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
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
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