Étienne held his hands up in mock surrender. “I have no doubt that you can. However, traditionally, dressing the master of the house is the role of the valet.”

“Don’t call me that,” I mumbled.

“Someone’s in a mood this morning,” Étienne said. “What, you didn’t sleep?”

“Something like that,” I said. Étienne examined me, no doubt noting the dark circles under my eyes and the pallor in my cheeks.

“You must take better care of yourself, friend,” he said, and his tone was gentle now. “You’ll run yourself ragged, and for what? There’s no danger here; you’re safe.”

I snorted derisively. “Who said I didn’t feel safe? Look at me.” I gestured toward my body, which I still exercised daily. Many ex-pro wrestlers allowed themselves to grow fat when they retired, but not me. I was still just as powerful as I had been at the height of my career, and I intended to stay that way.

Étienne was silent, refusing to rise to the bait.

“The girl is here then?” I asked, feigning casual disinterest.

“She is,” Étienne confirmed. “But you already knew that. Do you want me to tell you about her?”

I shrugged noncommittally. I knew I was acting like a sullen teenager, but I couldn’t seem to snap myself out of it.

Étienne continued, taking my silence for a yes. “She’s exactly what we’ve been looking for: intelligent, open-minded, discreet. All of us men are enjoying getting to know her. And, of course, she’s beautiful. But you’d know that, if you’d agree to meet with her.”

“I can’t, Étienne,” I said. He fixed me with a long, hard look.

“Of course you can, you just don’t want to. Tell me, Jacques, what exactly are you scared of?”

I tensed at the question. “I’m not scared, I just know it’s a bad idea,” I said.

“Then prove it.”

My head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“Meet with her. Do the interview. Let her write her article. Nothing else.” I didn’t respond, finding sudden interest in the pattern in the carpet. “For God’s sake, Jacques, she’s not some five-headed monster, she’s just a girl. Just talk to her. Maybe it will do you some good to talk with someone besides the six of us.”

“It won’t,” I insisted.

“You can’t know that unless you try,” Étienne countered. “At the very least, it can’t do you any harm to talk to her. You don’t have to say or do anything you don’t want to.”

I knew Étienne had a point. I sighed, closing my eyes. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll do the interview. But nothing else.”

Étienne nodded, pleased. “I’ll leave you to get dressed,” he said, and slipped out as quietly as he’d arrived.

So I would meet with the girl. I would give her what she wanted, and send her on her way. Then I could go back to having my life just the way I wanted.

13

Isabel

Day three in the castle, and I still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of my subject. I was beginning to lose hope. Some journalist I was; I couldn’t even write a fluff piece on a washed-up ex-wrestler.

I took a bite of my bacon, too distracted to even taste it, though I’d had enough of Isiah’s cooking by now to know that it was delicious. I’d taken my breakfast out to the patio to enjoy the cool breeze as I ate, and I could hear Alexandre’s cheerful whistling as he worked somewhere nearby. Maybe I would go find him when I finished my breakfast. I could use some cheering up.

Not for the first time, I wondered what kind of man this Beast was; why he would agree to host me, go to all the trouble of transporting me out to his castle, and then refuse to even meet with me. Étienne still insisted that he would, he just needed more time to get accustomed to the idea.

I made up my mind: I would give it one more day, and if the Beast still didn’t appear, I would call the whole thing off and go home. I would explain to Bonita that I had tried my hardest, but the Beast just wouldn’t participate. She would understand; she had to.

At least the trip wasn’t entirely a waste. I thought back on the night before, and my toes curled involuntarily. I would have the memory of having two men at once to take home with me.

I hoped Étienne and Bernard kept their promise not to share our exploits with anyone else, particularly not the Beast. I couldn’t imagine what he would think of me, should he know that I had gotten up to with his men, under his roof.

Someone coughed behind me, and I started, lost in thought. I turned, expecting to see maybe Bernard or Étienne, come to check in on me. Instead, I found the largest man I’d ever seen in my life: The Beast.

Tags: Nicole Casey Seven Ways to Sin Fantasy
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