Beauty and the Beast Read online

  Beauty and the Beast

  Deatri King-Bey

  King-Bey Productions

  Beauty and the Beast Copyright © 2006 by Deatri King-Bey. Manufactured in the United States of America. All rights reserved. Except for the use in any review, the production or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerograph, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author, Deatri King-Bey.

  Visit Deatri online at: http://DeatriKingBey.com

  Dedication

  For those who don’t fit the standard of beauty and those whom others consider beasts.

  Acknowledgments

  I thank…

  God for the many blessings he bestows on me.

  My husband for his continued support and being my inspiration to write this novel.

  My family—especially my parents (Aaron and Mary Hodges), Ma (Dora Bey), Monique Bey and my sister in church Janis Grey. I’m a shy person, but they all made sure EVERYONE whose attention they could grab knew about my debut novel Caught Up.

  Angelique Justin, for having enough faith in me to create heroes and heroines that don’t fit the typical romance mold.

  Sidney Rickman, my editor, for keeping me from losing the reader in Neverneverland (SMILE).

  Last, but not least, my readers. I truly appreciate you.

  Prologue

  I haven’t prayed in longer than I care to remember. He raised his head from the edge of the hospital bed and watched as she fought for every breath. The bandages that covered her from head to waist hid thirty-six knife wounds. A tracheotomy helped her breathe and broke the lines of her long neck. And I’ve never begged. I.V. tubes supplied her nourishment. Please Lord, please. Save my beauty. A single-note hum suddenly replaced the heart monitor’s slow, yet steady, beep.

  “No!” the beast roared.

  Chapter One

  “And no matter what my knucklehead nephew says, I hired you, and I’m the only one who can fire you.” Delicate arms crossed firmly over her chest, Victoria Maxwell nodded at the young woman who sat across the kitchen table from her. “You understand me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Rachel replied shakily. She would be the sixth downstairs maid in as many months, and hopefully the last.

  “I’ll give her two weeks.” Anna, the longtime upstairs maid, continued to flip through the pages of a magazine. “No offense.” She peeked at Rachel and offered a half-smile, half-smirk.

  “He can’t be that bad.”

  “You’re right, he isn’t.” Anna smiled. “He’s worse.”

  Victoria smacked the table. “Stop that before you scare the poor child off.”

  Anna pretended to zip her lips, then absently twirled a lock of her graying hair between her fingers as she returned to the magazine.

  “My nephew can be very… difficult at times.” Back straight, Victoria placed her hands in her lap. “And though I pay a higher wage, I’m not paying you to take his verbal abuse. If he says or does anything out of hand, please come to me immediately.”

  As if to read what Anna was thinking, Rachel tried to connect with her eyes.

  “What about…” Rachel glanced over her shoulder toward the industrial sized refrigerator. A slender doorway sat between the side of the refrigerator and the wall, which led to the wine cellar. As usual, the door was cracked open slightly.

  “What about her?” Victoria asked stiffly.

  “Oh, no, no.” Hands held out, Rachel faced Victoria. “When we met, I really liked her. I was worried about Mr. Maxwell is all. Does he know she’s here? Will he scare her?”

  Relaxed in her seat, Victoria nodded slowly. “You’ll fit in just fine here. Don’t worry about Nefertiti. Just because she chooses to remain hidden, doesn’t mean she’s afraid.”

  “Auntie Vic!”

  All three women seated at the table stared at the kitchen entrance.

  “What the heck is he doing home?” Anna tsked. “I thought we had another week of freedom.”

  “Auntie Vic! Where the hell is everyone?”

  “Back here, Bruce!” Victoria lowered her voice. “I thought he said he had business on the East Coast until next week. I guess you’ll be meeting my temperamental nephew a little sooner than planned.”

  “He’s mental all right,” Anna grumbled.

  A few seconds later, Bruce stalked in and kissed Victoria on the cheek. He snarled at Anna.

  “Back atcha, sweetie.” Anna went back to flipping through her magazine.

  “Who the hell are you?” he barked at Rachel.

  Before she could answer, Victoria cut in. “This is Rachel, our new downstairs maid, and if you do one thing to make her quit, I’ll take a switch to your tail.”

  Brow raised and arms folded over his broad, suit-clad chest, he said, “Welcome to the Maxwell household. I’m starving, fix me something to eat.”

  The ladder-backed chair scraped across the gray ceramic tile as Rachel—eyes wide—rose to do his bidding. Victoria calmly placed her hand over the young woman’s trembling hand. “Have a seat, darling.” Rachel swallowed hard and retook her seat.

  “What time is it, Bruce?” Victoria asked.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” He smoothed down his mustache with a swipe of his massive hand, then brushed over his closely cropped hair. “I know the kitchen closes at eight, but I was in meetings all morning, on a plane all afternoon, and stuck in traffic all evening. I’m tired and hungry. I don’t think I’m asking too damn much for a little something to eat when I get home.”

  “Are you cursing at me?” Victoria’s voice did not rise above that of normal conversation.

  “No, ma’am. I’m just hungry and irritable.” He momentarily narrowed his eyes at the cellar doorway.

  “When aren’t you irritable?” Anna murmured. Victoria cut her big browns at Anna. “Oh, did I say that out loud? Sorry. Or as you kids would say, ‘My bad.’ ” The middle-aged woman winked at Rachel, then continued to thumb through the magazine.

  “First off, you did not ask, you ordered Rachel to fix you something to eat.” Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but Victoria raised her hand. “Secondly, Rachel is the downstairs maid, not your personal cook. Thirdly, if she were the cook, she’d be off now. Why didn’t you grab something before you came home?”

  “Aw, forget it.” As if he felt someone watching him, he glanced toward the cellar doorway again before he headed to his room.

  “Oh and, Bruce, Nefertiti reads in the downstairs study. She doesn’t come out until nightfall, so it should be easy for you to avoid her. But if you do see her, do not upset her.”

  “What?” He returned to the table. “Why is she here?”

  “I told you last month she’d be staying here after she was released from the hospital.”

  “You can’t be serious. Why doesn’t she stay with her family?”

  “She’s my goddaughter, and this is her home as long as it is mine.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I’m sure she wants to leave Chicago, but she might as well stick around until after that monster’s trial.”

  “And when the hel… When’s that?”

  Rachel’s eyes shifted between the two, tennis match style. Anna continued skimming through her magazine. Victoria, voice still calm and low, answered, “Next month.”

  Brows furrowed, he bit out, “Next month!”

  “Yes, next month.”

  “Fine. Just keep her out of my way.” He stormed out the room, grumbling, “Why shouldn’t I be irritable? My home’s been taken over by…” They missed his last words.

  “
Wow,” Anna’s shoulders bounced as she giggled, “that went nicely.”

  “Is he always like tha—” Rachel stopped abruptly as the cellar door opened fully and Nefertiti stepped out.

  Dressed in black denim, a long-sleeve black T-shirt, black cotton gloves and a black veil, Nefertiti nodded a greeting at the women. Since her release from the hospital, no one had seen more than her eyes. Her Hindu style veiling covered her face and hair and draped over her shoulders. Her clothing and gloves covered the rest.

  “Hello, darling.” Victoria met Nefertiti halfway and hugged her. “I trust Bruce didn’t disturb you.”

  “No, Bruce did not disturb me,” she said in soft, hoarse tones. “Would anyone like a Reuben?”

  “It’s much too late for me to eat, darling. Anna, Rachel?”

  “I’ll pass. Thanks,” Anna said.

  “I’m still stuffed from dinner.” Rachel watched Nefertiti take ingredients out the refrigerator.

  “I’m glad you’ve decided to stay, Rachel.” Nefertiti set the butter and rye bread next to the stove. “Don’t let Bruce’s bark scare you off.” She took out a bowl of sauerkraut, a package of Swiss cheese, and sliced corned beef and set them on the counter. “Where’s the mustard?”

  “Above the triple sink, darling.” Victoria returned to her seat at the table. The three women watched Nefertiti pull latex gloves over her cotton ones, then prepare two Reuben sandwiches.

  “Kind of hungry, huh?”

  “Leave her alone, Anna.” Victoria turned her attention to Rachel. “I’ll give you the key to the guesthouse or you can stay in one of the lower suites.”

  Rachel continued staring at Nefertiti as the cloaked woman prepared a garden salad and sliced pickles.

  Victoria gently kicked Rachel under the table. “Have you applied to the universities?” she asked with a tight smile on her face.

  Rachel knew red of embarrassment must show through the light complexion of her cheeks. “Oh yes, ma’am. I umm…” she fiddled with her micro braids, “… applied to start the spring semester at Chicago State, the University of Illinois and Roosevelt. I figured one of them would accept me.”

  “Nef, you’ve been here, what, three weeks?” Anna asked. “In that time I’ve never seen you cook.”

  Victoria tried to kick Anna, but Anna anticipated her friend’s reaction and moved her legs to where Victoria couldn’t reach.

  Nefertiti peeled the latex gloves off her hands and tossed them into the trash. “I cook. You just aren’t around when I do.” She set the plates on a tray.

  “Why the two plates?”

  “Because it’s as easy to prepare for two as it is one.” On her way out, she winked at Anna. “Good night, Rachel.”

  “Good night.”

  Moments after Nefertiti left, Victoria folded her arms over her chest. “Rachel, if you cannot control yourself—”

  “I know, I know… If she had seen me gawking…” The young woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just… She actually put latex gloves over the cotton ones. I was in shock. I’m sorry.”

  “I just thank God her back was turned. And you, Anna.”

  “Humph, don’t start with me.” She returned to her magazine. “Beast.”

  “She’s not a beast!” Rachel defended.

  “I wasn’t talking about Nef.”

  Cheeks heated with embarrassment again, Rachel relaxed in her seat. “I’m sorry. I’m still in shock. You don’t think he’ll hurt her, do you, Miss Victoria?”

  “No, Rachel. Bruce would never hurt Nefertiti.”

  Darkness. At times Bruce feared the darkness would swallow him whole. Yet, he felt most comfortable sitting in darkness with the oldies station playing softly in the background. How he wished he could turn back time, step out of the darkness. But no, this was his prison, and he wouldn’t wish this sentence on anyone. Especially Nefertiti.

  To pinpoint the exact time he fell in love with her was virtually impossible. From the time she was three and he was eight until she graduated from college, she’d spent every summer with his Auntie Vic. When he slipped into his dark mood, or “blue mood” as Victoria called it, Nefertiti was one of the few people who would refuse to allow his sour, foul disposition to push her away. A scene replayed in his mind.

  “Get out of my room, Nefertiti,” he said. “I’m a man. There’s no telling what I’m doin’.”

  Her sixteen-year-old laugh showered the room with a cheerful, yellow light, giving him a short reprieve from the blues.

  “Dream on. Now what do you think of this sketch?” She displayed the pad to him.

  “Leave me alone!”

  “I will as soon as you give your honest opinion about these sketches.”

  “I’m in college now. I don’t have time to look at your stick figures.” The real problem wasn’t stick figures, but her actual figure. Something awful had happened to Nefertiti over the school year. She’d filled out in places only women should. Places he wanted to caress into submission.

  “I like the third one the best.” She flipped through the pages. “And you’re in one summer school class. Get over yourself.”

  After a close examination, he decided. “The second one, the man being eaten by the lion.”

  “There’s no man.”

  “That was a suggestion. Now get out of my room.” He snatched the sketchpad from her and tossed it out the door. “You’re next.”

  Hands on her hips, she dared, “I’m not afraid of you. Come on with it.”

  Oh yeah, sixteen, feisty, beautiful, smart, and not afraid of his mood swings… What wasn’t there to love? By the time she graduated from college, he could barely keep his hands off her. Actually, he hadn’t.

  Memories of how he had almost slipped were fresh in his mind: the way the dorm room had smelled of macaroni and cheese, the way he’d drawn her into his arms, the way he’d kissed the smirk off her face, the way she’d opened freely to him, the way he’d pushed her away, the way the tears had trickled down her face.

  To make sure she understood there would never be anything between them, he’d refused to return her calls, and he would leave town or stay away whenever she visited Victoria. Time flew by, and the next thing he knew, ten years had passed and Victoria was saying Nefertiti was moving in.

  The song on the radio switched to “Play Another Slow Jam.” Nefertiti loved that song. She’d stop whatever she was doing and break into soulful song and a slow, sexy dance. As usual, the memories of the times they’d shared left him in a hardened state. How the hell will I stay away?

  No, he wouldn’t drag her into the darkness. Nefertiti represented light to him, the light he’d always wanted, and he’d do nothing to dim it. The light was beauty, was Nefertiti.

  The grumbling of his stomach broke into his musings. He’d known Victoria would give him a hard time for his treatment of the new maid, but he wanted to scare the young woman. Maybe this way she’d leave him alone. The last thing he needed was another gold digger envisioning the life of luxury he could provide.

  The first gold digger to enter his life had been Alexis Maxwell, his mother. When he was three, she left him with her sister, Victoria, and didn’t return until he’d made his first million twenty-two years later. All of a sudden, she wanted to be “mommy” to her “little boy.” The only thing that kept him from cutting her off completely was the respect Victoria had engrained in him.

  A tapping at the door caught his attention. Hoping the person would leave, he remained quiet. Horny and hungry, he was in no mood for either Anna’s ribbing or Victoria’s prying. What he did want was to feast on Nefertiti, but that wasn’t an option.

  The door opened slowly. “Bruce?”

  That soft, hoarse, sexy as hell voice couldn’t be his Nefertiti. At least he prayed it wasn’t. From his seat in the darkness, she couldn’t see him as she entered the room and felt along the wall.

  “Okay, where the heck is the light switch.”

  The moonlight provided just enough
light to showcase her curvy silhouette.

  “Only Bruce would have a room that doesn’t have light switches. Sheesh.” She timidly headed toward the window but stopped in the middle of the room. “That’s my jam!” She set the tray on the bed. “ ‘Play another slow jam… ’ ” she sang as she hugged herself and swayed to the beat.

  Arms raised in the air, she snapped her fingers to the beat and continued her solo.

  One second Bruce was in the corner brooding, the next his body took over his brain and he slowly approached her from behind, singing, “ ‘On a slow-o-o-o-o jam,’ ” as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “So you finally decided to come out of hiding.” She turned in his arms, rested her head on his chest and embraced him. “I’ve missed you, old friend.”

  “This is my room. I’m not hiding.” After all these years, she still fit perfectly in his arms. The urge to hold her close beat out his need to push her away. It had been so long since anyone held him in a genuine loving embrace. He’d even distanced himself from Victoria over the last few years.

  She stepped away. “Your stomach is growling. Where’s the light?”

  “Something smells delicious.” He switched on the lamp beside the bed to the lowest setting, and the room filled with soft light. To his surprise, she didn’t seem shocked by the black walls, ceiling, drawn blinds, or carpet. “What the hell is that on your head?”

  “A veil.” She moved the tray from the bed to the small, round reading table near the window, then took his plate and drink off the tray and set them on the table. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  “Sit and eat with me.” He patted the armchair beside the table for her to sit in, then carried the matching burgundy leather armchair from his bedside to the opposite side of the table.

  “Still bossy, I see.”

  “Still a smart aleck, I see.” After they were seated comfortably, he dug into his sandwich. The rye bread was toasted to perfection. Corned beef had never been his favorite, but blended with the warm sauerkraut and melted Swiss cheese, it moved up in his ranking. “This is either the best sandwich I’ve ever had in my life, or I’m starving and anything would taste good about now.” Halfway through the Reuben, he noticed she hadn’t touched her food. “What’s wrong?”