Pop’s way of putting it irked Gray. “You make her sound like a damn toy. I like Faith. She’s a sweet girl.”
Pop nodded. “That she is. She’ll make some man a damned fine wife. Have a passel of kids. A nice home and security.” His emphasis on security drove home to Gray what Pop wanted for his daughter. And to his credit, it was what most fathers wanted for their daughters.
“I understand,” Gray said calmly.
Pop’s expression softened. “I like you, son. I like you a damn lot. I don’t want you to take it the wrong way. Faith could certainly do a lot worse than a man like you. I just don’t see your pathways paralleling each other. That’s all.”
“Not a problem,” Gray said, not wanting to point out that he’d never expressed the desire for a relationship with Faith. No sense pissing the old guy off.
CHAPTER 12
Faith bopped around the office with ill-contained excitement. She was nervous, excited and petrified, all rolled into one, about her appointment tonight. Sex on the brain made for some interesting daydreams, and she could only be grateful it had been a slow day in the office.
The sexual tension between her and Gray simmered like a cauldron, and it made her even more determined and anxious to explore her most secret desires. He brought out every lustful fantasy she’d ever thought of, and even some she hadn’t.
She wanted him. That was certainly not one of her most secret desires. There was nothing secret about it. And he’d have to be awfully thick not to realize she wanted to have sex with him. But. There was always a but.
She wanted a strong, masterful man. From all outward appearances, Gray was that man. He talked the talk, but then she’d had a few talkers in the past. They’d promptly fizzled in bed and out.
Which is why you’re going tonight. To identify, to own, to take what you want. She sensed this was the first big step, and once she embraced this change, this desire to be her own person, there would be no looking back.
She emitted a tiny sigh as she arranged a pile of contracts on her desk. Then she logged onto the internet and opened an e-mail from Damon, the man who’d set up her appointment at The House.
They’d actually exchanged several e-mails since her phone call a few nights ago. He had put her at ease with his friendly, open attitude. He’d encouraged her to ask questions and in return had given her a wealth of information about what went on at The House and also what she could expect from her tour.
In one of her sillier moments, and after spending five hours poring over internet pictures of leather-clad Klingon look-alikes, she’d e-mailed Damon to ask what she should wear. Because if she was expected to don a black rubber suit with no ass and a hole where her tits were supposed to go, they could kiss her ass. Her bare ass.
She skimmed over the e-mail, smiling at the reminder that the environment she was entering tonight would be raw and explicit. She felt an excited tingle all the way down to her toes.
She was reasonably prepared for her visit to The House. Or so she imagined. She’d scoured countless sites on the internet, researched all the links that Damon had sent her, and she’d even worked up the nerve to sneak into Micah’s apartment and raid his p**n collection. She’d certainly gotten an eyeful. Apparently soft p**n wasn’t in Micah’s vocabulary.
She grinned as she mentally went over the list she’d compiled of scenarios and positions she wanted to try. All she needed now was a willing partner, and maybe a better understanding of the need driving her. Which she hoped Damon and company could shed some light on.
She spun around in her seat, feeling just a little giddy and more than a little ridiculous. She slapped her hand down on the desk to stop her motion when the phone rang.
Stifling a giggle, she reached for the phone. “Malone’s,” she said breathily.
“Faith, we need to talk.” Her mother’s strident voice scratched over Faith’s ear like a tree branch on a tin roof. “I need money. I need you to help me. You have to help me.”
Gone was the wheedling and cajoling she was so used to hearing in her mother’s calls.
Forgoing any attempt to soften her rejection, Faith gripped the phone tighter. “I asked you not to call me again.”
She started to peel the phone away from her ear when a distant sound raised her hackles. She pressed the phone back to her ear again and strained to hear.
“…tell the bitch to get the money, or you’ll both be sorry.”
“Mom, who was that?” Faith demanded.
“No one,” Celia said in a faltering voice. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
Familiar sadness settled over Faith, crowding her mind with a lifetime of regrets. Celia would never change. Faith had to accept that. She had accepted it, but it didn’t make it any easier to acknowledge.
“Let me say this so we’re perfectly clear,” Faith began in a halting voice. “Don’t call me.” Her voice got stronger and steadier as she allowed the force of her anger to spill out. “I have nothing to say to you. I can’t help you. I won’t help you. I can’t be any clearer than that.”
Her words came out shaky in the end as she expelled unsteady breaths. “I love you, Mom.” Her voice cracked, and she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “But I hate what you’ve become—what you’ve always been. I don’t want any part of my old life back. My life with you. I’m happy now. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any desire to reconnect with you, to allow you to use me anymore.”
Faith heard a sob and honestly didn’t know whether it was her or her mother. She hung up the phone with shaky hands then buried her face in her arms on the desk.
Her shoulders shook, and she felt tears slide over her arms. When the phone rang again, she reached over, yanked the cord from the wall and flung it across the room. She lowered her head again and wept. Noisy, raw sobs racked her body. So much grief, anger and betrayal coiled in her chest like an angry snake ready to strike.
Why did she hand over so much power to her mother? Why did she give Celia the capability to hurt her so easily?
A firm hand gripped her shoulder, and she stiffened.
“Faith, what’s wrong?” Gray’s urgent entreaty cut through the red haze circling her mind.
Slowly, she pulled her head up, suddenly feeling foolish for her undisciplined emotional outburst. What if Pop or Connor had been the one to walk in? She’d have a devil of a time explaining why she was sobbing her eyes out at her desk.