over by the time we slow to a rolling stop outside of my 30-unit East Harlem apartment complex. The ride was way too short. While we rode through the streets, I pretended that things had worked out differently. That he’d called when he said he would. That we’d gone out on a date. And then another. And then, he’d made me his girl.

I
hate
the fact that he never made me his girl.

I want to scream at him. To yell at him for hurting me. But I keep my mouth shut, choosing to protect my pride instead of demanding the answers that I deserve.

I dismount the motorcycle and he follows behind me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I challenge with a hand firmly on my hip.

“I’m walking you to your door.”

I shake my head fervently. As much as I wish things could have been different between us, I won’t let him weasel his way into my bed tonight. I have
some
self-respect left in me and I plan to preserve it. “I don’t think so.” After the way things turned out the last time I let him have my body, there’s no way I’m letting him anywhere near my apartment tonight.

He releases a frustrated breath and pins me with an irritated glare. I won’t back down. I hold his stare, returning an equal amount of fire. Then, he reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket and grabs a pen before gripping my hand. My skin tingles as he scribbles ten digits onto my palm. “If you don’t call me within three minutes, I’m coming into that building and I’ll knock on every single door till I find you and know that you’re safe.”

I roll my eyes. “A little overkill, don’t you think?”

He gives me a scolding glare. “Jasmine…” The word is heavy with authority and causes a tingle to skitter across my skin. He’s actually serious. How ridiculous.

I exhale heavily before turning on my heel and stalking towards the main entrance of my building.

“Don’t make me come in there, Jasmine,” he threatens.

“Okay, okay. I’ll call you.” And despite my best efforts, I feel a smile itching at my lips as I slide my key into the lock and enter the lobby.

I take the stairs two by two up to my fourth floor apartment. Once I’m inside, I pull my cellphone out of my clutch and punch in the numbers Liam scribbled onto my palm.

“Jasmine?” His gravely voice comes through the earpiece.

“I’m inside. I’m safe,” I say.

He pulls in a long breath. “Good.”

There’s an awkward pause. “Okay, then,” I say to fill it.

“Good night, Jasmine.”

“Good night, Liam.”

And my heart twitches as I press the red button, disconnecting the call.