Gerard's Beauty (6 page)

There went that whimper again and this time she was startled to realize it was coming from her. She pushed against his chest, his muscle slid beneath her palm and it was a little bit of torture to push him away.

She squeezed her eyes shut, leaning her forehead against his as she struggled for breath. “You can’t keep doing that.”

“Gerard.” He said simply and sat back.

“Do what?” Betty looked at him. His hair poked up where she’d twirled it. He scrubbed a fist down his face.

“My name. It’s Gerard.” He didn’t breath heavy, his face was calm, and without the slightest hint that he suffered the same internal turmoil she did. He’d rocked her world, she might as well have been a weed in his garden for all that he noticed her.

She licked her lips, still tasting him. “No last name?”

He growled, shoving his fingers like forks through his messy hair. And though he still bore bruises and looked frightening as hell when he scowled, Betty knew James had nothing on Gerard. This man was a woman’s wet dream made manifest.

“I’m not asking for your hand,
Madam
. Why do you insist on knowing me?”

Aaand
now she could think again. “Wow, you really are a jerk. Oh no wait,” she tapped her jaw, “you’re a misogynistic jerk. Twice now you’ve shoved your tongue down my throat...”

Gerard snorted. “You’re not the one who bares the love marks.” He patted the back of his head. “I’d say you were shoving that delicious tongue of yours down my throat as much or more.” He sat back, and though cramped, he still managed to look like a king relaxing on his throne.

Anytime Betty got mad as a kid, her dad would always tease and say, ‘
watch that one percent, Betty, its explosive’
. One percent meaning the negligible drop of Panamanian blood flowing through her veins, that hot Latin temper that could spark a flame with just one word. Normally, she could breathe through it, but not tonight, not with him.

“Fine, you wanna play that game, fine. Yes, I think you’re hot. Beyond hot. You’re every girl’s wet fantasy come true.”

His smile grew wider and she could just see that already enormous ego inflating.

“You’re also a pig...”

He frowned.

“A stranger, and if it wasn’t for the fact that my mom raised me to help those less fortunate than myself, I’d have left your sorry ass back there.”

“Ah.” He flicked his wrist in a gesture of dismissal. “Leave me, take me, I don’t give a damn. I’ll be gone soon and then I won’t have to worry about you, this world, or any other damn stupid, meddlesome, conniving...”

She froze, latching onto one thing. “What do you mean this world?” Betty had seen first-hand the effects of suicide on a family. Was that why he’d been sitting out there for two nights? Contemplating his end? He didn’t seem the type, but then again, neither had Trisha’s sister. Sometimes you could never tell.

He shrugged. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Betty eyed the beefy Frenchman. Not able to understand one bit her burgeoning obsession with the man. “Try me,” she dared him with lifted brow.

“
Non
.” Gerard went back to staring out the window and though she didn’t know him from Adam, she was pretty sure if he said ‘
non
’ than it was no. “Leave me, or let us go. I care not,” he muttered. That more than anything proved his non-dangerous status.

Weird, yes. Hot, without a doubt. A knife wielding psycho-- probably not.

Suddenly it seemed pointless to drive out to her brother’s. He’d be dead to the world, exhausted from his long shift, and not a little ticked off with her for bringing a big burly man to his doorstep just to dump him off so she could appease her conscious. Not to mention the fact that she suddenly felt an inexplicable urge to keep Gerard by her side.

He was probably spouting off nonsense, with no intention of killing himself, but she’d always promised herself that if she should ever be able to help someone contemplating suicide, she’d do it.

With a long sigh, suddenly exhausted and more than ready for a long, hot soak, she started her engine and turned the car back toward town.

She expected him to ask where she was headed. But he didn’t speak another word for the five miles it took them to get to her townhouse.

She punched in her code to open the gate and pulled into her assigned parking spot.

“C’mon,” she huffed, grabbing her purse.

He looked around with pursed his lips, and with a powerful heave, managed to extract himself from the car.

Betty walked to her bright red door, potted plants lined her stoop. “Home sweet home,” she said, swinging the door open and stepping back to let him in.

“This is your home, then?”

She bit her lip. Maybe it hadn’t been the right thing to bring him here. But apart from Trisha, she didn’t really have that many friends. What if he thought she was asking for a booty call?

Her cheeks flamed at the thought and she muttered a quick explanation. “It’s late, and I thought maybe you’d like some dinner.”

His face lit up like a little boy’s on Christmas morning. “Gods yes,” he groaned, “I could eat a horse.”

Chapter 6

The
fille
looked around like a cornered rabbit, darting quick glances over his shoulder, over hers, as if uncertain of her decision to bring him into her home.

“I’ll not kill you if that’s your worry,” he said with a grin.

She stopped moving, her brown eyes widened and she held up her hands as if to ward him off. “Why did you say that? I didn’t think that. Did I make you--”

Her voice had shot to a high pitched squeak and he pressed his finger to her lips, stilling her. Gerard found himself intrigued by the quirky proud woman who reeked of fear and yet stood her ground. Not that he wouldn’t mind a quicker capitulation than this-- but he’d learned the prize was often made sweeter by the chase.

“
Mon petite
,” he traced the line of her heart shaped chin with his thumb, his body responding to the barely discernible trembles running through her, “women are like a fine wine, meant to be savored slowly and often.”

Her ears blushed a deep shade of pink, Gerard chuckled and touched the hot tips; he’d never known a woman’s ears could flush scarlet.

She grabbed his hand, stopping his caress and her voice was a low throaty chuckle. He knew women, knew when they were sexually aroused and though her lips said no, her body told the true story.

“Frenchmen and their wine, next thing you’ll be telling me is I taste of escargot.”

He wrapped his hand around the finger she pointed into his chest. “And butter. Don’t forget the butter,” he teased, “escargot, wine, and butter.”

“The French trinity.” She snorted and the curve of her luscious lips told him she fought the laugh. “I brought you here to eat, to have a warm bed for one night. That’s all. No seductions.” She stepped out of his arms. “One night, Gerard. Period. So don’t get too cozy here.”

Gerard smiled. But it wasn’t just any smile, it was the slow spread of lips, the narrowing of eyes, and the tilt of his chin that he used like a weapon against her. He’d won many hearts by simply being patient.

“As you say,
Madam
,” he purred; his raspy growl grew even deeper and caused her pupils to dilate.

Let the woman believe herself in charge. That was the trick. Make her feel secure in her power and she’d never know the seduction had ever happened until she was in bed with him. By that point she no longer cared about nonsense like roses and words of affirmation. She’d take whatever he gave, but what he gave was plenty good. None had ever been less than satisfied. At least in that, Gerard succeeded.

She bit her bottom lip. The lass was truly delicious, a tempting mix of minx and innocence. His heart beat hard at the thought of finally making her his.

“What is your name?” Why was he asking that? He didn’t care. Truly. It didn’t matter and yet his entire body tingled with the need to know. This had to be Betty Hart, of all the women he’d seen, only she intrigued him on a visceral level.

Her lips quirked. “If you’re nice, maybe I’ll tell you.”

Gerard grinned, did she sass him now? How very interesting.

“After dinner.” And with that, she turned on her heels. “I’m dripping water all over the floor and so are you. Let me get us some clothes and then we can start thinking about what to do for dinner.”

***

“Wow,” she pushed her plate away and rubbed her belly, “where did you learn to cook like that?”

“A woman,” he said, stabbing another red potato on his fork before popping it in his mouth.

She twirled her glass of red wine between slim fingers. “Ah, of course.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Food is not the way to a man’s heart, it’s the other way around. Men don’t care if beef is boiled, grilled, or sautéed. No,” he shook his head, “so long as it’s warm and fills our belly, we’re content. But a woman...” he licked his lips eyeing her chest. The tight fit of her gray top outlined her rounded breasts to perfection, making him hungry for something other than the smoked cod on his plate. “Cook for her and she’s all yours.” He held out the palm of his hand.

She leaned back, lifted her foot on the chair and rested her hand on her knee. “You’re a dangerous man to know, Gerard. Somehow I don’t think many women get to walk away from you with their heart intact.”

Wine had loosened her tongue, gave her a becoming pink flush to her cheeks, and Gerard wanted her with a mounting desire that bordered on the insane. She wore a pair of checkered boxers, so masculine, but not on her. Not with the long expanse of creamy legs peeking out beneath and the tight fitting top-- there could be no mistaking she was pure woman.

His cock stirred. It’d been days since his last tup. Desperately wanting to adjust himself, he resisted the urge, not wanting her to realize just how badly he wanted her.

She licked her lips, her lids were slightly heavy, lazily opening and closing. He ground his jaw, no longer even tasting his food. With a growl, Gerard swiped the bottle of red off the table and filled his glass for the third time and chugged.

Either he got himself thoroughly smashed, or he’d make a move on her, and he knew she wasn’t ready. Not yet. He did it now and he’d never get another chance.

“Rented a movie last night,” she slurred a little.

“You’re a featherweight,
mon
cherie
. Perhaps you shouldn’t drink more.”

She hiccupped and then giggled, covering her mouth. “Don’t drink usually. Love it,” she drawled, “but drinking alone makes one a drunk.” She nodded as if to punctuate her statement.

Gerard took the glass from her hand, she pouted, and bloody hell he was close to shooting off in his pants. Pants he’d still not changed out of.

She’d brought him clothes earlier, something she’d mentioned a prior beau owning. The idea had settled like a brick in his gut, he’d not wear the clothes of another lover. Gerard didn’t follow, he led.

Thank the gods they were sitting, otherwise she’d notice the tent in his pants for sure.

“Indeed, beauty.” He gently grabbed the stem of the crystal glass and took it from her.

She made a grab for it and he shook his head.

“I do believe you’d be very unhappy with yourself in the morning if you went to bed drunk with a big, straping,” he grinned, “virile...”

She snorted.

“Handsome man in your house,” he finished.

She laughed. “Only two glasses.”

He shook his head. “
Non
,
belle
, this was the third and,” he glanced at the half empty crystal, “it’s almost empty.”

She wagged her finger. “You. You. You.”  She touched the tip of his nose and it was a bloody torture to remain seated and not grab her, pull her to his lap and fondle every inch of her luscious body. Her eyes went blank for a moment, then she blinked and finished her thought. “Make me nervous with all your ‘
non
’ and
mon petite chou
’ing and,” she sighed, “I hate players. Hate them and you’re just so you and I’m me,” she ran her hand down her body and now her chuckle started to wobble with the first hint of tears and he groaned.

Gods why had he urged her to bring out the wine? Beautiful or not, he could not deal with a woman’s tears, made him jittery and anxious to get away.

She sighed and shook her head, the smile back in place. “Rented a movie.”

His eyes widened. “Yes,” he pounced on her words.

She frowned. “Did I ask a question? I don’t remember asking a question.”

“Bloody hell, woman,” Gerard mumbled, louder he said, “
Non
. You did not ask, but yes, I’d like to see this movie.” He tasted the word, the crazy man in the bar that long ago night had talked on and on about talking pictures, Gerard was fairly certain a movie was that thing. He was curious despite his misgivings of spending too much time alone with a drunk woman who had uppity morals when sober.

She flipped hair out of her eyes. “Beauty and the Beast,” she snickered and he went still as a corpse. “Best non Anime movie ever. I mean I know it’s a cartoon, but it’s my favorite. Usually Briley comes to spend the nights and it’s his favorite too.” She stood. “Want to watch it with me?”