Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. But the one month limit told him one thing… the tribunal had not believed she was his mate. This was a test, one he was sure to fail.
Though he’d bedded many women, Gerard had never been able to make one truly fall in love with him. With his body… yes. With his skill to illicit passion unlike any they’d ever known, beyond a doubt. He’d do everything in his power to make Betty fall in love with him.
Because he knew this was Galeta’s final attempt at revenge. If within the month Betty didn’t fall in love, she’d be freed, and he’d be sent back and destroyed.
She twitched and he brushed his fingers across her forehead, tucking her hair back.
Gerard had fallen in love once before, deeply. Truly. He’d loved Belle like no other before or since. He’d sworn off love after her betrayal, after she’d left him for a beast with money. He’d grown callused, cruel. He’d do the same to Betty, he always did. Gerard couldn’t love anymore. It simply wasn’t in him.
“Betty Hart, I’m sorry.” He whispered and she smiled, snuggling in deeper. “You shouldn’t know me. I’m no good. Don’t fall in love with me, Cherie. Guard your heart, because the moment I’m free, I’ll leave you. I always do.”
Chapter 10
“Good morning, mon petite.”
Betty lifted a brow, never a morning person she shuffled her way toward the coffee maker and smiled when she smelled the roasted aroma of Arabica beans. “You made coffee?”
He grinned and a tingle of appreciation zipped down her spine, making her fingers clench around the handle of the coffee pot. She’d known it-- he was even more delicious looking in the morning with the scruff and the heart melting smile.
His smile held and the air around them tightened, prickling her flesh as he ever so slightly moved in. “I thought you might need some.”
Betty licked her lips. He was shirtless, chiseled pecs flexing under her hot gaze. She snapped her eyes back to his face, but it wasn’t much better. Blue eyes the color of hottest flames popped in the morning light. How had she ever thought them black?
She shook her head. Get a hold of yourself, Hart! Clearing her throat, she turned abruptly and with shaking fingers, grabbed a coffee mug out of the cabinet above her head. “That was nice.”
She poured a generous amount of the black brew into her cup and with it still steaming, gulped a mouthful. It burned the sensitive skin on the roof of her mouth and brought tears to her eyes, but the pain helped her think about something other than his yummy delectableness. Was that even a phrase? Either way, it completely applied.
“There’s milk on the counter,” he said and turned back to the stove.
“I drink it black,” she murmured, then frowned. “What are you doing?”
He shot her another one of those killer grins. “Making your breakfast.” Grabbing the carton of eggs off the counter he asked, “two or three egg omelet?”
“One, and you don’t have to do that.”
He shrugged and cracked two eggs, then started to mix them. “It takes no effort. You’re putting up with me for a month and I’ve nothing else to do, Cherie.”
How in the world had he learned her kitchen so quickly? Betty hardly knew it and she’d lived here three years. There were days she’d open a drawer and rediscover a gadget she hadn’t seen in months. To say she wasn’t much of a cook was a stretch.
He padded around the kitchen with smooth efficiency. Opening drawers, grabbing a utensil, beating the egg, moving to the refrigerator and pulling out tons of vegetables and a bag of generic shredded cheese-- all of it with an effortless grace that let her know the bedroom wasn’t the only place the man felt confident.
Before she knew it the room filled with the scent of buttery veggies. Betty inhaled greedily, used to only smelling this when she went out to eat-- which was usually never thanks to a measly librarian’s salary.
Not wanting to get in the way, she sat down at the breakfast bar, crossed her legs, and sipped her still piping hot brew.
“When do you work today?” he asked with his back still to her.
Betty drummed her fingers on her warm mug, admiring the flex and sway of his muscles as he poured the egg batter into the pan. The sizzle made her mouth water and her stomach growl.
“Nine. I’ve got some shelving and paperwork to do before I open the doors.”
He nodded. “Grab two plates, s’il vous plait.”
Betty got up and took two plates to him. With a deft flick of his wrist, he sliced the omelet in half and slipped one end on her plate and the other on his. He handed her a plate.