“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’enfer sanglant, 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?”