Faithless Angel

by Kimberly Raye

  “I—” he started, but his voice was quickly drowned by Jesse’s furious growl.

  “I’m talking about the papers. He signed them, didn’t he?”

  “I think I’ll go check on Daniel.” Bradley beat a hasty retreat to the door. “I’ll be down the hall if you need that ride.”

  “I do—”

  “Answer me, Faith,” Jesse cut in. “Bradley signed the papers, the ones assuming responsibility for Faith’s House, didn’t he?”

  The door rocked shut and silence pressed in, disrupted only by her quick breaths and the furious thudding of her heart.

  “Yes.” She stared up at him. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  He ran frustrated hands over his face, looking as if she’d just confessed to murder. “Like hell … This is my business. You’re my business. Haven’t you figured that out by now?” Before she could answer, his expression hardened. “I won’t let you do this.” He held out his hand. “Give me those papers.”

  “Excuse me?” She held her ground, barely resisting the urge to turn tail and run. But she wouldn’t. She had her own anger to contend with, and it was all directed at him. “For your information, you’re not my father, and you can’t tell me what to do.”

  “I’m the next-best thing,” he said in a growl, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. And for the space of a heartbeat she was standing in her bedroom, staring at his reflection in the window, seeing his pain and heartache and hunger. Then …

  Then nothing, because last night Jesse Savage had walked away. But this was now and he seemed braced for a fight.

  “The next-best thing is a husband,” she countered. “Not a one-night stand.”

  “I mean it, Faith. Hand them over.” He looked ready to throttle her, but she wasn’t intimidated. The hurt and anger of a night spent alone boiled inside her. It didn’t matter that he’d warned her against getting too close to him. No tomorrows. Or that she knew she’d be better off without him, since he was as committed to Faith’s House and the kids as she’d once been.

  Nothing mattered except the frustration, indignation, resentment—the feelings swirling like a tempest inside her.

  “I said, hand them over,” he said.

  “And I said no. N-O.” She enunciated each letter. “What part don’t you understand?”

  He threw up his hands. “I’m already in hell. You’re my hell. And here I thought I was trying to escape the future, when all along I’m smack-dab in the middle of it.”

  She frowned, her anger momentarily forgotten. “What are you talking about?”

  “No, I won’t let you do it,” he went on, ignoring her question as he delivered his final ultimatum. “Either give me those papers, or I’ll take them off you. Your choice.”

  “Well, then.” She laughed harshly. “At least I get a choice. Let me see …” She feigned a thoughtful expression. “How about I choose to walk out of here?”

  “That’s not one of the choices.” He reached for her and she dodged his grip.

  “Then how about this?” Her palm hit the stubbled warmth of his jaw in a stinging slap that sent an echoing wave of pain clear to her shoulder. Then she whirled and stormed from the room, purse and papers firmly in hand.

  Her bravado fled the minute she reached the hallway and the reality of what she’d done hit her like a blow to her own face. She’d actually hit him! She, Faith Jansen, who had never hit anyone or harmed anything in her life, had hit another human being out of anger.

  Granted, justified anger, but anger nonetheless.

  Shame rolled through her, and a strange sense of urgency. She needed escape. Space to collect her thoughts, to sort through the emotions distorting her brain.

  She started walking. A door opened somewhere behind her and she knew it was Jesse. The unmistakable thud of his boots rang in her ears, urging her to walk faster.

  She wouldn’t make it outside before he caught up. She knew it. Her steps weren’t quick enough and his were long and swift, determined. She rounded the corner and darted into the ladies’ room. Just let him try to follow her in here—

  The door slammed open and Jesse stood there, murder in his dark eyes.

  “Nice try. Now give me those papers.”

  “No.”

  The stall behind Faith creaked open and she turned to see a frightened old lady peering through the handspan of space.

  “You’re insane,” Faith told Jesse. “Could you try to show a little decency and leave me alone? You’re not getting the damned papers.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.” He stepped inside, held the door open, and motioned to the sole member of their audience.

  The old lady swished open the stall door and darted for the exit. The bathroom door shut behind her. Jesse flipped the lock and Faith found herself alone, trapped, with Jesse Savage.

  “You can’t do this,” he told her, desperation creeping across his features.

  “And just who are you to tell me what to do?”

  “I’m somebody …” He paused to swallow, as if the words were getting caught in the sudden tightness of his throat. “I’m somebody who cares about you.”

  Joy leaped through her, only to die a quick death. He’d left her. He’d loved her, then left her, and the emptiness of last night refused to be consoled by words. Especially when she knew they were just that. Words. A statement meant to get her to hand over the papers.

  “You’ll have to come up with a better reason than that. The back of your head told a different story last night.”

  He loomed closer, a dangerous light in his eyes. “You think I left last night because I didn’t care about you?”

  “That’s the way most people would take it. Let’s see, breakfast in bed usually means things went well, but you didn’t stick around long enough for even a midnight snack.”

  “And you’re an expert when it comes to the morning after?” He raised an eyebrow at her and a wave of heat crept into her cheeks, sabotaging her forced control.

  “No,” she admitted, and the one word brought a smile to his lips.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said, his expression serious once again. “I couldn’t stay.”

  “Because you didn’t want to.”

  “Because there was no point to it. Last night never should have happened in the first place. It was a mistake.”

  Mistake. The word pounded through her head, fueling her anger and bringing fresh tears to her eyes.

  Tears, of all things.

  She was the insane one. Last night was a mistake. He’d never once made her any promises. He’d even warned her, and she’d been foolish not to listen. It was her mistake. She knew what sort of a man he was—the commitment-fearing, love-’em-and-leave-’em type. Yet, a part of her had hoped to change all that. Not at first. At first she’d meant what she’d said. She didn’t want more. No tomorrows, just one night. But now, she realized in a heartbreaking moment that she wanted him to want her for more than one night.

  Forever.

  Insane.

  She turned away from him, but it was useless. His reflection stared at her from the bathroom mirror, gazing into her, searching…. “Last night is over and done with. We both had our fun, and now we’ll go our separate ways.” She said the words he wanted to hear, hoping, praying, he would get out before she lost her last bit of control. She swallowed. “Simple.”

  “Don’t I wish.” He came up behind her, slid his hands around her waist. He turned her to face him and pulled her tight against his chest. His lips claimed hers in a slow discovery that sucked the air from her body and left her wanting more of him. So much more.

  She tore her mouth from his. “Stop it.” She gasped. “Just stop playing me.”

  His arms dropped away from her, his gaze catching and holding hers. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re either all over me or pulling away. Advance, retreat, like last night.” She leaned back, gaining a blessed few inches of distance between them. Swall
owing, she rubbed the back of her hand across her passion-swollen lips. “It’s a game to you. You like the pursuit, but once you catch whoever you’re after, the fun is over. You lose interest.”

  “That’s what you think happened last night? I lost interest?” He shook his head, an incredulous look on his face.

  “I don’t think. I know. You reached the finish line, found winning wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be, so you left.” She felt the tear slide down her cheek. He reached out, but she turned away from him. “Don’t mind me. I’m just under a lot of stress.”

  “I hurt you last night.”

  She tried to sound nonchalant as she dashed the tear away. “Don’t delude yourself. Last night didn’t mean any more to me than it did to you.” Another traitorous tear slid free.

  He leaned into her then, closing the scant distance between them. The gold flecks in his eyes burned brighter. “I was afraid of that.”

  His words caught her off guard even more than the sudden jolt of electricity when his chest brushed her nipples. “Go, Jesse. Just go. It’s over. No tomorrow, just like you said. No sense dwelling on one meaningless night.”

  “Dammit.” He forced her gaze to meet his, his fingers biting into her chin when she tried to look away. “Last night did mean something to me. I didn’t want it to, but it did. Don’t you understand? That’s the problem.”

  “The problem is I actually thought last night that you … that maybe we …” She shook her head. “I guess I figured it would mean enough to keep you there a little longer than it did, instead of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of thing.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” he said, as if the very notion left a bad taste in his mouth and he had to convince her otherwise. “It was more than sex, more than being inside you, more than sating the lust burning through me—”

  “I can’t listen to this.” She pushed against him with her hands. “Don’t do this to me. Let’s just chalk last night up to mutual attraction and overactive hormones. The heat of the moment. You don’t want me, and I don’t want you. You don’t care for me and I don’t care for you—” His mouth silenced the rest of her words.

  He kissed her, his tongue pushing inside to tangle with hers in a delicious dance that had her breathless by the time he pulled away.

  His hands stole around her, slipped beneath her buttocks to cup them. He ground his hardness against the soft cradle of her and she gasped. He was hard and throbbing and she wanted to feel him inside her more than she wanted her next breath.

  “It isn’t just overactive hormones between us. There’s more and you know it. I wish it weren’t so, but it is. Heaven help me,” he ground out, as if the admission were dredged from his very soul, “it is, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.”

  He lifted her, sitting her on the marble vanity and parting her thighs. He slid her skirt up until his fingers stroked the silk-covered spot between her legs.

  “I didn’t want to leave you.” His voice was ragged as he devoured her lips and pushed aside her panties. One finger touched her heated inner flesh and she gasped. “Dammit, Faith. I didn’t. You have to believe that.”

  “But you did,” she said, more to remind herself than him. She had to remember this was just lust to him. Nothing more, no matter what he said. He wanted the papers. Wanted her weak and pliable, and this was his way to get to her.

  She knew that, yet when he touched her, she arched against him anyway, a night of longing still raw and unfulfilled inside her.

  He worked at his zipper; then his length sprang hot and heavy into her hands. She stroked him from tip to root and caught his moan in her mouth.

  Then he moved her hands, positioned himself, gripped her buttocks, and pulled her tight against him. His entry was quick and deep and her insides exploded at the first moment of contact.

  A cry broke past her lips. Then she melted against him, shudders racking through her, the blood humming in her ears, drowning out the voice of her conscience telling her what a fool she’d been. Not once, but twice now.

  It was a long moment before a pounding on the door penetrated the hazy bliss that wrapped around her as tightly, as protectively as his arms. Someone was outside.

  “Is anyone in there?”

  “Go down the hall,” Jesse called out, and Faith realized he stood stock-still, not moving, just breathing. Surrounding her. Filling her. Buried so deep she could feel the slight pulse of his arousal—still hot and unspent.

  Footsteps sounded and embarrassment flooded Faith as she realized what they’d just done a few feet away from a complete stranger. In a public restroom.

  What they were still doing.

  “I—we can’t do this.” She summoned her control and tried to push him away, ashamed of herself and angry that she’d let him put her in such a compromising situation, that she’d practically jumped up on the counter and welcomed him.

  “It seems like we can, and you already have.” His deep voice sent a wave of heat to her cheeks.

  “Please, Jesse.” She struggled against his chest. “We have to stop. Someone else might come.”

  “Admit it first. There’s more than just overactive hormones between us. You want me and I want you. You care about me and I care about—”

  “And this was supposed to show me that you care, right? Seducing me in a public restroom?”

  “No,” he said, withdrawing from her. She had a momentary glimpse of his flesh, still swollen and wet from her climax, before it disappeared into his jeans. “This was supposed to show how much I want you.” He fastened the zipper, wincing as the teeth closed over his very prominent arousal. “The caring part,” he said, leaning forward to touch a tender kiss to her forehead, “you’ll have to take my word on.”

  She was so close to believing him, so very close. Then he turned, grabbed the papers from her purse, and ripped them clear in two, and she knew that had been his objective all along. They hit the trash can with a soft thunk that echoed through her head like the flat-line beeping of a heart monitor.

  Then he was gone, and Faith was left alone.

  Faith walked into her kitchen later that afternoon with a major headache to rival the ache in her chest.

  She came to a dead stop in the doorway, her gaze riveted on the girl sitting at the table. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised to see Trudy. She’d left her sound asleep that morning. Still, she’d been so worried over Jesse and last night, Daniel and Faith’s House and the shredded papers, that she’d completely forgotten about the girl. Otherwise she could have prepared herself for the strange sense of melancholy that now gripped her.

  How many times had she stood in the kitchen at Faith’s House and watched the kids fight and eat and laugh and argue?

  How many times had she stood in this very spot, watching Jane or Emily make chaos out of her kitchen with their enthusiasm for baking?

  Never again, she told herself, but the vow didn’t ring with half as much determination as she would have liked.

  Trudy still wore the giant T-shirt Faith had given her last night, but she’d slipped on her baggy jeans, and her pale hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. If not for the bruises mottling her young face, she would have looked like anyone’s daughter or sister or niece just hanging out on a Saturday morning.

  She was someone’s daughter or sister or niece, Faith realized, no matter that she came from the streets. She deserved an adolescence filled with football games and slumber parties and prom nights, rather than an existence centered solely on survival. She was just a kid. Just a young, innocent kid who’d had a little hard luck and a great big dose of reality much too soon.

  “Hey.” Trudy glanced up from her task of pouring milk into a bowl of cereal. She stopped, carton paused in midair. “What happened to your face?”

  Faith ignored the question and studied the girl. “Your eyes are better. Still swollen, but not so badly.”

  Trudy smiled. “Nearly as good as before. I guess no doctors, huh?”


  “As long as no infection sets in.”

  Trudy’s smile disappeared. “What about your face?”

  “An accident. I walked into a door.”

  Trudy gave her a skeptical glance. “Did the door happen to be shaped like a fist?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Faith said, tossing her purse onto the counter and slipping out of her shoes, “it did.”

  “Figures.” Trudy finished pouring the milk, then cast a wary glance at Faith, who stood flexing her toes near the sink. “I woke up and I was starving. I sort of helped myself. I hope you don’t mind.” She put her spoon down. “I could leave if you want—”

  “No, I didn’t mean to stare at you. It’s just … I guess this is going to sound crazy, but you remind me of someone. A lot of someones.” Faith touched the half-circle medallion hanging around her neck and a warmth spread through her.

  “That doesn’t sound so crazy. You remind me of someone, too.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who?”

  Trudy opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  Faith’s curiosity inched higher. “Come on. Who?”

  The girl looked undecided for a full minute. “Don’t get mad.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to hear this.” Faith took a deep breath and braced herself. “Okay, shoot.”

  “Swear first that you won’t get mad.”

  “Now I know I don’t want to hear this.” At Trudy’s expectant look, she crossed her heart. “I swear.”

  “Mother Goose.”

  Faith smiled. “Mother Goose? Here I was hoping for Cindy Crawford, or Elizabeth Hurley, and all the while I was several levels off on the food chain.”

  Trudy studied her through smiling eyes. “You do look a little like that Hurley chick. Same eyes.” Her expression grew serious. “I was talking about the way you act. All that fussing over me last night. No one’s done that in a long time. Hell, no one’s ever done it.”

  Faith sank down into the chair across from Trudy. “Everyone should be fussed over once in a while.”

  “Not me,” Trudy said, but the words were half-hearted.