Beauty--Remastered Ch. 07

*Dear loves, I sooo apologize for taking absolute AGES to get this chapter out. For some reason, I was having the worst writer's block and I hated everything I wrote...erased the whole thing like 3 times! But, I finally had a spasm of inspiration and asked one of my best friends to critique it, and that helped a whole lot to loosen up my words. As always, thank you, loves, for reading, voting and commenting. It absolutely killed me when I read the requests for a new chapter and I couldn't just bang it out. That's one of the things I actually don't care for about writing: having the words stick sometimes. But, anyway, I made this chapter a tad bit longer than my others, and I hope you enjoy it. Chapter 8 is in the works, I promise, and you won't have to wait so long!

Kisses, Almostluver*

Chapter 7

True to his word, Donovan became a "persistent bastard"...but it happened a whole hell of a lot faster than Scarlet expected.

He exited the bathroom, naked as the day he was born, hard as steel, and strutted – as much as his injured leg would allow him to strut, in any case - right past the chair she was sitting in. The brush in her hand froze, still in her damp hair, as her eyes were glued to the massive, solid shaft jutting imperiously from its nest of dark curls at eye-level.

He felt her stare, almost as tangible as her hand, and he smirked. The gathering of his clothes was a long, drawn out process, made so by the knowledge that she was still frozen with her entire being focused on him. Retrieving a towel from a drawer in an armoire near the fireplace, he slowly and carefully wiped away the droplets of water that clung to his body.

Scarlet's eyes followed the towel, caressing over rippling pectorals, tight abs, the chiseled cut of his pelvis, and zeroed in, once again, on the erection between his legs. He scrubbed over it purposefully, handling it so she saw every bit of it, from the thick, plum coloured head to the heavily veined shaft to his large, low swinging testicles. Her mind flashed back to the painting upstairs; it was even better than he'd painted it, bigger, thicker...mouthwatering. Now where had *that* thought come from?

He smirked again and pulled on his silky night pants, opting to go commando. Something about that appealed to her.

"Dinner should be ready." He finally spoke, interrupting the silence, after he'd pulled on a shirt.

She jerked, as if waking up, and resumed brushing out her hair, turning away. Her free hand fidgeted with the lapel of her long robe, tugging it closed, even though she had a nightgown underneath that rose to just below her collarbone.

"Are you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Her voice held a tell-tale shake. It was the first time she'd seen *all* of him – in the flesh – and instead of inciting fear, like she'd always thought it would, she was feeling startlingly aroused. The thought that he wouldn't fit flitted across her mind, but something inside her shoved that doubt aside with a hearty and hungry 'who the fuck cares?'

"Would you like to eat up in the room, or downstairs? How does dinner in bed sound?" Donovan stood next to her, pushing his hand through her damp curls. She pulled her head away and he frowned. "Annabelle..."

"Downstairs, please." To her horror, she fumbled the brush onto her dresser. Donovan smirked. Gathering her nerves, she passed close to him on her way to the door and waited for him to lead the way.

***

Abner had fixed them a huge feast, with a ridiculous amount of choices. Scarlet didn't realize how hungry she was until they reached the dining room, and then her stomach instantly reminded her that it had been . She had a small helping of everything he'd prepared. Donovan ate less, and he talked to her almost constantly. Even Abner noticed the abrupt change in his master. He cast the pair of them mystified glances every time he entered the room.

"How's your foot?" Donovan asked after supper, as he led Scarlet up to their bedroom. She'd begun limping again, albeit just slightly, and somehow he knew it.

"It hurts." She admitted reluctantly. They entered the room, which was lit with several candelabras, and a softly roaring fire in the fireplace. It was warm, thank goodness, Scarlet sighed and shrugged off her robe.

"Come, I'll bandage it properly." In their bathroom, he found a first aid kit under their sink, and he ordered her into bed. After washing his hands meticulously, he sat at the foot of the bed and took her hurt foot in his lap. His movements were careful but sure as he cleaned her cut with antiseptic that made her hiss in pain, and wrapped it with a proper bandage.

"I should have done this before," he murmured, taping the cloth. "Stay here. Do you want some pain medicine?"

"No, it's not so bad." She scooted back in bed and watched him return to the bathroom. The look on his face, and his lack of a shirt when he came out made her stomach quiver. "Donovan..." He sat down next to her. "Why did you change? Really? Did something happen to you on your trip –"

"No, nothing happened. It's just...when I left, and I wasn't near you anymore...I really felt it."

He was lying. She knew he had to be. Nobody on earth just completely changed opinions like that. Sure, she'd missed him, just like he'd claimed to, but she still almost hated him when he'd come back. She still almost...disliked him *now*.

And, she could tell, he didn't just miss her body and how he was constantly trying to get into it. He'd sounded amused when she argued with him in the forest, instead of annoyed. He sounded like he was having fun, even. Like he'd missed it.

If she was completely honest with herself, she had missed their arguments too.

"What did I tell you about thinking so much?" He teased, sliding under the covers. "You're a complete puzzle, my dear. Either you don't think, period, or you overdo it. Never in between. Why is that?"

"Shut up." She pulled the blankets over her head. He slid down beside her and rolled over her, pushing her flat on her back. Scarlet swallowed nervously. "What are you doing?"

"I told you," He lowered his head to nuzzle her neck. "Being a persistent bastard." She felt the wet, smooth slide of his tongue on her skin, and she squeezed her eyes shut. A heat spread from that damp path on her neck, down over her breasts, and further down to begin a low ache at her core. "You smell so damn good, Scarlet." His hand settled against her hip. He pressed kisses on her rapidly heaving chest. His tongue caressed her again. "Taste good, too."

"Wait..." she pushed at him gently. For a moment, he resisted, but maybe he realized that fighting wouldn't help win her, and he rolled to lie beside her. His arm, though, laid heavy across her small waist. "I'm not..." She stopped and tried to gather her thoughts, not an easy task when he was touching her. "I don't..."

"It's okay," he murmured, his other hand caressing her soft, unruly curls. "I understand. It's too fast for you. In all honesty, we know next to nothing about each other."

Well, that wasn't quite true, when it came to him. He knew almost every one of her waking moments, from her birth up until he went blind, minus the years her family had been missing. But his accident had been a few years ago. She was still mostly a stranger. Besides, she *really* didn't need to know that he'd had an obsession that fringed on stalking with her before she was even legal. In his defense, it hadn't been sexual, at the time. He just...

Donovan cut himself off, mid-thought. "How about you and I get to know each other? Just ask questions, talk. Would that be alright?"

Scarlet sat up, throwing the covers off of their heads, and stared at him. Her thoughts were incredibly repetitive as she wondered, yet again, what had happened to him while he was away. But, he sounded sincere, and it wouldn't hurt her to know him. It was only for two weeks, after all.

"Okay."

"Great!" He sat up beside her, a grin on his handsome face. It was almost frightening, how gorgeous he was with that unusual smile. If she remembered correctly, he'd never showed her his real grin. Always a smirk, if not a frown. "You may ask first, my dear."

She glanced away, wondering what to ask him. There were probably a million things she could ask – his middle name, his birthday, his favourite colour – but only a few seemed important at the moment.

Donovan could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. He was trying to tone his enthusiasm down, aware that it was completely out of place. He had never been, maybe in his whole life, so eager, so ready to open doors and create a friendship – or relationship, in his wife's case – with anyone. Even before his accident.

He expected her to ask something mundane. He was prepared with every insignificant answer she might want to know, from his middle name to his favourite colour.

Instead, she pulled out the big guns, right off the bat, and left him speechless: "Why did you marry me?"

Donovan's mouth hung open, and he was very aware how ridiculous he must look. That question would have come up eventually; he just wasn't expecting it in the first round.

"Donovan?" Scarlet nudged him. "Why did you?"

"I-I needed a wife." He stammered. "And it was arranged. A long time ago."

"Yes, but why? For one thing, you didn't want me as your wife in the beginning. Why was I chosen? Of all the girls you could have been matched with, why did you choose me?"

He knew she wouldn't stop until the whole truth and nothing but the truth was revealed. He didn't want to tell her at all, and if he could have lied, convincingly, he definitely would have considered it. That was hardly an option, because if she found out the truth of it, she would hate him even more than she was going to for learning the truth. As it was, honesty was all he could give her, and it was what she deserved.

"I inherited you."

Scarlet stared at him curiously. "You what?"

"Inherited. My father...won you, in a poker match, twelve years ago. He died before you were old enough, and he left me everything he owned. Including you."

"Poker..."

"Yes, it's a game played with cards and—"

"I *know* what poker is. I want details." Her voice was calm, but he braced for her anger.

"Your father and my father were not friends. They had been classmates for their whole lives, and they were always trying to get a lead over the other. Twelve years ago, they were gambling, and the game got nasty real fast. Eventually the stakes got higher and higher, going through stocks and properties, businesses even, and your father ran short of funds first. My father wouldn't let him go to get the money, in case he didn't come back...and it would have bankrupted your family. And there was nothing your father could do...so he gave you up. My father said he would claim you when you were eighteen."

"You're lying." She was still calm.

"No, I'm not. I have the contract, signed by both of our fathers and two witnesses." Donovan stumbled from bed and into the closet. He returned, holding out a yellowed piece of paper, and tried to ease some of the pain. "My father never meant any harm. He was only going to scare your father into an apology—he never thought you'd actually come to me...well, him." He knew it was a lie—he was secretly thankful that his bastard of a father had died before Scarlet came of age. The thought of him with her made him sick.

"This is illegal," She said calmly, poring over the paper carefully. It was a well-written contract. In fact, it was almost convincing. "You can't...you *can't* bet people in poker."

"I know. When I found out, I was disgusted." And secretly elated. He didn't have to keep that contract, didn't have to take her, but he wanted her. It was only the perfect means to an end. "I'm sorry."

Scarlet still didn't quite believe it. She stared and stared at the old piece of paper. This was unreal. Her father had given her away? To Donovan's father? And what did he expect would happen to her when she was of legal age. She knew, and her stomach rolled just thinking about it. She tried to laugh it off so she wouldn't be sick.

"Your father was more than twice my age. If I became your mother...I'd be younger than you. Imagine me, ordering you about, telling you to clean your room." It sounded forced, even to her own ears.

Donovan didn't tell her that she would have never become his mother if his father had lived to claim her. He tried to grin, though he was sure it seemed more of a grimace and his chuckle was mirthless. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Yes, okay. So what? I'm a possession now? You own me?"

"No. I told you, if you want to leave in two weeks, I'll let you. I know I shouldn't have gone through with this in the first place, I just..." he stopped himself from saying too much. "I'm very sorry."

She looked over the paper again, but didn't really see it. "He always did have a gambling problem. Never knew when to quit. Half my life was spent moving, because he was always in trouble with somebody..." A flash of a memory came to her: her mother screaming, slamming things. Her father pleading. The ragged doll she clutched in one hand, as she stood, staring and listening. And suitcases, packed by the front door. "I remember. The night he came home, there was a terrible fight. He...Mother wanted to take me away. He said he'd save up to buy me back, but I had to stay or he'd die. That was when we moved, for the first time."

Her voice became distant as she lost herself in the memory. "Oh, I was so tired, and so scared. Mommy came in my room, and she had my clothes in a bag. She kept telling me to hurry, but I was so tired. I was crying, I think. Then Daddy came in and he kept trying to stop her. She kept yelling at me, and at him, and I kept crying. Daddy picked me up, to make me shush, but she hit him and took me away... 'Don't you touch her!' she said... 'Not after what you did.' And then she carried me down to the car. 'Are you coming with us, James?' And he got in, quiet at last, and that was the last I ever saw of our home...I didn't understand it at the time. Just that Father had done something very bad." Donovan's hand on her cheek brought her back to the present. She blinked and the tears finally welled in her eyes. "He..."

"Shh," he pressed his lips against her forehead. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this, Scarlet."

She pulled away from him and his heart sank. "Don't. Not right now. I need to be alone."

"Of course." He moved away, but she stood up and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. After a moment's hesitation, he heard the soft click of the lock. Donovan slumped back in bed, his eyes stinging with tears for the first time in years. What had he done?

***

Scarlet stayed in the bathroom for hours. She tried hard, at first, not to think too much about it. It made her head hurt. But the thoughts kept coming, no matter what she did.

She was angry and sad and...almost amused. Angry at her father, Donovan, and maybe especially her mother. She had known. All these years, and she hadn't said a word, just let her daughter go to this strange man, because of a stupid poker game.

When it came to her father, though, she wasn't surprised, much. Yes, it was a shock, but in the long run, how could she have expected anything less from him? He'd had a gambling addiction all her life, and–

Something prickled in the back of her mind, like a long-forgotten memory, or déjà vu. She couldn't quite catch hold of it, though, so she let it be. Hopefully, it would come to her later.

Her father had gotten them into more trouble than she cared to recall. They'd moved so many times, sometimes just weeks after getting settled in a new home, because his money troubles. Her mother had stayed with him, though, because, stupidity or not, she'd still loved him. How she could, after all this time was a mystery to Scarlet. He'd lost their daughter in a fucking *game*.

That thought, the one she couldn't grasp, kept pricking her, and she tried again to bring it forward. It was useless.

And then, there was Donovan. He'd known as well. Maybe not for as long as her Mother had, but he'd still known that she was just seen as a commodity. He'd accepted her without protest, and had kept it a secret for nearly a month. She had known, deep down inside, that he knew things about her and their joining, that she didn't. But she had never expected something like this. His knowledge, and his decision to leave her in the dark made that hate she'd felt for him before yesterday return with a vengeance.

Her anger for him, though, was tempered by the fact that she was...attracted to him, and almost happy that she'd come into his life. Not that she'd ever admit that aloud.

This was a mess, and all she could do was accept it, get through the next two weeks, and move on, go where she wanted and be who she wanted to be. Nobody would own her, and nobody would command her.

Her mind ached, and when she finally exited the bathroom, the ornate miniature grandfather clock on the dresser read 4 o'clock. She paused beside the bed, looking down at her sleeping husband. A little more of her anger faded, as she studied his sweetly sleeping form. She'd probably never understand why she was less and less furious with him, the more she looked at him.

Resigned, she lay down beside him and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. He immediately rolled closer to her and pulled her into his arms, not waking up the whole time. It was a sweet gesture, and after the drama of the day, it made her eyes fill. She sniffled quietly to herself, and let him hold her till she silently cried herself to sleep.

***

Donovan woke nervously, but happy. Scarlet hadn't left him in the night. In fact, she'd joined him in bed after he'd finally dozed off fitfully. He had thought for sure she would go to a different room. He wondered, though, how she would wake up. Whether she would be angry, or sad. Whether she would still want to know him. She had cuddled with him in her sleep, but that was unconscious; he was a warm body for her to cling to. She might hate him, consciously.

He hoped and prayed she didn't. He had kept a huge secret from her. An unforgiveable one, if he were honest with himself.

If she woke up and didn't want anything to do with him, he would understand. He would accept that and let her go. But, if this was the last time he'd get to hold her, he was going to make the most of it.

Donovan started with her hair. His sensitive fingertips combed through the curls, smoothing the 'bed head' he was sure was adorable on her. Next were her ears, and he was gentle with those, not wanting to tickle her awake, hoping to prolong this moment with her. She had three piercings in each ear, he discovered; two in each lobe and one in the cartilage near the tops. Next, his hands found her brow, tracing over the fine arches above her eyes. Her lashes were long and silky, her cheekbones high and smooth. Her nose, possibly covered in the freckles of her youth, was straight and the tip was very pert, but not snubbed.

Her lips, oh god, her lips! They were soft and full and he longed to taste them again. Just one last time. His fingers lingered there for several long moments, learning the exact shape of them, committing the curves and textures to memory. They were so damn sweet, he remembered. So yielding. So delicious. So perfect. For a brief, carnal moment, he wondered what they would feel like wrapped around his–

"What are you doing?" Her voice startled him, and he jumped and jerked his hand away immediately. She sat up and looked down at him.

"I'm sorry." The way he said it meant for more than just for touching her. She looked at him silently for a moment, then rolled away to get out of bed. "Wait." He felt her pause, and drew his hand away from her arm. "I'm very sorry, but...I have to touch you, Scarlet."