by Marie Hall
“You’ve the shapely thighs of a gazelle, sorciere.”
His voice sounded hoarse and hearing him call her a sorceress, knowing he implied she cast a spell on him, it filled her with a sense of womanly empowerment. Betty smiled and hopped over her pile. “See, not afraid of you.”
He scrubbed his jaw.
But the second she got in bed with him, and his arm stretched across her shoulder, the fear came back like a splash of ice water to the face. She tensed.
Gerard didn’t speak either, but his fingers rubbing her cold upper arms soothed her, and before she knew it, she was shuddering out a deep breath, body liquid and languid.
Briley hated covering his window with a curtain, hated blocking out the stars he said. Now she knew why, Gerard’s big body cradling hers, her head on his chest-- lulled by the steady beat of his heart-- and the beauty of a million twinkling lights, was better than any sleeping pill. From one breath to the next, Betty slipped into the peaceful oblivion of dreams.
***
Gerard stared at her, entranced by the soft lift of her chest, her warm breaths against his skin, and wondered why he’d never taken the time to watch a woman sleep before. Watch the shadow of dreams race across her face, see her face twitch and hear her gentle moans. T’was a wonder he’d never want to miss out on again.
He couldn’t understand her. Understand why she was okay with this. If it’d been him, and she’d fallen into his lap, he’d have screwed her senseless, then walked away. He’d not have cared for her plight, it wasn’t his problem. And yet here she was, snuggled up to him, with her leg wrapped around his and her tiny hand splayed against his heart, and he couldn’t understand it.
His lips twitched. She rambled, a lot. Nonsense he often couldn’t make out, but it didn’t bother him. Not even the sharp tongue of hers did anything other than make his blood hot and his brain crazed with a consuming need to know her.
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’ilvous 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.
The omelets were the fluffiest, yellow things she’d ever seen. Normally if she made one, and those attempts were rare, the egg would be just shy of black and the cheese tasting of rubber. Picking up a fork, she sliced through the creation and popped the steaming forkful into her mouth. Moaning in ecstasy at the incredible moist and lush flavors of roasted peppers and onions and gooey cheese, she beamed at a proud looking Gerard.
“Oh my, wow,” she breathed, tongue throbbing from the hot bite and not caring. “This is amazing. What did you do?”
With a nod toward the table, he guided her to her seat of the night before.
He took a bite and nodded. “Butter, vegetables, salt. The only things truly essential for a fine meal.”
Betty ate, each bite tasting better than the last. She smiled and he returned it.
“I hope the coffee is not too bitter. We tend to prefer tea in Kingdom, though Jinni’s got an affinity for the coffee. I learned from him.” He pointed to her now empty cup.
Strange that this should feel so perfect, so cozy. They hardly knew each other, and it was amazing how she’d gone from terrified and suspicious of the man, to comfortable and fully at ease. Betty rested her chin on the hand holding the now dangling fork. “You know this is feeling domestic. I’d ask you what you’re up to, Gerard.” She lifted a brow.
He chewed the last of his omelet and then sighed. “As you said last night, we’re stuck with each other for a month. Let’s at least try to g
et along, no?”
Betty nibbled on the last forkful. Even cold, the food was great. It’d been fantastic last night too. The man knew his way around the kitchen. Made her curious what else he knew his way around. Her stomach fluttered with that thought.
“You said you learned from a woman. Who was she?”
He licked his teeth. “Sure you want to know?”
“Why not.” Probably some skank he’d slept with.
“Bar maid I slept with.”
Yup, she’d known it. Betty chuckled.
He tipped his jaw. “Why do you laugh?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know you at all, and yet there’s times where I feel like I’ve known you forever. Although I gotta say...” she gave a melodramatic sigh, pushing the plate away, “your cooking is amazing. If I had to get stuck with someone for a month, I could have done worse. I want more.”
The moment the words left her lips, a strange silver glow shimmered in the air between them like smoke. The necklace she’d still been unable to yank off flared hot. Gerard’s face tightened, he cracked his jaw, and shot to his feet.
Mechanical footsteps took him back to the stove where he grabbed an egg.
“Gerard?” Betty frowned. Why was he acting so strange? His movements seemed forced, not at all graceful like before.
“What?” he snapped, and beat the egg to within an inch of its life, the fork pinged off the glass bowl with such force she feared he’d shatter the glass.
“What are you doing?”
“Doing your bidding,” he snarled, and slopped the egg into the pan.
It took a second for the truth to dawn on her (had she been more awake, she might have recognized what was happening sooner), she’d compelled him. Or rather, the power of the necklace had.
“Stop!” Betty held up her hands. “I was kidding.”
Suddenly he stopped. The tense muscles of his back visibly relaxed, and he turned around then, his breathing was labored. Gerard planted his hands on either side of the stove. His eyes sparked fury, betrayal.
Betty shook her head. “I had no idea I could do that.”
“Didn’t you?” his eyes narrowed to twin slits. “They told you, I’m yours to command. To enslave,” he spat, and a lump wedged in Betty’s throat.
“No,” she denied again with a firm shake of her head. “No. I’d never want that kind of power over you.” Betty glanced down at the necklace. She yanked on it, more desperate now than ever to take it off.
What had the fairies done? What a wicked, vile magic, and to make her be the one in charge of something so absolute. To have this much power over anyone, to tell him to jump off a cliff and know he’d have to do it. It was wrong. Betty could never hurt a fly and though it’d just been eggs this time, in a moment of anger she could forget herself and make him do something awful. The enormity of the responsibility slammed into her, and she tugged harder, the silver chain tore into her neck.
Then his fingers were covering hers. “You’ll hurt yourself,” he whispered.
He smelled so good, like soap and coffee, and he was looking at her not with anger, but firm resolve, and she wanted to cry. “I will never, ever, ever do that to you again. I swear. I’m sorry, Gerard.”
Gerard smoothed his hand against her hair and nodded. “I believe you, Cherie . Forgive me?”
She nodded, though there was nothing to forgive. He grabbed her empty mug and refilled it, then settled her back in her chair.
“Drink,” he ordered.
Her grin was wobbly. “Touche.”
Gerard winked. “Turnabout, you know how it is.”
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 an
d 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?”