Page 39 of Beast

Her hand slides under my cut and around my waist and I stiffen because it’s been so long since I’ve felt the warmth of a woman’s hands on me.

My nerves rattle beneath my skin, and my jaw tightens. Being this close to her is fucking with me. I have the discipline of a fucking monk, but Belle tests it.

Like right now.

What I would give to give into my urges.

She takes my hand and guides it to her breast and—fuck, what the hell is she doing?

“See what you do to me, Beast,” she says breathlessly. “See how you make my heart race.” She flutters her lashes and then drags my hand lower, inching slowly toward the gap between her thighs. “See how much you make me want you?—”

Fuck.

I pull my hand away. “You made your point.”

She smirks and takes a step back. The switch flicks, and she is cool and aloof again, her resentment for me burning bright in her eyes. “Just doing my bit to reassure you I am up to the task.”

I sharpen my gaze. “That kind of reassurance can be saved for when we’re in company. It’s not necessary when we are alone.”

She crosses her arms. “Don’t worry, bike gangster, I won’t have any trouble keeping my hands off you.”

I shoot her a dark look.

Her comment stings more than she could imagine.

“I’ll leave you to freshen up and will be back in half an hour so we can walk into the party together. Wear something nice. I asked Mya to lay out some options on the bed for you.”

And without another word, I walk away.

CHAPTER 15

BELLE

The momentI close the bedroom door behind me I sag against it.Damn him.He’s got me right where he wants me, and it makes me want to murder him a thousand times over.

Wear something nice.

His demand grinds my last gear. I might be stuck here but I’m not some biker barbie he can dress up and parade around.

I look at the three dresses draped on the bed. One is a tight black dress that doesn’t even make it to the middle of my thigh. The second is also black and is slightly longer but wouldn’t hide my underwear if I bent over. The third dress is silk and has a cute halter neck and a hem that reaches my knees. In my normal life—the one where I am not a prisoner of an annoying bike gangster—I would have died for a dress like this. It’s so soft and high quality and probably cost a bundle.

But I drop it like it’s a hot stone. Because that’s not my life anymore. I’m no longer free and these dresses are a reminder of that fact.

I cross the massive room to the large dresser and stare at my reflection. I’m still in the jeans and T-shirt Mya gave me this morning. I sit down in front of the mirror and stare at my makeup-free face and windswept hair. I have no choice about being Beast’s fake fiancé. But I certainly have one about how I look when I’m doing it.

Sliding my fingers through the roots of my hair I start to mess it up even more so it looks like I’ve just rolled out of bed, then pull it up into a messy bun. Next, I rummage through the makeup bag Mya left on the dresser until I find the mascara and dab a little on my lashes. While it’s still wet, I smudge it beneath each eye, giving myself a subtle pair of panda eyes. Lastly, I pick at a tiny blemish on my chin, enough to make my skin pink.

Sitting back, I admire my handiwork with a smile.

I’m a mess and it’s perfect.

What I’m doing might seem immature and petty. But I need to regain some sense of control back and right now this is it.

Choosing how I look and what I wear is the only thing that stops me from feeling completely powerless.

There’s a knock at the door, and thinking it’s Beast I call out, “Come in if you’re gazillion feet tall and currently keeping me prisoner in your castle.”

But when the door opens it’s not Beast who walks in, it’s Mya.Shit. I will have to curb my need to be a smart ass in the future.If it was anyone else who wasn’t in on the charade then I could fuck this up, and that wouldn’t be very good for Uncle Maurice.

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