Page 75 of Beau and the Beast

It was the most intimate, sensual experience he could recall—and Wolfram never wanted it to end.

* * *

I’m sitting here pettingmy friend, Beau thought.I’ve officially crossed into the territory of being a creep.

Finally, Wolfram began moving under him, straightening up. Beau sat back on his heels, moving to give Wolfram more room but not standing yet.

Wolfram turned and, face to face, Beau realized that this was the closest the two of them had ever been.

Wolfram's pupils were blown wide but this close, Beau could see the different colors in his irises, the spots where the gold color was joined by emerald threads. He wondered what Wolfram's eyes must have been like before, if they were so expressive, such an impossible color.

Beau realized he was staring. For once, he didn't care.

"That was incredible, Beau," he said, the purr in his chest finally tapering off and growing silent.

"It was my pleasure, really," Beau insisted.

Wolfram's mouth fell open with purpose, as if he was tasting the air. Then he swallowed hard, leaning even closer to Beau.

What was the moment? Something had shifted, electricity pulsing between them, and Beau wondered absurdly whether or not Wolfram was about to kiss him.

Wolfram leaned forward and his trajectory was clear.

This is happening, Beau told himself, his heart thudding in his chest as he closed his eyes, tilting his head up to receive Wolfram.

And then... it didn't. Beau felt movement to his left and when he opened his eyes, he saw that Wolfram had leaned forward to snag his vest up off the floor where he'd discarded it.

He was getting dressed again. Not leaning in to kiss Beau.

Beau coughed hard into his fist and stood up abruptly.

"Is something wrong?" Wolfram asked, watching him stand.

"No, uh, we're good, I, uh," Beau stammered lamely. "Choked on some dust."

Yep, everything's totally fine, Beau thought.Just coming to terms with the fact that I was apparently 100% ready to make out with a monster. No big.

Even as he thought it, Beau chided himself. How many times had he acknowledged the fact that Wolframwasn'ta monster? What a shameful thing to think about this man—this person who was his friend, who was generous, who Beau was—

Attracted to, he realized.

Beau took his seat on the other side of the table and massaged his temples.

"I think I need a break," Beau said.

* * *

Beau was alwayseasy at dinner and Wolfram admired him for it. He could juggle several conversations at once, all the while keeping an eye on what the others at the table needed—quick to fill a glass or fetch something from the kitchen.

But tonight, Wolfram could sense that something was off. Every time Wolfram looked up, he caught Beau looking at him—whether flat-out staring or looking at him from the corner of his eye. Wolfram checked his appearance in the mirrored surface of the glass behind Beau’s head several times, afraid that maybe he’d been messy and not noticed it or that he had something awful stuck in his teeth.

But no: everything was in place, exactly as it should be.

So what caught Beau’s attention that night? Wolfram wondered.

When Wolfram met his gaze, Beau looked away each time, as if ashamed or embarrassed. On top of that, he was pushing his food around his plate, barely eating.

“Don’t tell me you’re disappointed in your own cooking,” Wolfram teased gently when there was a lull in conversation.

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