Serendipity (8 page)

Tonight he'd gone into this kiss fully aware of the impact she possessed. Or so he thought. But when his lips touched hers, youthful memories meant nothing compared to the reality of kissing this woman again. He could make love to her mouth all night, never come up for air, and still want more in the morning.

Her hands slid to his waist and began working his shirt up so she could run her fingers over his abdomen. “So hard and tight,” she murmured, surprising him with her bold exploration.

His groin pulsed in response.

He desired her with a desperation. But he needed her to want
him
. And right now, it was the alcohol talking, making her ask for more. If Faith Harrington were sober, she'd probably still be running from him as far and as fast as she could.

The bad boy he used to be would take what she offered and not look back. But Ethan had worked too hard to get past that kid, his cockiness, arrogance, and the devastation he'd caused. He was still working on it. And he wasn't stupid. He knew he could never be this particular princess's Prince Charming.

But even if they had one night or a short fling, he was determined for it to be consensual. She would know she was with Ethan.

With regret and a hell of a lot of willpower, he grasped her wrists in his hands and pulled them apart.

“What's wrong?” She looked up at him with an aroused, willing, take-me gaze that nearly had him giving in.

“You need sleep,” he said in a gruff voice he barely recognized.

And he needed a cold shower.

A few minutes later, he let himself out the door, reminding her he expected to see her at his house around ten the next morning to discuss their new business arrangement. He knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep. He wondered if she'd even remember any of this in the morning, when she'd be hurting like crazy.

As he ran down the back stairs, he knew just the way to make sure the progress he'd made tonight didn't disappear with the light of day tomorrow.

Faith's head pounded and her throat was raw. With a groan, she rolled over, hand over her forehead, and gingerly sat back on the pillows. Good. The familiar pillows meant she was in her own bed like she thought. She forced her eyelids open and realized she was still dressed in the skirt and top she'd worn to Joe's last night.

The evening came back to her in spurts, but she definitely remembered the highlights. Deciding to go to Karaoke Night instead of staying home alone. Ordering beer instead of wine. Kate and her friends showing up, and Faith drinking another beer. Joe begging them to sing. She winced at that one, recalling how that had led to her drinking a shot of vodka, then another, and then a few more.

No wonder her head felt like a freight train was barreling through her temples. What happened after karaoke? She sank into her cushiony down pillows to think and the answer came to her in a distinct vision.

He'd been waiting for her in the hallway. Razor stubble darkened his cheeks, giving him an even more dangerous than normal aura, which was saying something. He'd worn a black shirt that emphasized his broad chest and impressive muscles. And when he'd spoken, that husky voice had washed over her like hot chocolate over vanilla ice cream. She hadn't been nearly as smooth as she'd stumbled over herself, but he'd been there, wrapping his strong arm around her waist, supporting her.

And not only had she let him, she'd leaned against him, wanting to crawl inside his skin because he'd smelled so musky and male, so . . .
You smell good.

Faith groaned aloud. “Please tell me I did not say that out loud.”

Obviously she had because he'd replied,
You smell better.

“Oh God.” She was mortified enough, but it hadn't ended there.

He'd taken her home, helped her up the stairs and into her apartment. She'd been drunk and out of control. She remembered that now. She also remembered a long, rambling conversation she'd had with him, but no real specifics came back to her except that it had led to
a kiss
.

And boy could he kiss. She was on fire now just thinking about his lips hard on hers. She grabbed an extra pillow and buried her face into the cool, soft cushion.

How would she ever face him again? Well, she wouldn't have to unless she ran into him in town, which she doubted would happen all that often. At least she hoped not.

The doorbell rang and she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Nine A.M. It was probably Kate, coming over to find out exactly what had happened between her and Ethan last night. Having just relived it in her head, Faith wasn't ready for an instant replay with her best friend.

But the doorbell rang again.

Faith rose gently from the bed, taking care with her poor aching head. She could barely stand, but if she wanted the ringing to go away, she had no choice but to answer.

“I'm coming!” she called out irritably.

She opened the door, shocked to find Rosalita, her old housekeeper, on the other side.

Before Faith could greet her, the other woman stepped into the apartment, a brown bag in her hand. She brushed past Faith and headed for her small kitchen, placing the bag onto the counter.

Only when her hands were free did she turn around and hold out her arms. “Oh, Ms. Faith. It's so good to see you! I miss you so much. Not your mama or your papa, I'm sorry to say, but you!”

Rosalita had worked for Faith's parents since Faith was a little girl. She'd been the one to sit with Faith in the kitchen, give her milk and cookies after school, and meet whichever friends she brought home. She worked hard so her children could have the life and education she didn't, something Faith as an adult now understood and respected.

The woman was a welcome sight and Faith stepped forward and into her warm embrace. “It's good to see you too, Rosalita.” She was glad to note her old housekeeper still smelled the same, the thought giving Faith comfort. “How did you know where to find me?”

She stepped back and looked the other woman over. Rosalita hadn't changed in all the years Faith had known her. Her dark hair was cropped short near her head and her stout, round body was just the same.

“Well, Mr. Ethan, he ask me do a special errand for him this morning. I tell him no, I work around the house and I'm not his errand boy. But then he explained it was for you and I say okay.” She cupped Faith's face in her hands and kissed both cheeks. “You look good.”

Faith shook her head—a big mistake—and raised an eyebrow instead. “I doubt it. I'm sure I look like something the cat dragged in.”

“
Sí.
But you still look good to me.”

Faith grinned, when suddenly Rosalita's earlier words registered. “You work for Ethan Barron now?” she asked, surprised.

“I tol' him I come with the house and keep my job, but he have to pay me double to work for a bad boy. Because I know the house so well, he say yes.”

Faith understood her broken English. Despite having been in this country for decades, Rosalita had always chosen to speak Spanish to her children at home, watch Spanish television channels, and stick to English only when at work.

What Faith took from the conversation was that Rosalita didn't approve of her boss and Faith felt compelled to stick up for him. “Ethan's not a bad boy anymore, Rosalita.”

She folded her plump arms over her ample chest and let out a harrumphing sound. “Bad man. Same difference.”

“He's not that either.” Although exactly what Ethan was remained to be seen. Just thinking about him had her aching and wound up, curious, and a lot of other things all at the same time. “You should give him a chance,” Faith said to his new housekeeper.

Rosalita pursed her lips. “That's what he say.”

“Then do it.” Faith narrowed her gaze. “Why would Ethan send you here?”

“He say you will need breakfast this morning. So here I am.” She smiled at Faith.

“Breakfast?”

“
Sí.
So let me get started.” The older woman headed back into the kitchen and began pulling out ingredients from the bag. “I make your favorite breakfast. But first, here. Coffee.” She handed Faith a large cup from the Cuppa Café, which Faith gratefully accepted.

She was completely overwhelmed by Ethan's gracious gesture. “He sent you to make me breakfast? That's so considerate of him.” And caring. She couldn't believe he'd thought to take care of her, and a wave of warm appreciation washed over her.

Rosalita began her prepping in the small kitchen, making herself at home, rambling like she always used to. “Mr. Ethan also say you drink too much last night.” Rosalita paused to wave a wagging finger at her. “Not good for you, Ms. Faith. Alcohol make you do bad things. I ended up with child after too much alcohol.” She gestured to her belly. “You be careful. Especially if you're hanging around with that bad boy.”

Faith bit down on the inside of her cheek. “I'm not hanging around with him. And he's not a—”

“Bad boy. I know. So you say. But he knew you'd need coffee and breakfast this morning, so something happened between you two, no?”

Faith blew out a long breath of air, unable to deny the other woman's words. “Yes.”

“Let me make your omelet.”

Unable to stand the thought of eggs just yet, Faith was about to argue, when Rosalita spoke again. “Go. Shower and get dressed. You'll feel better and I'll have breakfast ready when you're done. You need to get ready. Mr. Ethan say you two have a business meeting at ten o'clock this morning. So go get ready.”

“What?” Faith asked, Rosalita's words coming as a surprise. “We don't have any business together.”

“Mr. Ethan tell me you will say that too. So he said to remind you that you agree to . . . what's the word? Des . . .”

“Design?”

“Design and decorate his new house. Which should be your house, if you ask me.” She let out a
tsk
ing sound followed by a shake of her head. “Your father, shame on him. I never thought he was a criminal, but he disappoint me!” she exclaimed.

“Me too, Rosalita. Me too.” As for Ethan, she was beginning to recall more of that monologue she'd had with him last night, and yes, she probably had agreed to take the job.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, knowing she'd need not just this coffee and the shower, or even the breakfast he'd so generously sent over, but a good dose of courage before heading over to the house on the hill.

 

 

An hour later, Rosalita had left after making Faith the best omelet ever, a cold glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and another cup of hot coffee. Her head still hurt a little, but overall she felt like a new woman. New enough to call her mom.

Faith and her mother had had a strained relationship from the time Faith was a child. Faith had been her daddy's little girl, while Lanie Harrington resented the attention Martin Harrington showered on his daughter, the same attention she so desperately craved. It didn't matter how much Faith's father loved his wife—she always wanted more and had often blamed Faith for dividing Martin's time when he was home. Added to the fact that Lanie didn't know how to be a mother, their relationship had never been good.

As an adult, Faith and her mother had drifted apart, which worked fine for Faith since she was able to distance herself from her mother's constant negativity and demands. They'd rarely spoken when Faith had lived in New York, but after her father's shocking revelations, Faith had held out hope she and her mother could begin to repair their fractured relationship.

Upon returning to Serendipity, Faith reached out, assuming Lanie would welcome someone who understood the pain and loneliness she must be experiencing. What Faith discovered was that her mother's holier-than-thou attitude about the world hadn't changed despite the fact that her husband was in jail and she was now living on a fixed income enforced by her settlement with the government. Everything else in their names had been sold off, the proceeds put into a fund to repay the victims of his crimes. She held on to the warped belief that her husband was misunderstood and had never meant to hurt people. Therefore, as usual, both Lanie's and her husband's circumstances were everyone else's fault.

Lanie Harrington resided in a lovely house on the outskirts of town and, in Faith's opinion, had made out fairly well, all things considered. In her mother's opinion, she'd been robbed and life wasn't fair. She'd been ostracized by the elite women of the community and shunned by the regular people Faith was trying so hard to live among and be a part of.

Still, Faith called and her mother didn't answer, whether she was sleeping in or not taking calls, Faith had been spared until next time. She left a message and turned to getting ready to meet with Ethan, beginning with sorting through her closet for business-appropriate attire. She settled on a black tank top dress with a pair of low kitten-heeled shoes that posed no threat of repeating last night's unsteady wobbling.

A few minutes later, she stepped outside of her apartment and realized she would have to call a taxi or walk to Ethan's. She hadn't owned a car in Manhattan and she hadn't thought she'd need one here either, living smack in the heart of town. Besides, a car would be another luxury and she didn't want to afford herself too many of those until she was bringing in a steady income.

She'd have no choice but to call a cab from the one-person cab company in town, which would take at least half an hour to show up, making her late. She reached into her bag to find her cell phone when the sound of a car horn drew her attention.