by Marie Hall
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?”
Gerard licked his teeth, fire burned in his gut and he shoved his plate away. “What is your name?”
She pursed her lips. “Ohh,” she mock shuddered, “so growly. I don’t know...” she tapped her chin.
“Argh,” he flicked his wrist and standing, grabbed their dishes, depositing them in the sink. “Forget it.”
She wiggled her brows. “You’re hooked on me. Admit it.”
“You’re a woman,” he said.
The woman was crazy, drunk, and hell if she sighed once more and lifted those breasts any higher he’d forget his fledgling morals and rip the shirt off her. Gerard gripped the sink. “Name?”
She stuck her tongue out and stood to wobbly feet. Her eyes bugged as she laughed. “Grounds a little rolly, no?”
“L’enfersanglant, woman. Why do you keep wine in the house if you can’t handle it?” Gerard walked to her side, grabbing her elbow as he led her to the living room. She was going to smash her face in.
She wrinkled her nose and glanced down. “Bloody hell to you too and you have sexy hands. You know that. I bet you do. I bet women throw themselves at you, right? Jeez, I’m drunk. I’m never drunk... did you do that?”
He rolled his eyes. “Non. You’re a closeted lush that can’t handle her spirits.”
She snorted. “Betty Hart.”
Gerard pushed her down onto the couch, she did a little mewling sound in the back of her throat and snuggled her face into the cushions. Gods the woman had the sexiest legs he’d ever seen. Endlessly long and curvy, toned, and a pale luscious cream. He growled, and shoved his fingers through his hair. Blood pooled in his aching cock, and he took two steps back. But he still smelled her flowery perfume everywhere, and now she was yawning, stretching her arms high above her head, and baring her smooth belly-- and it wasn’t enough. He needed distance, space.
She was drunk.
Gerard had few moral hang-ups, sexing up a drunkard was one of them. His nails dug into the palms of his hands.
She eyed him. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, damn you. I heard your name. Where’s your shower?”
Betty’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and she pointed behind him. “Down the hall, and you’re really rude. Why did I bring you home? I’m a single woman, this is so stupid. And why am I drunk? Again, so stupid.”
She grabbed her forehead and muttered under her breath and she was right... so stupid. Because right now Gerard wanted to strip her, himself, and make her come until she screamed.
With a groan he turned on his heels and headed toward the shower. The colder the better.
“Fee,” he muttered, “come get me now.”
This time the air around him shuddered with a pop of pressure and he knew Danika had finally heard. Thank the gods, one more night around Betty and he’d lose any vestige of chivalry. It was time to go home, to the waiting arms of a lover who expected nothing more from him than a no-strings attached romp and away from the maddening temptation of Betty’s viperous tongue.
Chapter 7
Betty knew on some level that she was in trouble. A. She should never have brought him home. B. She most definitely should not have had that third glass. She’d known after two glasses she was just shy of buzzy. But Gerard had made her more nervous than she’d thought possible.
The dull sound of running water echoed down her hall, and she grabbed her furry pink throw blanket off the back of the couch, cuddling down into it. The man was huge, gorgeous, and he was staying in her house.
What the hell had she been thinking? In what universe would she EVER do something like this? Betty had always been the designated driver, even in college-- she’d known she couldn’t handle any type of liquor. Hell, everyone knew that. If she went to a bar, it was virgin’s all the time.
She closed her eyes.
Gerard would be naked. She licked her lips. Soaping that hot, hard body of his. His long fingers stroking the length of his thick, bulging...
Panting, she snapped her eyes open. Oh man, she totally could not think that. It was too easy to picture the water sluicing down his rock hard abs. Not that she’d seen him without a shirt on, but no one that yummy would ever sport anything other than a six pack. The man screamed gym rat.
Heart racing, pulse pounding, and her thighs tingling with a powerful need to stroke herself she grabbed the D.V.D. off the coffee table and slowly made her way to the TV. She popped the movie in and settled back. A cartoon, that would kill the wicked voice in her head demanding she go join him.
But she couldn’t focus on it. She’d seen the movie at least five hundred times by this point. She basically knew it line by line. But it failed to keep her attention. Thirty minutes into it, she kept glancing at the empty doorway with a profound longing for him to return.
How long did it take him to shower? What exactly was the man doing? She strained, lifting up on her knees to peek around the corner. This was her house, she could totally walk down the hall without making him think she did it because of him. But yeah, her butt wasn’t moving. With her luck she’d trip and fall in front of the bathroom door just as he opened it and she’d catch a glimpse of... She shook her head. No, stop that Betty. She bit the corner of her lip and then crossing her arms, turned her back on the hallway and scowled at the blurry screen. She’d taken her contacts out earlier and she needed to put on her glasses.
Normally she had no problem grabbing them, but the black horn-rimmed glasses-- while comfortable-- were far from sexy. Not that she should give that a second thought.
“Ugh,” she swiped her case out of the basket next to the couch and plopped them on, who cared what he thought so long as she didn’t get a headache.
Betty focused on the screen, soon lost in the story and giggling when Beast acted like his beastly self-- snarling at poor Belle for exploring the wrong side of the castle. She could totally picture Gerard acting the same way, all snarly and proprietary and her heart pounded wondering why she was so damn intrigued.
Maybe because he was big and French and she’d had a major thing for French men in college. Betty had jumped at the chance to study abroad for a year, especially when she’d discovered she’d be staying in gay Paris. She’d been wildly disappointed though.
Not because of the land, it was beyond beautiful. Or the food even, the food had been nothing short of heaven. But she’d not experienced a passionate French affair, her only regret.
She tapped her foot, bouncing it in rhythm to the song as she glanced over her shoulder again. “Where is he?”
Sure she’d told him no seduction, but he didn’t need to be so literal about it and stay away completely.
“Trying to forget you, my dear.”
Betty’s eyes bugged and she twirled around, making the room spin for a split second and giving herself a wicked case of vertigo. She grabbed her stomach and couldn’t even squeak out a sound at the sight of a doll sized woman hovering in front of her.
Her hair was blonde, piled in large curls atop her head and threaded through with a string of... well, it looked like dew. Like perfect miniature dew drops shimmering in mother of pearl. Her wings were a see through, blue-tinted gossamer color. Reminding Betty more of dragonflies wings than a butterfly’s. She had an open face, not breathtakingly gorgeous, but friendly.
Betty rubbed her eyes. “I know I’m not that drunk.”
The fairy-- who’d been tapping her blue star tipped wand in into the palm of her hand-- lifted a brow. “Oh is that it? Well, I can fix that right up.”
Before Betty had a moment to gather her thoughts in protest, pink lightning arced from the wand and encircled her head. Her heart raced as she breathed in ozone tinted air, the breath burned her nose with mini volts of shivering current. And like a balloon popping, the wine laced stupor she’d been in v
anished in an instant.
She yelped and scooted to her feet. “Gerard!” She screamed. There’d been no thought to call Gerard, pure instinct drove her to yell for him, wanting him suddenly near her. “Come here. Come quick.”
The fairy grinned. “First name basis, already? How splendid!” She rubbed her hands. “I knew you were the one.”
“What?” Gerard’s thick burr snared Betty’s gaze, she pointed at the fairy, ready to demand if he saw her too or if she’d totally lost her mind, but the words died.
“You’re...you’re--”
Water puddled at his feet. His very bare feet. She licked her lips, mentally chanting at herself not to look up. Black springy hair covered extremely muscular calves, and his thighs... she gulped, like a cedar trees.
