“Mmm, I’ll make you weep, my beauty,” he murmured, her flowery scent making him dizzy.
Her fingers slipped through his curls and he grinned as she lightly scratched his scalp. She liked it rough. So did he. Gerard fingered the bottom button of her shirt. Too much clothes, why did women always insist on covering so much?
But what had at first been gentle sex play, was now more than rough. It was pain. She wasn’t simply scratching, she was clawing, gouging groves into his skin.
“Ow, damn!” He released her and grabbed the back of his head.
Those pretty lips were fixed in a permanent scowl. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
He rubbed his tender head. “What? Do you not find me attractive? I felt your body tremble.”
Her eyes bugged. “First off, my name’s not cabbage.”
Gerard lifted a brow.
She laughed. “Oh yeah, jerk off, spent a year in Paris, I know what that mon petit chou,” she mimicked his voice in singsong, “means. It’s a lame, standard pet name. Everyone uses it. Especially when,” she stabbed her finger in his chest, “they don’t know the person’s name, you bastard. Just who do you think I am? A slut?”
“Well...”
She glowered and he swallowed the yes on his tongue. Admitting that wasn’t the best way to get laid. Gerard racked his brain. When was the last time a woman had rebuffed him? None, except for Belle.
His jaw clenched.
“Secondly, your breath stinks. Get a breath mint. Seriously.” She rolled her eyes. “Seducing me at eight o’clock in the morning. Gah, you’re so lame. Get the heck out of here, before I really do call the cops!” And with that she turned on her heels, marched to the door, and disappeared inside the library. The word made him want to gag.
Gerard balled his fists and bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Bloody hell, fee. Get me out of here!”
But she did not answer and she did not come.
Chapter 5
“It’s raining.” Trisha pouted blood red lips and glanced back out the library window.
“So?” Betty set her jaw and stamped an overdue notice on yet another envelope.
Trisha sighed. “Sweets, he’s harmless.”
“How the heck do you know that? He accosted me today--”
“Okay, first of all,” Trisha flipped a book into her library cart and held up her hand, “he’s been sitting out there all day.”
Betty deliberately turned her back on the window. She wouldn’t deny he looked pathetically miserable out there, sitting on the stoop, his large body shivering in the cold Missouri rain. And that maybe, just maybe, she was starting to feel kind of sorry for him. Or that his kiss had made her toes curl and that only by sheer force of will had she been able to push him off her. That she’d lied when she said his breath had stunk, the truth was he’d tasted of a fine aged brandy-- how that was possible, she had no clue. A French thing? And that even though his clothes were in tatters she’d never seen a hotter guy in her life. The shadow of his beard playing against her sensitive skin-- her stomach flopped just thinking about it.
Even bloody and bruised he’d moved that huge body with a skill unrivaled by any lover she’d ever known. Not like she’d had many, James had only been her second. But still. With just one touch he’d made her skin tingle and with a glance her blood hot, hot, hot. And the bulge in his pants... mmm, oh yes, she’d felt that too. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to look back. Knowing if she did she’d forget why she shouldn’t care.
The man was dangerous. If James had been dynamite, that man was a nuclear bomb. He was a player with a capital P. Something Betty could not afford to forget.
“Secondly,” Trisha continued, ticking off another finger, “who the hell speaks like that? Accosted? Seriously,” her green eyes twinkled, “and you say I read too many bodice rippers.”
“Whatever, Trisha. I’m going home.” Betty kept glancing at the clock, seemed like the more she looked, the slower it went. She’d eyed the clock with an obsessive nature today, desperate to get away. Not from the library, but from him.
Betty had fixated over sorting, organizing the next week’s activities. In short, she was all caught up with work and still had another ten minutes to go. “At seven, I’m clocking out.”
There hadn’t even been more than three customers today.
“Methinks the woman doth protest too much,” Trisha laughed.
“What?” Betty planted her hands on her hips, feeling the tingling start of a headache burn behind her eyes.
Trisha stepped out from behind the counter, flipped the closed sign on the door and smiled. Her brown and green Sunday dress made her look young and innocent. Gorgeous, exposing her perfectly shaped calves and Betty couldn’t stop wondering what he’d think if he saw her.
Had he seen her? Had he tried to hit on Trisha too? She frowned, not liking that thought one bit. Worst part of it was she didn’t even know his name. Hottie McHoster? “Ugh,” she moaned.