Page 47 of Beau and the Beast

Beau decided to skip breakfast. He couldn't stomach the thought of eating anything, even though he wouldn't have minded dallying a little while with his new companions.

He forced himself to avoid the common area as much as he could, sneaking through on his way to Wolfram's wing.

When he knocked on the man's door, Wolfram bellowed to come in.

Just inside the door, there was a pile of glossy magazines, so close underfoot that Beau nearly tripped on them. They were in complete disarray, as if someone had just dumped them there.

Wolfram was sitting tall at a cushion behind his desk. He didn't bother looking up as Beau entered.

* * *

Wolfram had hardenedhis heart to theideaof Beau overnight.

But it was a very different thing, he realized in that moment, to harden his heart to therealityof the man.

His scent wafted in with him and it was almost unbearable now. Wolfram hated himself for noticing. It awakened something in him that he didn't like—something savage and untamed.

It was more than what had occurred to him on the treadmill, that Beau would’ve been the type of conquest that haunted him in his past life. There was some deeper urge. He wanted to possess Beau, to claim him illogically, to protect him. And in turn, he wanted to belong to the other man, to feel his gentle hands on him once again.

It was insanity, Wolfram thought.

The reporter was not only a stranger—he was an interloper, someone who didn’t belong in Wolfram’s world at all. And he would be gone soon.

Very quickly, in fact, if he followed Wolfram's instructions.

"What are these?" Beau asked, squatting in front of the pile of magazines Wolfram had left by the door.

"Interviews done by the many seasoned journalists that came before you," Wolfram said, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the computer screen in front of him. "There should be enough in those interviews to fill your book several times over."

Beau stood slowly, holding several magazines in his hand.

He waited for Beau to flip through them or to notice that Wolfram was on the cover of some of them—to ask him if he'd really looked like that before the curse.

Beau didn't.

"This isn't what I want at all," Beau said. He strode toward Wolfram's desk, bringing his scent with him, making it even more unbearable to be around him. The cloying, dull sweetness from the day before had been replaced with something different—sharp and savory. Wolfram’s mouth almost watered at it.

Wolfram could sense Beau’s heart beating faster—again, not in fear. This time he was angry.

"I need to work with the source if I'm going to write something powerful enough to break a curse," Beau said.

Wolfram still refused to look up. The beast’s senses inside of him were roaring.

"I'm afraid I'm not interested in continuing in the same vein as yesterday," Wolfram said. Being cold came so naturally to him. He'd had plenty of practice.

"I need to work with you. Directly. That was the deal," Beau said.

"I didn't make the deal. It wasn't my idea to begin with. And if you can't write a book based on the sources I'm providing you now, you'll simply have to try harder."

Beau took the last few steps to his desk and slammed his hands down on it. Wolfram was startled—didn't expect the display of boldness. No one ever got so close to him, did anything that could set him off. He looked up at Beau. The man had succeeded in getting his attention.

"I'm not doing this," Beau said.

"You most certainly are."

His blue eyes were flashing with a courageous light. He was stunning up close, just a few inches away from Wolfram's own face. The whole of his senses was filled with Beau, the reality of him, the smell of him, the way they were so close that Wolfram could practically hear his heart beating in his chest.

"Get out," Wolfram ordered, gritting his jaw and mustering up all of the coldness he could.

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