He'd started to say something, to ask for explanations or to point out, perhaps, that he had only done what she'd invited him to do, and damn reluctantly at that. But he'd opened his hands instead, letting her go without a word. She'd turned and hurriedly walked away, not stopping and not looking back. Except for Sammie-Jo, who'd shot him a wary glance before following Faith into the building, no one seemed to notice what had happened. Which wasn't really surprising, given the circumstances. A little discreet necking on a dance floor certainly wasn't enough to claim more than a fleeting moment of anyone's attention with the crowd in the courtyard. And there'd been no outcry or undignified struggle when it ended. She hadn't dissolved into hysterics. And he'd managed not to howl with frustration.
Telling himself that it had happened for the best, Jack very deliberately folded the apron in half and draped it over the edge of Faith's metal utility cart. Grabbing up her sponge and rubber gloves, he dropped them on top of her other supplies, then pushed the cart next to the wall where it would be safely out of the way, and started to make coffee.
It would probably keep him awake but he figured his body wasn't going to let him sleep, anyway, especially not on sheets Faith had scented with fabric softener and smoothed on his bed with her own hands. Besides, he really needed to work. Work always took him out of himself, making him forget whatever other problems he might have.
And his dining room table with its untidy piles of paper and overflowing ashtray, its battered typewriter and cardboard box of memories was the one area Faith hadn't managed to stamp with her presence.
* * *
"I don't mean to pass any judgments, honey, but do you think that was a smart thing to do?" Sammie-Jo asked, concern in her voice. "Jack Shannon isn't the kind of man a woman ought to play games with. At least," she amended, "not those kinds of games. He looked fit to kill there for a minute."
"I wasn't playing games."
"Well, then, if you don't mind my asking, what were you doing?"
"I was..." Faith looked up from where she sat on the sofa in their apartment with her hands twisted together in her lap. "I was... Oh, Sammie-Jo, I don't
know
what I was doing," she wailed. "I thought I did. I know I wanted to be with him. I wanted to dance with him. And he looked at me so..." she made a vague gesture with one hand "...so tenderly, as if he really cared, as if he understood everything I was feeling and was feeling it, too. And he felt so good and smelled so good and I wanted him to kiss me. I really did. But then he said..."
"What did he say?" Sammie-Jo prompted when Faith just sat there, staring down at her clasped hands.
"He said he was too old for me again. And that he'd done things I couldn't possibly imagine. But I didn't care about that. Maybe I should have," she admitted, shamefaced, "but I didn't. And then he said he'd probably burn in hell for it but that he couldn't resist me."
"And?"
"And he started to kiss me and I pushed him away."
Sammie-Jo stared at her for a moment, clearly nonplussed. "You want to go over that one more time? I think I missed something."
"He cursed and said he could only resist just so much temptation and he couldn't resist me at all."
"Honey, if a man like Jack Shannon had said those things to me I'd've probably melted all over him like honey on a hot corn bread muffin. So you're going to have to be just a little more specific about what the problem is."
"What he said," Faith said, as if it should be obvious. "As if it were all my fault."
Sammie-Jo was still mystified. "As if what were all your fault?"
"Everything," Faith burst out furiously and slapped her hands flat against her knees. "He wasn't the only one who was tempted. I was tempted, too. But I didn't blame him for it, did I?" Resentment sparkled in her eyes. "So why did he blame me?"
"It doesn't sound as if he were blaming you, honey. It sounds as if he were trying to sweet-talk you. And doing a real good job of it, too. Right up until the end there, anyway."
Faith shook her head. "I thought it would be different out here in California."
"You thought what would be different?"
"Do you remember Amy Clarke from back home?"
"Sure. I remember Amy. But what—"
"Do you remember what happened to her?"
"She dropped out of high school in our senior year. The official story was that she'd come down with a really bad case of mononucleosis and had to be sent to some kind of rest home to recuperate but everybody knew she was pregnant. But what does she have to do with anything?"
"Do you remember who the father of her baby was?"
"Lyle Fisher. So?"
"So Amy got sent to a home for unwed mothers in Atlanta and Lyle got a scholarship to play football at Georgia Tech."
"Well, that's sad and unfair, I admit, but I don't see how it has anything to do with you and Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous."
"Both families belonged to our church and after the news came out Reverend Morrison read a sermon on the evils of unsanctified sex. Only it wasn't sex he was talking about, it was women. Poor Amy was vilified." Faith clenched her hands together in her lap until the knuckles showed white. "I remember thinking how glad I was that she'd already been sent away and didn't have to hear what was being said about her. The reverend called her a Jezebel and a temptress, a true daughter of Eve. And he made Lyle sound like this poor innocent guy who'd gotten caught up in her evil clutches. No one defended her or even suggested that Lyle might have been equally to blame, not even her mother. At the end of the sermon, Reverend Morrison asked Lyle to stand up and say a few words to show that he'd repented and Lyle said he'd do his best not to be tempted by weak, immoral women in the future. And then, afterward, out on the front steps of the church, my father patted him on the back and congratulated him on his lucky escape from the life of sin and degradation a loose woman like Amy would have brought him if he'd married her."
Sammie-Jo sat down on the sofa beside her and reached over, covering Faith's hands in her lap. "I don't want to talk against your daddy or your religion, honey," she said softly, "but there's more than one interpretation of the scriptures. And not all of them are that hard on us women."
"I know that. Intellectually, I know that." Emotionally, it was another issue altogether, one she still struggled with on a daily basis. "It just makes me so
mad,
is all." And being mad felt good, she realized. It helped to burn away some of the guilt. "On the one hand, they keep telling us we're the weaker sex. And then they turn around and claim we have all this evil, mysterious power over men that makes them lose all control and forces them to do things they wouldn't do if we hadn't tempted them. And
then
we're supposed to apologize and feel guilty for what, according to them, we can't help in the first place," Faith said, exasperated by the illogic of it all.
"Well, for what it's worth—" Sammie-Jo patted Faith's hands comfortingly "—I don't think Jack was blaming you for anything. It sounds to me as if he were feeling guilty about what was going on between the two of you and needed to make up some excuse so he could have what he wanted." Sammie-Jo's expression turned wry and cynical. "Pretty much like most men, actually."
"Well, it's not fair."
"No, it's not fair," Sammie-Jo agreed. "But it's probably been that way, in one form or another, since the beginning of time. A smart woman learns to work around it."
"And how does she do that?"
"By knowing what she wants," Sammie-Jo said, "and going after it. And saying to hell with what anyone else thinks."
* * *
A smart woman knows what she wants and goes after it.
The question, Faith thought, was what
did
she want? She already knew part of the answer. Already achieved part of it.
She'd moved as far away from Pine Hollow, Georgia, as she could get just as soon as she was able. She had a job—two jobs if you counted her fledgling cleaning service. She had a nest egg of almost five thousand dollars, some of it earned by baby-sitting, the rest carefully scrimped from the housekeeping money her father had doled out each week. She'd saved it, quarter by quarter, dollar by dollar, week by week, hiding it in the bottom of a box of tampons where she knew her father and brothers would never look, telling no one about it until she was finally ready to make her escape.
She'd faced her father before she left Pine Hollow, refusing to run away like a thief in the night. There'd been a scene, as she'd known there would be, and he'd quoted scripture at her, raging about an ungrateful child being sharper than a serpent's tooth. He'd predicted that she'd come to a bad end and swore she would no longer be a daughter of his if she walked out the door. But he couldn't stop her. She was an adult, she had a right to a life of her own, to some happiness and freedom. And now she had that new life, and a goal, and a timetable for reaching that goal all laid out.
For most people, that might have been enough but Faith had more personal demons to conquer—and something to prove to herself. She raised her hand and knocked on Jack Shannon's door.
* * *
Jack heard the knock on his door and glanced up from his typewriter, his gaze going unerringly toward the metal utility cart sitting in his kitchen, and then to the clock above the stove. It was one o'clock exactly. She wasn't wasting any time. But then, a woman raised the way Faith had been wouldn't. The devil found work for idle hands, or words to that effect.
The knock came again, louder. Jack snuffed out his cigarette, not even noticing that it was only half-smoked, and got up. Might as well get it over with. His boot heels clicking against the hardwood floor, he ambled over to the kitchen, grabbed her utility cart by the handle and dragged it along behind him as he headed for the door. He'd keep it short and sweet, he thought. Give her the cart, pay her for her work and say goodbye. It was better that way. For both of them.
He pulled the door open, catching her with her hand lifted to knock a third time. "Didn't anybody ever tell you that patience is a virtue?"
Faith flushed at his surly tone but held her ground. "I'm sorry if I woke you, but it is one o'clock."
"You didn't wake me." He'd been awake for most of the night, working. Or trying to work. And trying not to think about her. He wasn't having much luck with either activity. Scowling, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and fished out his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing yet. I haven't finished."
Jack lifted an eyebrow at her. "Oh, you're finished, all right." He flipped open the wallet. "How much?"
Faith shook her head. "I won't take money for work I haven't done."
"I'm not offering to pay you for what you haven't done, only for what you have. How much?"
"Our agreement was that this first time would be on a trial basis. You wouldn't have to pay me if you weren't satisfied with my work." She reached out and grabbed the handle of her cart. "Obviously, you weren't satisfied."
Jack grabbed the cart from the other side, keeping her from pulling it across the threshold. "I was satisfied, dammit. I'll even put it in writing, if you want. Give you a glowing reference. Just tell me how much I owe you."
"You bought me lunch." She tugged at her cart. "That should cover it."
"Don't be an idiot." He yanked the cart out of her hand and set it out of her reach. "You worked your tail off for at least four hours yesterday." He dug into his wallet as he spoke. "I owe you for that." He thrust a handful of bills at her. "Here."
Faith lifted her chin. "No, thank you," she said politely, refusing to take the proffered bills.
"Dammit, Faith," he growled. Desperation laced his voice. "Just take the money."
"May I have my cart, please?"
Jack swore.
She just stood there, looking up at him, stubbornness and pride in every line of her body. How could he have missed it? How could he have looked at her and not seen past the innocence and inexperience to the steel spine beneath?
"My cart?" she said again, impatient and imperious.
"All right, dammit." He stuffed the bills back into his wallet and shoved it into his pocket. "Come on in and finish it. But I warn you, Angel, I won't be responsible for what happens."
Anger flickered in her eyes. "Does that mean I will?"
He felt his own anger rise, and didn't know why. "Yes, dammit. That's just what it means. You come into this apartment again and you'll be asking for everything you get."
Faith felt her mouth go dry, but she refused to let him intimidate her. No man, she vowed, would ever intimidate or browbeat her again. "And what will I get?"
With a muffled oath, Jack reached out and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, yanking her across the threshold and against his chest. "This," he said and crushed his lips to hers.
He had some half-formed thought of scaring her off, of frightening her with the strength of his passion, but the first touch of her mouth beneath his burned that thought away as if it had never been. Only the hunger was left. And the need to possess. He'd given her every chance to run and she hadn't. Now she was his. He wrapped his other arm around her back, clamping her body to his, and angled his head to deepen the kiss.