She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. A dissipated, loose-living man. She saw herself in very much Vivie’s position—managing something. “No thanks, Cathy. ’ ‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen. “Well, he’s really smart. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. She was furiously angry. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. She could not hide her face.
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