Betty drank the entire cup before she started to feel more like herself again. “You should know, I’m not usually such a wimp. I don’t cry at sappy love stories, or even when boyfriend’s break up with me. Except for the first day, okay maybe the first month… but I’m not a wimp.”
Why was she telling him that? It’s not like she had cried, although he must have seen the sheen in her eyes. Heart in her throat, she snuck a peek at him. He had his arms crossed behind his head, studying her with a contemplative gleam. “They meant to unman me, Cherie. I apologize for taking my anger out on you.”
She nodded and tapped her pointer finger in the center of the table. “Then let me lay some ground rules now.”
He lifted a brow.
“To prove to you I can be trusted, I will never boss you around.”
“Good.”
Her lips twitched. “Unless it involves making sure the toilet seat goes back down, and changing the toilet paper roll when it’s empty.” She shrugged.
“Agreed,” he said.
She met his gaze, but instead of laughing and glancing away, he held her look. As the seconds ticked by her pulse sped, heat spiraled down her legs and the terry cloth robe she wore felt suddenly too heavy and scratchy against her skin. His eyes went from playful teasing, to glinting with smoke and snapping with flame.
Heat rose up her neck. Betty grabbed the edges of her robe with nerveless fingers and closed it tighter around her waist.
He laughed, stood and grabbed their dishes. “Are you satisfied? More coffee, toast, juice?”
Again, he seemed completely unaffected, which rankled. She was hot, itchy, and desperate for something. Something she shouldn’t want-- a taste of him. Of his body, his lips, his touch, but it was impossible now.
“No, I’m good.” Betty stood and ran to the bathroom.
***
Gerard gripped the kitchen sink, breathing hard as shivers pulsated throughout his frame, the remnants of trembling muscles slow to burn out. The magic had been strong, demanding, and he’d seethed with hatred for Galeta... even with Betty herself. He’d thought she’d done it apurpose. But then he’d seen her eyes, the quiver of her soft pink lips, and his fury had vanished.
If he’d been fully a man-- fully himself and able to get hard-- he’d have grabbed her and kissed her. Letting Betty taste the passion of his lust before disrobing and screwing her senseless on the kitchen floor. She’d looked so vulnerable, gorgeous. Black hair all mussed from sleep, luscious mouth tipped in a frown... vulnerable to him then.
Though his arousal raged hard in him, he couldn’t get it up, and so he’d kept his distance. Knowing touching her would only make his lust worse, not better.
Gerard slammed his open palm on the counter, rattling the dishes in the sink. Breakfast had been a brilliant idea, she’d responded as he’d hoped. But then he’d growled and acted a baboon, scaring her. If he had any hope of freedom, of leaving a free man, he had to make her love him, not fear him.
“You can do this, Gerard,” he growled, “you must.”
Chapter 11
Already a week had flown by. Betty brushed some bronzer on her cheeks. Why she was primping when they were getting ready to go fishing on the lake? If Daddy had taught her one thing about fishing, it was that real fisherwomen didn’t wear makeup. It would just melt off in the heat of the day. Usually she listened, but this time Gerard was coming with her and she wanted to look nice.
“Betty,” he knocked on the door, “you almost ready, Cherie? Too much longer and the fish won’t bite.”
She dropped the brush and swiped her mascara up. “Just a minute.”
The past week had flown by in a whirlwind. Trisha suspected something was up, Betty knew. Especially because she kept asking Betty to go out to the bar, have a late night drink, to which Betty stoutly refused. The moment the clock struck seven she was out the door, heart somersaulting in her chest, knowing he was home, and waiting on her. Trisha wasn’t dumb and would soon start poking around, but right now, Gerard felt like her guilty secret.
It sort of made Betty feel bad, not sharing such a huge thing with her best friend, but this entire situation was so bizarre Betty felt an inexplicable need to keep mum about it and him.
In fact, this was her first day off in a week-- Trisha’s too. Which meant in another hour Trisha would probably show up looking for her and would immediately see why Betty hadn’t wanted drinks.
The phone rang.
“Betty?” Gerard called.
“Let the machine get it.” It was probably Trisha. She blinked, blotting out the excess black glop from the corners of her eyes.
The machine whirred then beeped. “Listen you whore--”
Betty’s heart stuttered the moment she recognized the voice and she threw the door open, running to the machine on legs that were suddenly heavy and clumsy. She tapped the red button on the machine to stop the recording.
Gerard’s nostrils flared, his fists clenched, and he looked at her through slitted eyes. “Who was that?”
Pulse still racing, she squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Nobody.”