Page 8 of Beauty Sleep

That’s all I told him when we parted ways—in my own way. If that makes me wicked, so be it. Every Daddy knows that being mean is sometimes the kinder option. It’s far better than letting Beauty sleepwalk down an even worse path than mine.

Men didn’t hesitate to tell me no. But Beauty is pretty enough that they’ll say yes on his behalf, and if he’s not careful, he’ll never learn how to want anything for himself. He’ll just get chewed up and spat out by the scene in a few decades, with no more of an idea who he is.

Ugh. Now my heart hurts when I’m supposed to be having a good night.

I lift my head, looking around for a distraction. It’s probably futile. I know this street—all the houses have tiny, cobblestone front yards. A few flower pots are about as interesting as it gets around here. There’s one house with a rickety folding chair outside the window, but I’ve never seen anyone sitting there…

Wait.

Holy shit. Of all people, it can’t be… but it is.

It’s Beauty.

He’s got his head tipped back to look at the sky. He hasn’t noticed me yet, but I can recognize his features even in the dim evening light. And that inexplicable magnetic attraction is already pulling me straight toward him.

What do I have to lose?

Beauty is sprawled on the little black metal folding chair. He’s leaning back on two legs, resting the back of his head against the window frame to gaze at the night sky. His feet are resting on the low wall right next to me. In those little black faux leather shorts, his legs look miles long—and it’s a journey I’m dying to take.

Fuck. My heart is hammering against my ribcage.

My black velvet pants suddenly feel that much tighter. I can barely suppress my urge to run my palms along the outsides of Beauty’s calves, over his knees, on and on up to his thighs…

God. Are these pockets deep enough to subtly adjust myself?

But it’s not just my body responding to him. It’s a lot weirder than that.

These tingles are shivering along my spine. The hair on the back of my neck practically stands up, like it’s trying to alert me to something important. My heartbeat is still pounding in my ears, and the world is narrowing until all I can see is Beauty.

I just want to study every single thing he says and does. Like there’s something in me that he needs… and vice versa, that’s the weird part.

What does this boy have that I need so badly?I don’t know, but I’m dying to find out.

The first words spill out of my mouth before I can even think twice about them. “That’s not very safe, you know.”

Beauty turns his head to look at me. I brace myself for whatever he’ll say when he recognizes me… but he’s just staring at me with a little wrinkle between his brows.

Holy shit. He doesn’t know who I am with my mask on.

In a split-second, I’ve already made my decision: I’m not going to tell him. Not yet, anyway. Second chances don’t come around every day.

“Sitting like this?” Beauty finally says, easing his feet off the top of the wall. His chair tips forward again to rest on all four legs. “Thanks, Daddy,” he bats his lashes at me and pouts. “Your wisdom has saved me from a surefire concussion.”

Sassy little thing.God, I like it. All the things I want to do to that pretty, faux-innocent face just slam into my brain at the same time.

“I was going to say leaving those legs lying around like that.” I rest my hand on top of the wall. “But the concussion risk is worth noting.”

Beauty’s cheeks turn pink as he giggles. “Dressed like that, I bet you’re going to the ball. You’ll see plenty of legs there. You don’t need mine.”

“Maybe I just want them, then.” I’m using my work voice now—the low, sultry purr. Might as well fully play the part behind my mask. “So, what’s a beauty like you doingnotgoing to the ball?”

Beauty looks surprised for a moment, and I pause to see if he recognizes the nickname. But he doesn’t—he just blushes.

Maybe I’m laying it on a little thick, but I’ve already left enough marks on the poor boy for one night with my sharp tongue. Now, I just want him to giggle and blush and feel as good as he’s supposed to on his own birthday.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “The scene isn’t my thing.”

Behind my mask, I raise my eyebrows as I check my watch. I only have about five minutes before I reallyhaveto leave.I hope he doesn’t think he’s all sweet and vanilla, because that’s not enough time to break the news to him: he’s obviously not. My gut tells me that much.

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