Page 10 of Beautiful Beast

“So, you have to be young to be nice? And kindness is the equivalent of naivety?”

“As nice as you are, yes. That’s correct.”

“I think that was a compliment,” she says. “And I’m notthatyoung. I’m twenty-four.” She juts her chin as though she dares me to deny how much life experience she’s accumulated.

“I’ve got ten years on you, princess, and I’m also out of time to continue this conversation. I assume you can find your way back down where you belong using the fire escape?”

“For God’s sake,” she mutters. “Can you at least open the door for a minute? Why are we having a conversation in the hallway?”

“No. I didn’t invite you here, remember?”

I also haven’t truly dismissed her or closed the door, but that’s because I really like her face. Her porcelain skin is radiant, her doe brown eyes are completely captivating, and her pouty lips are just begging to be kissed.

But even if my life wasn’t in shambles, she’s too young to even consider as a friend, let alone anything else.

Regardless of whether or not my dick agrees.

A wise man once told me that younger women are fun in bed and a nightmare everywhere else. They make your life hell with their drama and nonsense. The trade-offs for sex – even if it’s mind-blowing – aren’t worth the distraction and annoyance.

I really need to stop thinking about sex and what she has in that damn box.

“I already know what you look like, Adam, and–”

“How?” A gripping panic fills my chest, but I try to keep my voice calm and level. Maybe she saw a reflection when I was retreating down the hall. Maybe I opened the door too wide and–

“My friend googled you,” she admits. “There were a bunch of pictures.”

Ah.

So she knows what Iusedto look like, which is an entirely different story.

“Anyway,” she continues, trying to peer around the door. “You have no reason to hide.”

“I guess that was you complimenting me back,” I return.

Except her words no longer apply.

It’s true that women admired how I looked in the past, but all of that has changed now.

This girl isn’t going to take a hint, and apparently, I’m being too subtle. “Belle, you really need to go, okay? I have a lot going on, and I don’t want any visitors.”

She looks down at her feet and takes a moment to pet her dog, who turns his big head up to give her a slobbery smile.

“Will you at least take the gift?” she asks softly. “Buster and I made it ourselves.”

I can’t open the door to accept whatever it is that she has, or she really will run. And it won’t be because I told her to – it will be because she’s scared.

And that hits entirely differently and is not what I want.

I start to protest and tell her that I don’t need a gift, when she barrels on and keeps talking, cutting off my rejection before I can voice it.

“My grandmother? Annie. Well, I thought she was dead. You know, before she was actually dead. That’s why I never came around or knew to look for her. She… The only memory I have of her before my family went to hell was her chocolate chip cookies.”

Belle goes silent for a moment and stares at her feet, lost in a memory.

“Scent is so connected to memories, right? And every time I smell homemade chocolate chip cookies, it makes me smile because it’s a small way to have my grandmother in my life. It’s a trigger, but a good one. You probably think that’s stupid. But anyway, I found her recipe in the apartment, and I… I guess I just thought maybe you needed a reason to smile, too.”

Dammit.

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