Redeeming Love (9 page)

“What’s your pleasure, mister?”

Her voice was low and soft and surprisingly cultured, but she was so direct, he was taken aback. She couldn’t have said anything to make him more acutely aware of what she did for her living, or of his own powerful physical attraction to her.

As he entered the room, Angel closed the door behind him and leaned back against it. She waited for him to answer while making a quick assess-ment of him. Her uneasiness lessened. He wasn’t so different from the rest.

Just a little older than most, a little broader in the shoulders. He was no boy, but he looked uncomfortable, very uncomfortable. Maybe he had a wife somewhere and was feeling guilty. Maybe he had a good Christian mother and was wondering what she would think about his coming to a prostitute.

This one wouldn’t want to spend a lot of time with her. Good. The less time, the better.

Michael didn’t know what to say. He had been thinking about seeing her all day, and now that he was here in her bedroom he stood mute, his heart beating its way up into his throat. She was so beautiful, and she looked amused.
Lord, what now? I can’t even think past what I’m feeling.
She walked toward him, every movement drawing his attention to her body.

Angel touched his chest and heard him suck in his breath. She moved around him, smiling. “No need to be shy with me, mister. Tell me what you want.”

He looked down at her. “You.”

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“I’m all yours.”

Michael watched her cross the room to a washstand. Angel. The name fit the way she looked, a flawless, blue-eyed porcelain doll with pale skin and golden hair. Maybe marble was a better description. Porcelain shatters. She looked too hard for that—so hard, he hurt looking at her. Why? He hadn’t expected to feel that. He had worried too much about getting past the desire he knew she would arouse in him.
God, give me strength to resist her temptation.

She poured water into a porcelain bowl and picked up a bar of soap.

Everything she did was graceful and provocative. “Why don’t you come here and I’ll wash you.”

He could feel the heat rushing all through his body, most of it ending up in his face. He coughed and felt as though his collar were choking him.

She laughed softly. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

“It’s not necessary, ma’am. I’m not here for sex.”

“No. You’re here for Bible study.”

“I came here to talk with you.”

Angel gritted her teeth. Hiding her irritation, she let her gaze drift boldly.

He moved uneasily beneath that look. She smiled. “Are you sure you want to talk?”

“I’m sure.”

He looked dead certain. With a sigh, she turned to dry her hands.

“Whatever you want, mister.” She sat on the bed and crossed her legs.

Michael knew what she was doing. He fought the swift desire to take her up on the clear message she kept sending him. The longer he stood silent, the more his mind drew images, and she knew it by the look in her eyes.

Was she mocking him? No doubt about that.

“Do you live in this room when you’re not working?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head. “Where did you think I lived? In a little white cottage at the end of a road somewhere?” She smiled to take the bite from her words. She hated men who asked questions and probed.

Michael studied her surroundings. No personal articles out, no pictures on the wall, no knickknacks on the small, lace-covered table in the corner, no feminine clothing scattered about. Everything was neat, clean, spare. A 62

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modest armoire, a side table, a kerosene lamp, a marble washstand with a yellow porcelain water pitcher, and a straight-backed chair furnished her room. And the bed on which she was sitting.

He got the chair from the corner, set it in front of her, and sat down. Her satin wrap had opened a little. He knew she was toying with him. She swung her foot idly, like a pendulum, sixty seconds to a minute, thirty minutes to a half hour. All the time he had.

Lord, I’d need a million years to reach this woman. Are you sure this is the one
you meant for me?

Her eyes were blue and fathomless. He could read nothing in them. She was a wall, an endless ocean, a clouded night sky so dark he couldn’t see his hand before his face. He saw only what she wanted him to see.

“You said you wanted to talk, mister. So talk.”

Michael was saddened. “I shouldn’t have come to you like this. I should’ve found another way.”

“What other way is there?”

How was he going to make her understand he was different from the other men who came to her when he came by the same way they did? Gold.

He had listened to Joseph and gone to the Duchess, and then he had listened to that woman say Angel was a commodity—a fine, precious, well-guarded commodity. Pay first, then talk. Paying had seemed the easiest, most direct way. He hadn’t cared about the price. Now it was clear the easiest way wasn’t the best.

He should have found another way, another place. She was too ready to work and not the least bit ready to listen. And he was finding himself too easily distracted.

“How old are you?”

She smiled slightly. “Old. Real old.”

He figured that was right. She wasn’t talking about years. He doubted much could surprise her. She looked prepared for anything. Yet he sensed something else about her as well, the same way he had the first time he had seen her. There was another layer beneath the one she was showing now.

Lord, how do I get to it?

“How old are
you?”
she asked, turning his question back on him.

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“Twenty-six.”

“Old for a gold miner. Most are eighteen or nineteen. I haven’t seen many real men lately.”

Her lack of subtlety put him on firmer ground. “Why the name Angel?

Because of how you look? Or is that your real name?”

Her mouth tightened slightly. The only thing she had left was her name, and she had never told anyone what it was, not even Duke. The only person who had ever called her by her name was Mama. And Mama was dead.

“Call me whatever you want, mister. It doesn’t matter.” Just because he didn’t want what he paid for, that didn’t mean she was going to give him anything else.

He studied her. “I think Mara suits you.”

“Someone you knew back home?”

“No. It means bitter.”

She looked at him then and went very still. What game was this? “Is that what you think?” She lifted one shoulder indolently. “Well, I suppose Mara is as good a name as any.” She began to swing her foot back and forth again, ticking off the time. How long had he been here? How long did she have to put up with him?

He kept on. “Where are you from?”

“Here and there.”

He smiled slightly at her polite and sultry reticence. “Any here and there in particular?”

“Just here and there,” she said. Her foot stopped and she leaned forward.

“What about you, mister? What’s your name? You from any place in particular? Do you have a wife somewhere? Are you afraid to do what you really want?”

She was leveling all barrels at him, but rather than be taken aback, he felt himself relaxing. This girl was more real to him than the one who had greeted him at the door. “Michael Hosea,” he said. “I live in a valley southwest of here, and I’m not married, but I will be soon.”

She frowned uneasily. It was the way he was looking at her. The intensity unnerved her. “What sort of name is Hosea?”

His smile became wry. “Prophetic.”

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Was he making a joke at her expense? “Are you going to tell me my future?”

“You’re going to marry me, and I’m going to take you out of here.”

She laughed. “Well, my third proposal today. I’m so flattered.” Shaking her head, she leaned forward again, her smile cold and cynical. Did he think this was a new approach? Did he think it was
necessary?
“When would you like me to start playing my part, mister?”

“After the ring’s on your finger. Right now, I want to get to know you a little better.”

She hated him for dragging the game on. The wasted time, the hypocrisy, the endless lies. It had been a long night, and she was in no mood to humor him. “What’s to tell? What I do is what I am. All it comes down to is you telling me how you want me to be. But be quick. Your time’s almost up.”

Michael saw he had made a fine mess of this first meeting. What had he expected? To come in here, talk plain, and walk out with her on his arm?

She looked like she wanted to give him the boot. He was angry at himself for being such a naive fool. “You’re not talking love, Mara, and I didn’t come here to use you.”

The steady deepness of his words and that name—Mara—roused her anger even more. “No?” She tilted her chin. “Well, I think I understand.” She stood. He was sitting and she moved close, her soft hands combing into his hair. She could feel his tension and relished it.

“Let me guess, mister. You want to get to know me. You want to find out how I think and what I feel. And most of all, you want to know how a nice girl like me got into a business like this.”

Michael closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, trying to close out the effect her touch was having on him.

“Do what you’re thinking about doing, mister.”

Michael put her firmly away from him. “I came to talk with you.”

She studied him through narrowed eyes and then yanked her wrapper closed and tied the satin ribbons. She still felt exposed beneath his scrutiny.

“You came to the wrong girl. You want to know what you can have, I’ll tell you.” And she did, explicitly. He didn’t blush this time. He didn’t even react.

“I want to know
you,
not what you can do,” he said roughly.

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“If you want conversation, go down to the bar.”

He stood. “Come away with me and be my wife.”

She gave a harsh laugh. “If you want a wife, send for one by mail, or wait for the next wagon train to cross the mountains.”

He came toward her. “I can give you a good life. I don’t care how you got here or where you’ve been before. Come with me now.”

She smiled derisively. “For what? More of the same? Look, I’ve heard it all before from a hundred others. You saw me and fell in love and now you can’t live without me. You can give me a wonderful life. What a crock.”

“I can.”

“It all comes down to the same thing.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“From my point it does. A half hour is more than enough time for anyone to own me, mister.”

“You’re telling me this is the life you want?”

What did
want
have to do with anything? “This
is
my life.”

“It doesn’t have to be. If you had a choice, what would you want?”

“From you? Nothing.”

“From living.”

A bleakness settled inside her.
Living?
What was he talking about? She felt battered by his questions and defended herself with an aloof, cool smile.

Spreading her hands, she showed off her simple room with its spare furnishings. “I have everything I need right here.”

“You’ve got a roof, food, and fine clothes.”

“And work,” she said tightly. “Oh, don’t you forget my work. I’m real good at it.”

“You hate it.”

She was silent a moment, wary. “You just drew me on one of my bad nights.” She went to the window. Pretending to look out, she closed her eyes and fought for control. What was wrong with her this evening? What was it about this man that got to her? She preferred the numbness to this stirring of emotion. Hope was torment; Hope was an enemy. And this man was a thorn in her side.

Michael came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. He felt 66

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her tense at his touch. “Come home with me,” he said softly. “Be my wife.”

Angel shrugged his hands off angrily and moved away from him. “No, thanks.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to leave, that’s why. Is that a good enough reason for you?”

“If you won’t go with me, at least let me get a little closer.”

Finally. Here we go.
“Six steps ought to do that, mister. All you have to do is put one foot in front of the other.”

“I’m not talking feet and inches, Mara.”

All the feelings slowed inside her and spiraled downward as though they were draining away into a black hole beneath her feet. “Angel,” she said.

“My name is Angel. Have you got that?
Angel!
And you’re wasting my time and your dust.”

“I’m not wasting anything.”

She sat on the bed again and let out her breath. Tilting her head to one side, she looked up at him. “You know, mister, most men are fairly honest when they come. They pay, take what they want, and leave. Then there are a few others, like you. They don’t like being like the rest. So they tell me how much they
care
and what’s wrong with my life and how they can fix it.” Her mouth curved sardonically. “But eventually they all get past that and get down to what they’re really after.”