How Beauty Loved the Beast

chapter Four



The old-fashioned charm of the Underlight soothed Jolie, relieving some of the emotional armor she’d surrounded herself with during the police’s endless questioning. Here in the great room four fireplaces crackled, spreading light and warmth from the tiled floor to the cathedral ceilings. Above her head, a message hissed as it zipped through the maze of clear pipes in the strange communication system of the Underlight.

Even at this late hour, night owls sat at the community tables, playing board games or working on projects. A couple took down faux icicles and other wintry décor to replace them with spring greenery. Soon the Underlight would be blooming with flowers grown underground through some light invention of Tally’s. Jolie hadn’t been here to see it last year, but she looked forward to the impossible new life. Miracles like that seemed a regular occurrence around here.

The Underlight was cheer and warmth in a way she’d never felt before. It made her feel jaded and yet so grateful that a place like this could exist.

Hauk returned with two mugs of coffee and slid an arm around her. She leaned in. His touch was exactly what she needed right now.

Behind them, the voices of the knitting crew rose in excitement. As the daughter of one of Ananke’s officers, Jolie had had a hard time gaining the confidence of the Citizens of the Underlight. But the knitting crew had been enamored of her relationship with Hauk even before it existed. After she’d rescued him two weeks ago, they’d become her biggest cheering squad.

The tide was definitely turning in her favor, something that had mattered deeply to her a month ago. At this moment, though, she had Hauk, and that was what mattered most.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“Much better now,” she said, practically into his chest.

His heartbeat picked up and his body tensed. She’d bet their public contact made him nervous. He’d been solicitous but shy as he escorted her down to the Underlight, tripping over his words and hesitant in his touches. Now he stood, feet pointed toward his room and heels rooted to the ground, as if he knew where he wanted to go but was unsure of his right to proceed.

It made her heart a little softer for him. Few guys had ever been able to turn her insides mushy, but the biggest, toughest badass she’d ever met had that effect on her.

She decided to help him out. “I’d really like a shower. Cake makeup plus extended creepiness equals a desire for soap. Do you mind?”

He chuckled and took a step forward, pulling her with him out of the great room and into the shadowy hallways toward his quarters. “You naked in my shower? Let’s put that on the list of things I don’t mind at all. Anytime you want to, just show up.”

She squeezed his hand. “I like that policy. Just show up. My place, too. No invitation necessary.”

He shot her a startled look. They arrived at his door, and with that same wide-eyed expression he pushed it open, no key necessary. Thievery wasn’t a problem in a small community where everyone knew each other.

She wrinkled her nose. The key thing did pose a problem to her invitation. It surprised her to realize she didn’t mind Hauk having a key-card to her place, but handing one over so early in the relationship was a little forward, even for her. To stall out any awkward conversations, she winked and marched into his room with an extra swish in her step. She could feel his eyes riveted to her as she sauntered past his bookshelves toward the wood-cut screen blocking off a tiny bathroom.

Like the rest of the Underlight, Hauk’s room was lit with candlelight and lamps, a romantic consequence of living off the city grid. Flickering light touched wood-carved and wrought-metal furniture. The room was a palette of burnished fall colors: browns, deep greens and sunset orange. Though definitely masculine, it was a comfortable room.

At the screen, Jolie turned back and caught Hauk watching her derriere. She smirked.

He smiled, chagrinned at being caught with his eyes down. “I like it when you do that walk.” His laugh was self-deprecating. “Or when you do other walks. Or stand still. Or sit. You’re nice to look at in general.” His eyes were always handsome and warm, but there was something truly special about their deep blue glow when he smiled.

“Spin,” she demanded.

He wrinkled his forehead in confusion but did as she asked.

“Hot damn, Hauk, your ass and leather are a combination made in my dreams.”

He rotated back to her with a smile that was less embarrassed and more hungry. She crooked a finger at him, and he crossed the room with a grace that belied his size.

“Give me ten minutes.” She tugged on the belt loops of his leather pants.

His glance shifted to his dresser drawers, and she knew he was debating what he should cover his skin with. The ten minutes would give him time to change without her in the room. He didn’t yet trust her enough to be naked. That was okay. They’d get there.

Standing on tiptoe, she kissed Hauk’s cheek. His chin jerked, as if he was startled by the touch, but he exhaled and recovered his calm.

Commenting might embarrass him further, so she ignored it and smiled seductively. “You’re welcome to come into the bathroom whenever you want.”

With a light slap to his ass, she headed for the shower. She could feel his covetous eyes on her the whole way around the corner. He didn’t follow immediately, but she’d be surprised if he didn’t show up after he’d changed. Tonight was going to be interesting, balancing the need they both felt with Hauk’s sensitivity to touch.

Interesting, and a whole lot of fun.

His bathroom was tiny, with just enough room for a sink, toilet and shower stall, but the appointments were all exquisite—a hammered copper sink, thick green towels and a handmade glass shower door with a smoky texture.

She turned the water to hot and dropped her clothes on the floor as she thought over the research on burn scars that she’d done since meeting Hauk. At first she’d hit the internet out of curiosity, but over the last two weeks she’d had a more intimate purpose.

The recovery process for burn scars was so painful and took so long that many patients came to associate all physical contact with pain, sort of like a touch-induced PTSD. Add to that, the scarring could deaden sensation, creating patches of feeling and no feeling across the area. She could touch Hauk somewhere and he wouldn’t feel it; then when she shifted slightly, he’d be startled to realize her hand was on his thigh or whatever. It was also likely Hauk was protective of his new skin, both appreciative for it in ways other people couldn’t be and hating it for the way it changed his life and his self-image.

She stepped into the shower and let the hot water soak her hair and skin. A physical relationship with Hauk was a little intimidating, and patience wasn’t normally one of her virtues. But Hauk was the kind of man who didn’t come along every day. Hell, she’d never encountered anyone like him and doubted she ever would again. He would risk himself, body and soul, for the people he cared about.

Now she had to convince him to take risks for himself.

They would take things as slow as he needed, moving one step at a time. But she could make sure every step rocked his world and left him panting for more.

As far as plans went, she thought it was a pretty good one.

* * *

Hauk pulled a short-sleeved shirt on and shut his dresser. The sound of pelting water changed from the steady staccato on the floor to the uneven rhythm of a body blocking the flow.

It was amazing to have her here. He shuffled toward the screen like a man hypnotized, imagining her red hair and soft skin naked and soaked.

He wouldn’t have to imagine it anymore.

At the screen he heard her voice, low but clear, singing some pop song he barely recognized. She was a shower singer, huh? He liked knowing that about her.

As he stepped around the corner, her voice came through clearer, singing raunchy lyrics without a whit of self-consciousness. He almost made a joke but stopped cold at the sight of her naked back through the textured glass. It wasn’t a clear image. The shadowy swirls distorted her just enough that his imagination still had to engage. But she was naked. In his shower. And her hourglass shape was worthy of a painting.

Her hands lifted her hair, massaging shampoo into the thick mass. Water trailed down her back, tracking paths he’d give anything to follow with his tongue. Her ass swayed to the rhythm of her song. Long, muscular legs led to her bare feet, something he rarely saw. She stood in his shower like an opened gift, so defenseless and yet content. And she’d invited him to see it.

He should probably say something, tell her he was there.

As he opened his mouth to speak, she twisted around to rinse her hair. The words died before he could form them.

She was still blurred. But even so he could make out the pink of her nipples and the smooth skin, absolutely smooth, all the way down to the cleft of her sex. Based on the costumes she wore for the burlesque, he’d guess she was waxed bare, but seeing it live blanked his brain.

She continued to sway as she sang, moving sensually to the rhythm of her words as lather washed down her body. She smoothed back her hair, and her eyes opened. Seeing him, she smiled and finished the last line of her song, singing it to him.

He briefly considered walking into the shower and pressing her up against the wall. But after the scare she’d received, he didn’t know what she wanted tonight.

Whatever it was, he was going to try to give it to her.

“I neglected to get a towel,” she said. “Would you mind handing me one?”

Not the sort of thing he most wanted to give her, but he could start there.

He pulled a clean towel from beneath the sink, and she continued talking. “I see I still have a toothbrush.”

He’d given her one the first time she’d stayed here, after she’d been attacked and knocked unconscious. In a berserker frenzy—literal berserker; the Norse god Odin occasionally liked to play soldier with his body, a relationship they were still working out—he’d rescued her then carried her down without permission from the Underlight’s governing body. It was the only reason the daughter of Reginald Benoit had been considered for membership, and the best decision his volatile alter ego had ever made.

She opened the shower door a crack and reached through. He handed over the towel, and a moment later she stepped out, wrapped in green. Water droplets dotted her skin, occasionally slipping down the slope of her shoulders or swell of her thighs. She squeezed her hair out over the shower floor then popped back up, a friendly grin lighting her face.

Friendly. Okay. He could tamp down his hormones. If she wanted a friend after tonight’s trials, he needed to be her friend. Her friend that she slept next to. Hopefully.

He wanted much more but even that meant a great deal to him. He’d been alone for so long it was a comfort to have somebody to share a bed with, to wake up next to, hell, to engage in simple rituals like brushing his teeth with. And they would have more on another day.

Toned, flexible legs circled behind him, that towel skimming her upper thighs. He tried to keep his mouth closed and eyes from showing exactly how voracious she made him feel. Please, gods, may they have more. Soon.

His toothbrush waved in front of his view. With a smug grin she handed it over. His fingers trembled as he took it. If she noticed she didn’t comment, but that grin said she knew exactly what he wanted. As she reached for the toothpaste, she bumped hips with him and hummed a little more until her own toothbrush was in her mouth.

He tried not to stare as he started his own nightly sink rituals, but every little movement she made fascinated him. The way her eyes studied the room and seemed to approve of whatever she saw. The way her free hand, with its short nails and chipped polish, rested lightly against the copper sink. The way her shoulders bounced to the same rhythm as the brush moving in and out of her mouth, like she was still singing in her head.

She caught him watching, and the motion of the brush slowed suggestively in and out. His mouth went dry. He faced the mirror. Turned back to find a devilish light in her eyes. The brush slid slowly in and out of her lips one more time before she finished in an arrhythmic rush.

She was flirting again. He didn’t know why it surprised him so much. It wasn’t the first time she’d flirted with him. She’d just never been so blatantly sexual about it before.

Why the change? Because now she might do that for him if he asked?

His stomach dropped in anticipation, and once again he tried to wrap his brain around the idea that Jolie was his. Well, not his as in exclusively his—though hopefully that would one day be the case. But she was his to touch if he wanted to. His to hold. Maybe even his to throw on his bed and make love to.

They took turns rinsing. She slid her palm across his hips as she passed on her way to the bed, still wearing nothing but a towel.

He followed. Be civil. Be concerned about her feelings. Don’t jump on her like a lust-drunk teenager. “How are you doing?” he asked lamely.

She reached his bed. “I could use a distraction,” she answered, her seductive smile almost eclipsing the lingering traces of tenseness. Her gaze dipped up and down his body, and he tried not to think about what she saw. The darkness in her expression deepened, as if somehow she was pleased, and she straightened her spine, bringing the round firmness of her breasts beneath the towel up on even better display. Staring back into his eyes, she said, “A look like that could give a girl the wrong impression.”

She was quoting him from the morning they first met face-to-face when he’d stepped into the room wearing only a towel. He knew how this conversation started, but he’d be happy to change the way it ended. “You’re standing between me and my bed.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I guess you’ve got a decision to make. You can walk around me, or grab the towel and—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. With a flick of his wrist, the fabric dropped between them. She stood proudly, every bit of her clear skin and luscious curves exposed.

“Now what’re you gonna do?” she asked.

He picked her up and tossed her on his bed. She laughed. He gave himself a moment to enjoy the sight of her red hair and pale skin against the brown coffee of his sheets. Then he joined her.

She pulled him to her, twining her arms around him.

“I’m going to distract you,” he answered and kissed her. She was still damp and wicked hot as he pulled himself on top of her, pressing her body between his own and the bed.

Her hands moved suddenly, leaving his back to cradle his jaw.

He jerked back in surprise then suppressed a curse.

She wrinkled her cute little nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She put her hands tentatively back on his face. He closed his eyes and felt the solid pressure of her fingers.

The touch was so simple, so wonderful, and yet even such a small thing as her palms against the naked skin of his cheeks made him feel raw and exposed. It wasn’t vanity; it came from far deeper than that. It was a gut level drive to protect himself, coupled with years of reaffirmation. Pulling away had become instinct.

But he didn’t want to pull away from her.

“You’ve told me before,” she said in a soft voice, “that I can ask you anything I want. That it’s better to speak up than to stay silent. Is that still true?”

He didn’t open his eyes as he nodded.

“Then what did I do that startled you? Is it where I touched you? How? What happened?”

Gods, it humiliated him that she had to ask such things, and it took him back to an awful place and time to try to answer.

Don’t shut down. Don’t shut down...

If he wanted her, he had to find the strength to give her these most damaged pieces of himself.