Gerard's Beauty (12 page)

“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 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.”

It’d been over a week since Gretchen’s last phone call-- long enough Betty had almost forgotten about her completely.

“Didn’t sound like nobody to me,” he said, his thumb grazing her chin and tipping it up. Betty huffed, giving him a weak smile.

“It’s nothing.”

His eyes were so blue this morning, deep and bottomless. Dangerous eyes, because if a girl wasn’t careful, she could fall and lose herself in their hot depths. Something Betty could never afford to do. Though when he looked at her like that, all kind and searching, it made heat race through her limbs-- turning them to jelly, and making it hard to remember why she shouldn’t jump in headlong.

He grinned, and rubbed his thumb across her cheekbone. “You’ve a smear on your eye. Grease, I think.”

She chuckled and pushed his hand away. “Makeup. Let me go finish up. Did you pack the sandwiches?”

He pointed to the cooler. Amazed yet again by how efficient he was in her home, how well he knew her place already. How normal and comfortable it all felt, them sharing a home, cuddling each night in bed. Her stomach fluttered.

Betty turned, and he grabbed her shoulder, his large hand gripping gently. “You sure you’re okay?”

She patted his hand. “I’m fine, Gerard.”

As Betty padded back to the bathroom the phone rang again. Her spine stiffened. This was insane, when would Gretchen understand she wanted nothing to do with James? As if! Especially now with Gerard in the picture, it was like comparing boring apples to exotic passion fruit. Betty marched back, intending to hurl some of her own insults at the woman, when Gerard picked up the phone and growled, “What?”

The mask of anger he wore was quickly replaced by a lifting of his brows and a pulling of his lips. He held the phone out to her. “Somebody asking for you.”

“If it’s Trisha, I’m not here,” she whispered and waved her hands in front of her face.

“It’s a boy. I think.”

Only one boy would call her at home. Smiling now, she grabbed the phone. “Hello, monkey butt! What’s crackalackin’?”

Gerard gave her a strange look, and she giggled, clutching the receiver with both hands.

Briley chuckled. “Hi, Aunt Betty. You’re weird,” he said in that high pitched voice of his that never failed to elicit a smile from her. “I want to see you today.”

“Aww, monkey. That’s sweet. Where’s your dad?”

“Dad!” he cried. “Aunt Betty.”

Betty licked her lips. Gerard leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, and wearing an amused grin. “What is crackalackin’?” his deep burr resonated with a hint of laughter.

She opened her mouth to answer, when her brother got on the line. She held up a finger.

“Betty?” Kelly asked.

“Hey, K, you pulling a shift tonight?”

“Yeah.”

Betty heard the exhaustion in his voice and could almost picture him running his hand over his head. Poor thing. He was working too hard, and now that it was summer vacation Briley would be out of school. Pulling long shifts was tough enough, but pulling long shifts and having to pay for special child care was even tougher.

“Let me take the kiddo today,” she offered.

“Oh man, would you. That would be great.” His relief rushed over the line in a loud whoosh. “I’ve got to head out in about twenty minutes.”

“Yep,” she nodded, “I’ll be there. See you.”

They blew air kisses and hung up.

“Are we not going fishing today?” Gerard asked.

Betty ran to her hall mirror and grabbed a tissue off the end table, dabbing at the black smear. “No we are. We’re just making a pit stop first.”

Once she was satisfied she no longer looked like a raccoon, she grabbed her keys and purse. “Well let’s go.”

Gerard picked up the cooler and followed her into the car. Betty climbed in, turned the ignition, and backed out of the parking lot.

“I guess I should warn you, I’m picking up Briley. He’s going fishing with us.”

She bit the corner of her lip. Hoping he wouldn’t mind. She’d not thought to ask him, mainly because she didn’t assume he’d care. But then again some guys weren’t kid people, and if he in anyway made Briley feel unwelcomed, she’d have a serious conniption. Betty drummed on the wheel.

He didn’t say anything for a moment.

“He’s a good kid. Quiet. A little angel. Really, you’ll like him.”

“What is crackalackin’?” he asked finally.

“What?” Betty laughed, thrown for a moment by his question. “Umm, well, nothing really. It’s slang. Means what’s cracking. What’s happening.” She turned right at the light, heading down the country road toward Kelly’s house.

The countryside was awash in sprays of gentle pinks and soft yellows, the gloom of night still held court at the very tip of the sky as the sun slowly crested the horizon.

“Then why don’t you simply say that?” he asked.

She laughed. “Who knows. It would be easier wouldn’t it?”

He nodded.

Betty gripped the wheel tighter. “So do you mind?”

“
Non
,
Cherie.
I do not.”

He seemed so relaxed this morning. Nights spent in his arms, talking about stupid stuff like which superhero movie was better (he’d seen every Spiderman and Superman, and so far thought the superhero customs much too girlie for him-- but she’d promised he’d love Iron Man), or how to make the perfect soufflé without causing the top to sink in, had only made her feel closer to him. Apart from the first night, they’d not discussed the fairies, the pendant, or any other part of his past. It was the elephant in the room both refused to broach. She wasn’t stupid, eventually they’d have to talk about what happened after the month, but not now.