“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.