Page 50 of London
“Was that the story the asshole fed you while you were married to him?”
She didn’t answer, just looked away, but not before he saw the silent tears trickling down her cheeks.
“Do you believe that bullshit? Do you think I do?”
She licked her lips and took a deep breath.
“The fact that men followed me around like… like he said was a lie. I never looked at another man while we were married. I never sought out nor wanted that kind of attention. Even so, he was insanely jealous, always ranting and raging or complaining about something, and among his reproaches was… what he said about my… my performance in bed,” she finished, fighting hard the stem the tears of humiliation.
Gerard gazed at her, his heart softening and aching for her sweet naiveté. Rage filled him at the thought of how shrewdly Tony had manipulated this beautiful, innocent woman.
Cupping her cheek, he turned her head toward him, his gaze riveted on hers.
“Linda, I’m not perfect. Before I met you, I had women ranging from ingénues to those with far more experienced than I had. None of them made me fall in love with them. None of them were you—beautiful, sweet, attractive, seductive… None of them satisfied me in bed or outside of it the way you do.”
She looked away, her eyes still moist.
“Gerard, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to try to restore my ego. Please, let’s just drop it.”
“I’m not trying to do that. I’m trying to make you see the truth. Think about it. If that idiot had been so unhappy with you, would he still have come after you? Do you think he would’ve been as jealous if you had been the lousy wife he implied? He took advantage of your innocence to shatter your self-confidence, to make you believe you needed to stay with him. He made you think you were worthless—that he was doing you a big favor by being with you. And the son of a bitch pulled it off,” he said, disgust at the thought fueling his anger once more, the unleashed fury radiating through him. “I should’ve killed that fucking worm!”
He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, fighting to hang on to reason and control. God, he wanted to crush something, anything, just to release this pent up fury.
Linda massaged her forehead, as though pain crushed her skull.
Once more Gerard cursed the man’s reappearance, a nasty shadow from her past who’d fallen over their newfound happiness.
Sighing heavily, she opened the car door and stepped out.
“Let’s have a drink, please,” she said, bone-tired. “And don’t talk crazy.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life. I would give anything to kill that bastard for what he’s done to you.”
“And after that, what?” she snapped, exasperated. “Rot in jail for the rest of your life because of a man who isn’t worth it? God, men just don’t think! Even my cat has more sense right now,” she continued, marching toward the house, shaking with indignation. “Are women the only creatures in the world who have brains and can reason? I can’t believe how—”
With an abrupt yelp, she stumbled and fell to the ground.
Gerard rushed to her, feeling his way in the darkness. In their haste to leave she must have forgotten to turn the porch lights on.
“What happened? Are you okay?” He knelt beside her, his hands searching blindly.
“No, I am not okay! My fucking ankle,” she said, her voice laced with pain. “My heel caught in the bloody cobblestones.”
Gerard let his hand find her ankle, gently probing for injury while the most inventive stream of cuss words he’d ever heard assaulted his ears. Not even in the slimiest alleys of the worst neighborhoods had he heard words even close to the torrent coming from his lover’s sweet mouth.
And she made no effort to stop the onslaught. Urged on by anger and the pain his touch caused, she cursed and swore louder than any drunken sailor, her words a blend of English, Italian, and a few other languages he recognized as well.
“My, my, what a vocabulary lesson I’m getting,” he teased. “I had no idea you were multilingual. Such a display, and all because of a skinned knee. Your ankle isn’t broken—it may be slightly sprained.”
“But it hurts,” she wailed.
“I can see that,” he chuckled. “Let’s get you inside, before the neighbors call the police. Keys, please.”
She fumbled in her purse, handed him the key ring, and he picked her up, walking carefully toward the house. By the time he reached the front door, Linda had run out of invectives and sporadically muttered under her breath.
Gerard carried her into the living room and laid her on the sofa. Once he turned on the light, he reexamined her ankle. Unless it swelled, it wouldn’t need an X-ray. His experienced fingers told him it was nothing serious and would be fine by morning. He cleaned her scratched knee with antiseptic, and applied a Band-Aid. Then he kissed her knee.
Although he’d just wanted to be playful, he didn’t stop there. He continued to trace kisses on her thighs, now revealed by her dress. Smiling, he was pleased to see that his hot breath moving over her skin was doing wonders to calm her. His shoulders shook with amusement.
