Page 32 of Her Beast

Malcolm handed Smith a glass of the Armagnac he kept just for his friend’s visits.

“Cheers,” Smith said, sinking into the chair across from Malcolm’s desk and heaving a contented sigh.

Malcolm smelled sex and sweat on the other man, and it made his prick perk up and his mouth water.

“You should have joined us,” Smith said. His white silk robe gaped open, exposing a tantalizing strip of hard, smooth body.

“You didn’t care for Samson?” Malcolm asked, his gaze lingering on the other man’s taut, ridged abdomen before he reluctantly pulled it away.

“You know I did—thank you for such a treat. But nobody compares to you, Mal.” He gave Malcolm a look that smoldered.

He shivered at the sound of his pet name on the other man’s tongue; Smith was the last person to remember who Malcolm used to be, the poor, gangly street lad with feet and hands that were too big for his rangy body.

“It’s a shame we only manage to get together a few times a year,” Smith said.

“I’m sure you have many others clamoring to amuse you.”

Smith swirled the golden-brown liquid around in his glass and gave Malcolm a faint smile, neither confirming nor denying his words. Instead, he asked, “How have you been occupying yourself since last we spoke?”

“I will never again open two stores at the same time as long as I live.”

Smith chuckled. “It does seem like a big mouthful. And yet I don’t think you would hesitate to do so again. You will never slow down.”

“Will you?” he retorted. When Smith hesitated, Malcolm’s eye widened. “Don’t tell me you are considering slowing down, Smith?”

“Sometimes I think about it.”

“I’m stunned.” Smith was the only man Malcolm had ever met who was as driven, if not more so, than he was. “What would you do if you didn’t work?”

“Oh, I’d never stop working, but I do wonder if there is not more to life.”

“Such as?”

“Children, a family.”

It was a night for surprises. “You’ve never mentioned wanting a family.”

“Is it something you want?” Smith countered.

“It doesn’t matter what I want. No woman would want me for anything other than my money. Even if she could stomach me long enough to fuck me and bear my child, what kind of life would a family have with a monster such as me?”

“Do you think Sukey would have felt that way if she’d survived?”

“No, of course not. But she loved me beforethis”—Malcolm waved a hand at his ruined face and body. “Anyone I meetnowwould have to possess a cast iron stomach and a reason to look beyond the wreckage.”

“You don’t think there are women who would do that?”

“No doubt there are a few, but I am not willing to put in the time and effort to find them. And quit trying to change the subject, Smith. Are you considering marriage after all these years?”

“No, not marriage.”

“But there is somebody, isn’t there? Is it that lad who lives with you—Charles?”

Smith sighed. “I’m afraid my time with Charles is at an end.”

Malcolm wasn’t surprised; Smith rarely kept his lovers for long, nor did he ever get very attached. He’d always held part of himself aloof even with Malcolm. Although they’d been friends and lovers for decades, he still knew nothing about the man’s past before he came to England, and he’d long ago learned not to pry. The only time he’d pressed Smith on the issue the man had disappeared from his life for almost two years.

“Tell me something,” Smith said, his expression almost pensive. “Sukey had other lovers—not only the ones you enjoyed together, but others you didn’t meet or know?”

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