Oh, her shrewish mouth.When I finally get her to bed, I will make sure it only opens to beg me for more.
With dirty thoughts flooding my mind, my johnson hardens, and I curse under my breath.Seduction is a slow route, not a NASCAR race, dude. Down, dammit.
Unaware of my internal struggle, Guinivere orders a chef salad, and I get a burger. We reach for the salt simultaneously, and lightning cracks.
As if burned, she snaps her hand back. “Sorry.”
When her eyes lift to mine, I almost confess what my boss demanded of me.Seduce her if you must.I cannot and will not allow my stupid third leg to dominate my life.
We eat in silence. Then, she sets her fork down, wipes her mouth, and clears her throat.
“Yes?” Taking a risk, I lift my gaze and am sucked into the vortex of her stormy brown eyes.
“Listen, Wulf. Let’s get something straight between us. And by something, I do not mean your manly appendage. We’re adults. Sexual attraction happens. Nevertheless, this does not mean we need to act upon it. Understood?”
Damn the woman for her bluntness.Caught unprepared, I search for an adequate response and come up lacking. “What? No. God no. I would never. Sorry if you got such an impression.”
Her face bright red, she points her finger at me and raises her voice. “I know what you’re about, Mr. Big Bad. My husband had a black belt in gaslighting, and I have spent a fortune learning how to defeat it.”
As I open my mouth to rail against the comparison to her ex, our waitress returns. “Anyone want dessert? I highly recommend our key lime pie.”
“Perfect choice. We’ll both have a slice.” Gwen grins, but not in a comical way, more like the Chesire Cat.
“What’s so damn funny?” I hate my petulant tone. Goddammit. She’s driving me to the brink of insanity.
Snickering, she wipes her sexy lips and smudges red lipstick on the only dry napkin. “In eighteen-thirty-four, SylvesterGraham promoted a diet which suppressed sexual desires. The crust of the dessert we ordered is made of his crackers. Most apropos, wouldn't you say?”
I may never eat smores again.It's time to change the subject. “Tell me about your daughter, Abigail.”
Her face lights up, and the sun comes out. “She’s five going on thirty. We do everything together. Her father has her for the summer, and I miss her like crazy.”
Interrogation back on target, I fire off my next question. “I presume this is why you rented a place close by?”
“Yes. I don’t believe my ex is a capable caregiver, but the judge disagreed. Thus, we have joint custody. Rather than move her back and forth every weekend, We decided he should have her until the fall. It’s hard, though. I miss her so much.” The brunette swallows hard, blinks back tears, and shows me a video of her kindergartener swinging in a city park. Like her mom, the child has dark curls and giant chocolate eyes. The most significant difference is the attractive mix of Mid-Eastern and American features.
“She’s beautiful, like her mother.” I commit the girl’s face to memory before returning the cell phone.
“Thanks. She’s brilliant, too. Farid promised to keep up with her reading, but I doubt he’ll take the time.” While my suspect beams, I wonder what will happen to her kid if Gwen goes to jail.
Dammit. McGee needs to confess and take a plea deal.
Lovely eyes lose focus as she stares at the Colosseum mural on the back wall. “Farid told the judge my long workday made me an unfit parent, but it’s not true. I have a nanny and often work from home. We dance, we bike, we sing, and we read. I always put my daughter first.”
“How in God’s name did you ever end up married to Farid Parisi?”
She shakes her head. “We met in college. He was so different then. No, let me start over. It was all an act. The minute we got married, his true stripes showed. I couldn’t do anything right. It started small. The laundry wasn’t folded correctly. His meal was cold. By the time Abbie was born, I could do nothing right. Wait. Let me rephrase that. HeclaimedI was incompetent. When I stood my ground, he insisted I was overly emotional and threatened to have me institutionalized.”
I tamp down the urge to strangle the motherfucker and ask through gritted teeth. “How did you manage to break free?”
“I owe everything to Callie. She introduced me to a shrink who helps abused women and insisted I speak to her. Under her guidance, I began to understand what was happening to me, or rather, what Farid was doing to me. Thank God she testified in my divorce. Otherwise, the jerk might’ve gotten full custody.” Her story tugs at my fucking heartstrings and makes me want to protect her from him forever.
Perhaps I can do one better and connect him to the arms sale. “I read your ex-husband is Iranian?”
“Yeah, but recently, he’s been estranged from his family and wants nothing to do with them.”
As I pay for our meal, I make a mental note to research him when I get back online. Back in the car, I drive past hundreds of row houses in Columbia Heights. Circling the block three times, I find a parking spot. After I inch forward and back multiple times, I squeeze between two SUV’s. Then, I jump out, walk her down the sidewalk, and up three slate gray cement steps into my white brick building. “This way.”
Passing through the door to the left, we climb the stairs and enter my two-room dwelling.
