“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.”