Page 111 of Beau and the Beast

“We got started without you,” James said, smiling as Beau sidled up to him at the counter. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, yeah, I’m totally offended that you started chopping vegetables without me,” Beau said.

Beau had too much to hold in his head while he was working. Somewhere out there existed an alternative universe where the people with him in the penthouse were his friends and nothing more—a space where Beau could stand between Song and James and discuss everything in his head. He would tell them about what had happened with Wolfram, the feelings he was holding in his chest but also the concerns about his brother, the overwhelming impression he had that everything would be better if he could justtalkto Noah.

But that place wasn’t here and that timeline wasn’t this.

Chapter Twenty

Wolfram felta rush of something foreign when he came in through the kitchen for dinner.

The room was a mess of smells—the smell of cooked vegetables and tempeh, the steaks Beau had prepared for him, the bottles of red wine that had been opened in anticipation of the meal. Then there were the smells of his staff, gathered there in the kitchen, overpowered almost by the scent of Beau like a bright top note in the first whiff of perfume.

Beau was at the stove between James and Song. Wolfram swept his eyes across the open floor. None of them knew that just beneath Beau’s collar was skin that he’d marked up the night before. The thought sent a thrill through him—but at the same time, the most primal part of him wasn’t satisfied.

The others couldn’t see the mark he’d made on the perfect skin, couldn’t smell the way that Wolfram’s scent was all over Beau, claiming him, making it clear who he wanted to be with. They had no idea—and theywouldn’thave any idea until he or Beau told them.

Logically, that was for the best. It meant fewer questions and it would save Beau the embarrassment of being with him out in the open. But the illogical part of him that was half curse, half stubborn pride, was deeply dissatisfied by the fact that none of them knew Beau washis.Wolfram was gripped by an almost irresistible impulse to take him by the hips right where he stood, to lay the length of his body against Beau’s back and make a fresh mark higher on his neck where everyone could see.

Jesus, Wolfram. Get a grip.

* * *

Beau wasthe first to sit down for dinner and when he looked up, Wolfram was moving chairs. He’d grabbed the one sturdy chair without arms from his place across the table and brought it over to Beau’s side before taking the seat next to him, where Violet usually sat.

“What’s up?”

“I thought it would be nice to keep the seating arrangement fresh,” Wolfram said, not meeting his eyes.

No one else remarked about the change in their normal spots when they came to sit, each one taking a new place at the table without needing prompting—even the ones whose seats hadn’t been altered by Wolfram’s move. They toasted and began eating, but Beau could only think about one thing.

He wanted to sit next to me at dinner,he thought, trying and failing to bite down a smile.That is the absolute most adorable thing.

Dinner went by normally, Song telling a long and convoluted story about a misunderstanding he’d had that day with one of the organizations they worked with, Geoffrey interrupting frequently to make jokes, and Alfie interrupting almost as often to ask where the story was going. Nobody bothered to ask how Beau’s manuscript development was going—maybe because of the giant smile on his face.

It felt right to have the huge presence to his left, to be closer to Wolfram as they ate.

At the beginning of the third course—and the end of Wolfram’s first glass of wine—Beau felt something thump against his knee.

“Ah, sorry,” Wolfram said quietly. It was his tail, Beau realized after a beat.

Without thinking, Beau reached out and grabbed Wolfram’s tail before he could retrieve it. Beau had wanted to hold his hand or slip a hand on top of his knee all night—not to tease but just to be closer—and he’d forgotten entirely about the convenience of a tail.

He held the tail in his lap, twisting his fingers in the tuft of fur with one hand while he ate with the other.

* * *

It tookall of Wolfram’s self-control not to melt into the floor as Beau played with his tail.

He played with it himself often enough, the way someone with long hair might catch a few strands of it between their hands and twirl it around their fingers absentmindedly. Wolfram had never noticed one way or another about whether the appendage was particularly sensitive—but he had proof that itwasspectacularly sensitive now that it was in Beau’s hands.

It felt so instantly good that he didn’t pull it away—but the attention was sending shivers down his spine.

And more than that, after a moment. He flushed, realizing that the strokes of Beau’s fingertips against the tip of his tail were making him hard—and rapidly harder.

“I was on the phone with her for fifteen minutes before she realized Iwasn’tLee from Youth Opportunities League,” Song said.

James and Violet laughed. Wolfram had completely lost track of the conversation.

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