Marry Me (13 page)

"Ha!" she murmured to herself. "Gracie doesn't know everything."

He slid out and stood on the sidewalk. They were silent, staring, then she rose and went to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and gazed into his handsome, troubled face.

"Why aren't you in bed?" he asked.

"Silly man. I've been waiting for you. I didn't think you'd ever arrive."

On a ragged sigh, he admitted, "My heart is broken."

"I know, I know."

"I've been driving and driving. I finally realized that I didn't have anywhere to go."

She took his hand in hers. "Come inside."

She led him in, guiding him up to her room. She locked the door and drew him to the bed. He sat on the edge, watching as she lit a candle.

As the flame caught and grew, she turned to him. He looked haggard and weary, as if he'd aged since she'd last seen him.

She rested a palm on his cheek. "It'll be all right. It's a new reality for you. You'll adjust to it."

"Everything I believed about myself and my parents was a lie."

"I'm sorry you had to find out so abruptly. Can you forgive me?"

He scoffed and waved away his prior upset.

"What they did to Katie was horrible. I hardly knew her, but she shouldn't have been treated that way. And Bryce and Peanut! My God, where should I start?"

"We'll fix it, but we don't have to do it tonight."

"I want to be friends with them."

"Well of course you should be."

"And when you decide the time is right, I'd like to tell them who I am."

"When the time is right," she agreed, wondering when that would be. Definitely not until they were older and could grasp the intricacies of what had occurred.

She climbed onto his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs, and she kissed him, the pressure of her mouth easing him down onto the mattress.

They lay like that for an eternity, with her hovered over him, kissing and kissing. They took solace from the closeness, from the intimate joy of being together. Eventually, his distress began to wane.

He rolled her and spooned himself behind her, an arm draped across her stomach.

"I was going to have sex with you," he said, "but I'm too exhausted."

She chuckled. "I like being with you like this. I don't need
anything else to happen."

"Good, because I can't do anything but this. I feel a thousand years old."

His respiration was slowing, and she warned, "Don't fall asleep."

"I won't."

"I mean it." She propped herself on an elbow and glanced back at him. "I can't have the kids find you here in the morning. I couldn't explain it to them."

"I'll leave in awhile. I just have to catch my breath."

He settled her down, his fingers stroking lazy circles on her thigh.

"Did my grandfather love you?" he asked.

"As a daughter. As a granddaughter." She could feel him nod, and she smiled. "Have I finally shed the title of gold digger?"

"For now." He smiled too. "Unless I stumble on some new scandal."

"You won't. With me, what you see is what you get."

"He was smart to pick you."

"Not smart. Brilliant."

He laughed, the sound soft and low. He was big and warm and comforting, and she was thrilled to have him in her bed. How long would she be able to keep him there?

Ultimately, he'd tire of her, and she'd be crushed, but she'd learn to deal with it. She'd steel herself against despair.

She had more than he had. She had a family, one that had been cobbled together from nothing. She had people who loved her, people who would sustain her after he left.

Who and what did he have? Who would sustain him as he meandered through the troubled times ahead?

She was lucky. Luckier than he was.

Her eyes drifted shut and she slumbered. When she woke, he was gone and there was not the slightest hint that he'd ever been there at all.

* * *

Angela sat in the dingy bar, smoking a cigarette and furtively studying the other patrons. The place was a dive, and she hated it. She should have been rubbing elbows with a
better clientele, but the owner's prices were all she could afford.

She was broke, so she shouldn't have been drinking, and if Gracie found out, Angela would never hear the end of it. But sheesh, it was Friday night, and she wasn't about to mope in her apartment.

Someone put money in the jukebox and selected a boring country song, exactly the kind of tune she'd expect from such a bunch of losers.

She shifted on her barstool and gazed into the mirror behind the bar, surreptitiously checking out every male. Most were with girlfriends or wives, and those who were alone looked like criminals.

There were a couple of prospects in the backroom shooting pool, and she'd probably have to wedge herself into a game. Pool players could usually be counted on to buy her a drink.

The door opened, and a customer entered. As she downed the last of her whiskey sour, he slid onto the adjacent barstool.

She peeked over at him and was stunned to discover that a black-haired, blue-eyed Adonis had arrived. What was such a luscious guy doing in such a crappy spot?

"Hey, don't I know you?" he said.

If was a pathetic come-on, but she wasn't about to complain.

"No."

"Are you sure? I could have sworn you were friends with Faith Benjamin."

"Ah…yeah I am. She's sort of my sister."

"I thought so. I'm Dustin Merriweather."

"Angela Turner."

He extended his hand, and she shook it, tamping down her spurt of excitement.

Dustin Merriweather!

Was she dreaming?

For the past two weeks, she'd been gagging over Faith's fling with his brother. When he'd sent her those diamond earrings, Angela could have dropped dead with envy and resentment. Maybe her luck was changing, maybe she was about to get what she deserved.

"Could I buy you a drink?" he asked.

"I wouldn't say no."

He peered around, assessing the busted tables, the dilapidated chairs, the litter on the floor. It was a dump, and he knew it.

"This place doesn't suit you," he realized. "Do you come here very often?"

"It's close to my apartment so it's convenient."

"How about if we go somewhere that's more your style?"

"That would be great."

"My Beemer is outside. I'll drive."

"Cool."

Angela scooped up her purse, and with a sly grin to the bartender, she let Dustin escort her to his car.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"You look…different," Faith told Angela, choosing her words, not eager to say
happier
or
sober
. "Did you color your hair?"

"No."

"Cut it?"

"No."

"Have you lost weight?"

"A couple of pounds."

"Good for you."

They were in the kitchen. Faith was cooking supper, and Angela was sitting at the table and watching her. She didn't think Angela had lost weight, but Faith would play any game to keep the peace.

For a second, she thought about Lucas. He hadn't called all day, and she'd been sure he would. Like a love-struck teen, she'd stared at the phone hour after hour, positive it would ring. When it didn't, she couldn't believe how disappointed she'd been.

She smiled to herself. The prior weekend, she'd convinced herself that she was finished with him, but she'd changed her mind completely. Now, she was in a hurry to push matters forward. She wanted a full-fledged romance, with them in contact all the time, sleeping together often, doing things as a couple.

It was silly to expect so much from him, but she couldn't help wishing. She'd decided to jump in with both feet, and she didn't know what he'd make of it. She doubted he'd like it. Or he might like it for awhile, but he was a die-hard bachelor.

He'd be wary of any activity that smelled of bond or
commitment, yet for as long as she could manage to be with him, she'd give it her all.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Angela asked.

"Is it a 'don't you dare tell Gracie' type of secret?"

"Yes."

They'd had plenty of those over the years, and they both chuckled.

"I have a new boyfriend."

"Anybody I know?"

"No."

"When did you meet him?"

"Last night—at the bar by my apartment."

"And he already qualifies as boyfriend material?"

"I realize it sounds fast, but I'm really excited about him."

Angela and a
new
boyfriend was a thorny issue, and Faith had to tread carefully. She didn't want to upset her or hurt her feelings by saying the wrong thing. Angela frequently accused her of being judgmental and maybe she was, but Angela had the worst luck with men.

Her affairs were notoriously dysfunctional and always ended badly, but Faith had to give her credit. She never gave up. She was an optimist, certain Mr. Right was just around the corner.

"That's terrific," Faith lied.

"He loaded."

"That's even better."

"Next weekend, he's flying to L.A. He might take me with him."

"Wow." Before she could stop herself, Faith said, "Isn't that kind of sudden? I mean you barely know him."

"I'm not a baby, Faith."

"I'm sorry; I just worry about you."

"You don't have to this time. He's so different. He's rich and handsome and charming and…and…" Her voice trailed off, and she laughed at herself. "Don't pay any attention to me. I'm being ridiculous."

"No, you're not. It's fun to fall in love. You can gush; I don't mind."

"How about you and Lucas Merriweather? How's that
going? Are you falling in love too?"

"No," Faith hastily denied. "We're friends. The diamonds were a fluke; he was trying to impress me."

"Did it work? 'Cuz I have to tell you, it impressed the hell out of me."

"No, it didn't work," Faith sarcastically scoffed. "Who wants a couple of tiny diamonds? You know I only like men who shower me with millions."

"Like Harold?"

"Yes. What are a few paltry diamonds when I can have the whole bank account?"

"It was great," Angela facetiously said, "how you tricked him into leaving you his estate. The poor guy didn't stand a chance."

Faith wiggled her brows. "Not after I'd worked my feminine wiles on him. I had him so confused he didn't know up from down."

"I really think you missed your calling. You have a knack for torture."

"It was so amusing to tie him to that chair, to badger him: 
Sign the papers, Harold. Sign the papers
."

Angela grinned. "Did you hold his hand when he signed his will?"

"I didn't have to hold his hand. He was so terrified of me that he was scared to disobey." Faith cringed, shocked by her cruel remarks. What had come over her? "I can't believe I said that. It's not funny. Let's talk about something else."

Angela sighed. "Harold was a good man."

"The very best."

"I feel sorry for what happened to him—with his family and all."

"They were awful."

"Why won't you spend any of the money?"

"You know me," Faith mockingly replied. "It's all about expensive clothes and cars and jewelry. It's all I think about; it's all I want."

"No, seriously. You should buy a bigger house."

"I like
this
house. It was Harold's; the kids are settled here."

"But you could use more space."

"Maybe when they're older."

"You're such a tightwad."

"I can't help it. I've never had any money, and now I have some, but it seems like a dream. I expect to wake up and find out it never happened."

"Harold's dead. That's not a dream."

"Yes, he is and the money is mine, but I don't want to waste it."

"How could a bigger house be a waste? You're nuts."

"Just frugal."

The timer on the stove beeped, reminding Faith that the spaghetti noodles were finished. As she bustled about, searching for the colander and carrying the heavy saucepan over to the sink, Angela pushed back her chair and stood.

"I didn't realize it was so late," she said.

"Aren't you staying for supper?"

"I have plans."

Angela always showed up for meals, being perfectly willing to let others pay for and cook her food. She had no shame about it, so it was odd for her to leave.