The Beast

FORTY-EIGHT

“You realize that he’s married.”

It was around midday that Jo jumped in her receptionist chair and frowned. Bryant was leaning on the counter over her desk, his face dead serious, his bow tie so perfectly done, it looked like it was a sculpted piece of plastic rather than anything made from silk.

“What are you talking about?” She handed him a file. “And this is for your one-thirty.”

“Bill. He’s married.”

“What are you—excuse me?”

“Look.” Bryant made a show of running his manicure around the edges of the legal-size folder. “I saw you, okay. At a stoplight. You were in his car. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

For the first time in recorded history, Jo sat back and really looked at the guy. Funny, his aura was actually a good eraser of some minor flaws that she’d missed before: His eyes were a little too close together; his upper lip had a curious overhang; that nose had a bump at the end.

“I’m only worried about you,” he concluded. Like an older brother.

Jo crossed her arms over her chest. Come to think of it, his voice had a reedy quality that was kind of grating.

“Hello?” he prompted. As if he’d banked on a specific reaction and was determined to get it. “Jo. Did you hear what I said?”

It was definitely time to move on, she decided. Polish up her résumé. Get on Monster.com and the CCJ website. Do something else.

She had spent a good year and a half mooning over this narcissist, living off of a wink or an implication from him, bending over backward to make his professional and personal lives run smoothly—and, ultimately, checking her libido at the door because this one-sided sexual tension with a jerk was a safer bet than trying to find a real guy of her own.

“I’m giving you my two weeks’ notice.”

“What.”

“You heard me.”

“Wait, are you crazy? You’re quitting because I tell you your boyfriend has a wife? When you already knew it? The closing was here in this office. You met her—”

“It’s got nothing to do with Bill. He and I are working on a story together.” Okay, that was a stretch. “I just need more than you can give me.”

“Is this about the real estate exam? Fine, if you insist on taking it—”

“It’s really not anything like that.” She glanced at her computer. “And it’s noon, so I’m taking lunch.”

With quick work on the office phone, she routed the main number to voice mail, picked up her purse from the floor, and walked around the partition. Bryant moved into her path like he wanted to argue, but she just shook her head.

“You’d better start looking for a new receptionist if you want me to have any time to train her.”

“Jo. You are acting in a really unprofessional way.”

Dropping her voice, she said, “You have me lie to the women you’re dating so they don’t find out what a douche bag you are. I pick up your dry cleaning. Make your haircut appointments. I’ve taken your car in to be serviced how many times? And don’t get me started on your condominium association’s complaints for your noise violations, your pool boy, your HVAC issues and the bug man. All of that is unprofessional. But don’t worry. You’ll find yourself another sucker. Men like you always do. It’s just not going to be me anymore.”

Jo walked out the glass doors and into the October sun—which was too weak to move the temperature much, but was bright enough to make her take out her Ray-Bans.

Getting in her VW, she was not surprised that Bryant didn’t come after her—no doubt he was onto the next dinner date crisis. Or maybe he was checking his hair in his private bathroom. Or who the heck knew what he was doing. One thing she did know? It wasn’t going to have anything to do with her.

It never had been about her, at least not on his side. And the stuff he’d said about Bill? That was just a self-protective reflex because she was a good lackey and he didn’t want her slipping away.

But as she’d said, there would be another. No doubt.

As Jo drove off, she looked at the real estate office in her rearview and thought of Bill and his cousin Troy. They were nice enough guys, but not really anything that truly caught her eye.

When was she going to meet a real man?

Whatever. She needed to find a job, and then there was the whole vampire thing to spin her wheels about.

Taking out her phone, she called Bill. “I’m heading out to the farm now if you want to meet me.”

“You ready to turn in?”

At the sound of Rhage’s voice, Mary jerked on the sofa, kicking the blanket that had been pulled over her legs onto the floor. Sitting up, she glanced around the billiards room, and then looked at Rhage, who was leaning over her.

“I fell asleep. Where did everyone go? Is the tournament over?”

He nodded as he sat on the coffee table and balanced his pool cue on his forefinger. “Butch won. The bastard. He and V just headed to the Pit.”

With a big yawn, she pushed her hair back. The massive T.V. over the fireplace was muted, some kind of Steven Seagal throwback movie from the early nineties showing him punching out a bunch of guys on a city street.

“I think that was what was on when I crashed,” she said idly as she pointed to the screen

“Actually, that was three movies ago.” Rhage stroked her cheek. “This is a different one, but don’t feel bad. They all look the same. You going to let me carry you up?”

“I can make it myself.”

“I know.” He put the cue aside and offered her a hand. “The question is, will you stop me from picking you up?”

She smiled. “No.”

Rhage drew her off the sofa, and the next thing she knew, she was in his strong arms and he was striding in between the pool tables. Out in the foyer, she yawned again and got comfy for the trip.

“You are too good to me,” she murmured.

“Not even by half.”

Up on the second floor, he stopped in front of the closed door of their room, and she bent down and opened the way in for them. With no effort at all, he took her over to the bed and laid her out on her side of the mattress.

“Can you brush my teeth for me?” she asked. “That is the real question.”

“You got it.”

As he went to turn away, she laughed. “That was a rhetorical.”

“I was going to bring you your brush and a glass of water.” He put his hands on his hips and stared down at her. “Unless you’re determined to make it to the sink?”

Boy, he was a fantastic-looking male specimen, she thought as she measured his enormous shoulders and bulging arms, his flat stomach and lean pelvis, those long, powerful legs. And then there was that blond hair, those brilliant Bahamian blue eyes, that bone structure that seemed drawn by a master artist as opposed to something that had been born into this world.

“Mary?”

“Just admiring the view.”

“Oh?” He pivoted and flashed his ass. “You like?”

“Very much. How ’bout you take that shirt off for me?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he narrowed his eyes. “Are you coming on to me?”

“Why, yes, I believe I am.”

He turned back around, grabbed the front of his muscle shirt, and growled, “Say please first.”

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease—”

Riiiiiiip. And then his bare chest was on display, all that musculature throwing shadows in the dim light from the lamp on the bureau.

Rhage moved his hand down between his legs, gripping the hard length that had made a very serious appearance in the front of his leathers. “You want to see something else?” he drawled.

“Yes,” she breathed.

His fingers were slow on the button fly, teasing her as he revealed his erection inch by inch until it popped free and jutted straight out at her.

Mary reached down herself and disappeared her pants, spreading her legs as he stood back and stroked himself.

“Come here,” she said.

Rhage was up on that bed of theirs, up on her, in the work of a moment, and she guided him to her, bringing his head to her core. With a moan, she wrapped her legs around his ass, and he moved with force, joining them, rocking against her with increasing speed, going hard until the bed creaked and the pillows got bounced off and the duvet waded up beneath her.

As she grabbed onto his back, she felt the beast surge under her nails, the tattoo rising up and creating a pattern in his skin as if it wanted to get out.

“Mary,” Rhage said into her neck. “Oh, fuck, Mary . . .”

At the sound of his hoarse voice, an orgasm hit her like a lightning strike, the pleasure making her call out as he punched his pelvis into her again and again while he ejaculated.

When they finally went still, she stroked his spine, petting the beast, which surged under her touch. And it was so strange. In moments like this, even though it was crazy, it seemed like the three of them were together.

“Would you like to come shower with me?” Rhage asked as he nuzzled her throat. “I can think of some fun things to do with the soap.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“Cleanliness is next to godliness—isn’t that the human expression?”

Mary yawned and stretched, feeling him still inside. “I have an idea. You get started and I’ll be right in.”

“Perfect.”

After a couple of lingering kisses, Rhage pulled out and got up. Ditching the leathers from his lower legs, he walked buck naked into their bathroom.

Talk about a view.

He was like a walking Greek statue.

The shower came on, and she caught a whiff of the shampoo they used, and then the soap . . . and then the conditioner.

Motivating herself, she stretched once more and got out of bed. By the time she made it into the bathroom, Rhage was leaning back under the spray, rinsing his hair. With a quick strip, she took off her shirt and then she was in with him, his slick, aroused body glistening in the light from the mirrors.

“There she is,” he murmured as he pulled her in close.

It was a while before they got out, and by the end of it, her legs were so loose, it was a good thing she didn’t have far to go. Wrapped in Rhage’s robe, she padded over to the bureau to take out her pearl earrings while he went to the laundry hamper in their walk-in closet with the clothes they’d left everywhere.

She’d taken one of the studs out when she noticed the folder. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?” he said from the closet.

Opening the front cover . . .

. . . she felt the breath leave her lungs.