Angel of Redemption

by J. A. Little

  “Of course. I’m sorry. Kayla’s a social worker. She has a couple of kids placed at Wyatt House,” Madison explains.

  The old man grins at me, completely ignoring his wife’s babble. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine,” I flirt purposely.

  Madison slips her arm through her husband’s. “It was nice to meet you, Katy,” she says acidly. “But my husband and I have a few important people we need to talk to before supper. Dean.” She runs her tongue over her top teeth. “We’ll see you in a little while.”

  When they’re gone, Dean shakes his head. “This is so fucking painful.”

  “Ah, come on, baby,” I purr. “That was pure entertainment.”

  Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against mine. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Are you looking for suggestions?” I tease. “Because I have a few.”

  “Jesus Christ, woman,” he chuckles. “Let’s get another drink.”

  Chapter 33

  Kayla

  Half an hour later, we’re approached by a white-gloved server who informs us that dinner is served.

  Dean leads me to our table, his hand resting on my bare lower back. Emily and Aiden are already seated along with two other couples. A few minutes later, we’re joined by the Badeaus. Madison hurries to take the seat next to Dean, flashing him her boobs as she sits. He completely ignores her, but by the way Aiden quickly shifts his eyes to his wife, I’m pretty sure he got a good look.

  A waiter fills our wineglasses while we introduce ourselves to the other people seated at the table. One of the men is a surgeon, and his wife is an OB-GYN; they seem nice enough. The other couple is not very friendly toward us. They’re both lawyers. She’s an assistant DA, and he’s a divorce attorney.

  “What’s her deal?” I ask Dean quietly, nodding in the direction of the sour-looking woman.

  “She was the attorney for the prosecution when I was arrested for the drugs,” he whispers back.

  My mouth drops. “Why in the hell would your mother seat us with them?”

  Dean shrugs. “Because she’s under the impression that people will be able to look beyond my past.”

  “They should.”

  “But they don’t. I’m used to it, Kayla. Just leave it.”

  I don’t want to just leave it, but I do because I don’t want to upset him. Everyone is chatting and drinking and laughing. A slideshow of people who have benefited from the Wyatt House Scholarship Fund plays on a projector screen set up on the stage. A lot of the images are college graduation photos. I’m watching, lost in my own head, when Dean shifts in his seat. I glance over at him. He looks uncomfortable.

  “What’s the matter?” I whisper.

  “I have a hand on my thigh,” he returns, his voice low.

  My eyebrows shoot up. It’s bad enough that the bitch does this when her husband is next to her, but now she’s treading on my territory as well.

  “Come here,” I order.

  “Huh?”

  I curl my finger and then wrap my hand around his neck to bring his face close to mine. From her angle, I’m sure it looks like we’re kissing. Dean’s whole body turns toward me.

  “Is it off?” I breathe into his ear.

  “Is what off?”

  “Her hand,” I laugh.

  “Oh. No. God, you smell good.”

  “You’re smelling me?”

  He hums and presses his lips against my throat. Seconds later, his body stiffens.

  “Fuck,” he grumbles.

  Glancing downwards, I can just make out the tips of Madison’s fingers rubbing his upper thigh. This woman has some fucking nerve. Dean returns to sitting straight in his seat and reaches under the table. By the look Madison gives him, he must have forcibly removed her hand.

  Dean inhales heavily through his nose and picks up his glass of wine, bringing it to his lips. I can see Madison eyeballing him. She’s obviously not taking the hint. In a split-second decision, I reach over and put my hand on Dean’s package.

  Maybe I should have waited for him to put his glass down. He jumps and chokes, spitting his drink halfway across the table. Everyone looks at him. I don’t want anyone to know I caused the reaction, so I stare at him as well.

  “Are you okay, son?” Mr. Badeau asks.

  “Yeah,” Dean rasps. “Fine, thank you.”

  I press my lips together in an attempt to keep from laughing, but Dean’s face is hysterical. He doesn’t look at me right away. He waits until the table has resumed conversation. I stare up at one of the chandeliers. I can see him turn his head out of the corner of my eye.

  “What are you doing?” he hisses, blowing hot air across my ear. I shiver involuntarily, but don’t move my hand.

  “I’m helping you.”

  “Really?” He chuckles silently, covering his hand with mine. “Is this what you call helping?” I let my tongue slip out slightly between my teeth and grin at him. He moves our hands over his bulge, and I can feel it growing hard.

  “Feels like it’s helping to me,” I tease.

  “Shit,” he laughs.

  I glance around the table. Madison meets my gaze briefly with a sour expression on her face, but she looks away again immediately. No one is else is paying attention. They’re all wrapped up in their little conversations. I’m suddenly very hot and bothered.

  I cross my legs under the table, letting the dress fall open at the slit, exposing my skin. Dean removes his hand but doesn’t push mine away, and I’m tempted to keep going. I want to feel how big it gets. I’m surprised when I feel his fingertips brush over my thigh. I take in a breath. Dean picks up his wineglass, drinking nonchalantly. What is this game we’re playing?

  A server comes around, momentarily distracting me, until I feel another hand brush against mine. This one has talons and has just invaded Dean’s crotch space. I whip my head around.

  Madison gasps and snatches her hand back as I glare at her incredulously. She’s wide-eyed for a moment before by her husband steals her attention.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” she coos, lifting the hand she just used to accost Dean to her husband’s face. Dean looks at me, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. I remove my hand because the others at the table are starting to get suspicious, but his hand stays on my leg.

  “See? Helping.”

  Dean runs his hand over his face, hiding his amusement.

  Our meals are served and people eat while they continue to talk. Dean has to take his hand off my thigh to reach his food, and I’m a little disappointed. Madison keeps shooting us nasty glances. Dean is doing everything he can to keep from engaging in conversation with her, but eventually, she’s had enough of being ignored.

  “So, Dean,” she says loudly so that the entire table turns to her. “I’m curious to know how the boys in the house are benefiting from our charitable donations. You get money from the state as well, don’t you?”

  Dean looks up at Aiden. “We’re subsidized by the state as well, yes,” he answers, setting down his fork. “But taking care of seven teenage boys is much more expensive than the state can afford. We get about twenty thousand dollars a year per child. It takes roughly twice that much to care for each one. That includes food, clothing, household expenses, allowances, and staff pay.”

  “You give them allowances? What for?” she bites. “Aren’t you concerned they’ll buy drugs or something?”

  I find myself getting frustrated by her questions, but Dean answers them easily.

  “A lot of these kids are with us until they leave the system. How can we justifiably send them out into the real world without any knowledge of how money works? When they turn sixteen, we encourage them to get a job unless it interferes with their schoolwork or stability. We also pay for incidentals that the system doesn’t feel are necessary—driver’s licenses, insurance. These kids aren’t just a job; they’re our family. We want the best for
them. And I worry as much as any parent would about drugs and peer pressure, but I do what I can to teach them responsibility and pray they’re listening.”

  I notice that several people from surrounding tables have turned to listen to what Dean has to say.

  “You teach them responsibility?” the woman lawyer scoffs. “How do you teach them responsibility? You are the epitome of someone who doesn’t understand the meaning of that word.”

  The tension around the table is palpable.

  “I understand it more than anyone,” Dean replies loudly. “I’m not just some adult hypocritically spouting off to these kids about how they should behave. I’m a living, breathing example of what can go wrong if they make bad decisions. Do not make assumptions about my life, Mrs. Tally. I love these kids and will do anything to keep them from making my mistakes.”

  The room around us has grown eerily silent. There is still the hum of distant conversations, but I’m pretty sure that a large majority of people in our vicinity, including Joe and Maria, heard Dean’s outburst. I glance around. No one seems to know how to react. Looking back to Dean, I see his head is bowed.

  “Come on,” I urge, standing up. “Let’s go get some air.”

  He downs the rest of his wine and stands, grabbing my hand. We weave through tables. I can feel eyes on us, but I don’t care. I’m only worried about him.

  There’s a patio off to the side, but there are curtains and a sign indicating that it’s closed for repairs. Dean ignores the sign and slams through the door, dragging me behind him. At first, the cool air feels good on my overheated skin, but the second the breeze blows, I’m absolutely frozen.

  Dean lets go of my hand and grabs the railing. Music plays over the speakers. I don’t know if it’s from the gala, or if it’s the hotel’s mood music.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, putting my hand on his back.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you?”

  “I said I am, didn’t I?” he snaps. I back up and give him a minute to calm down. “Sorry. I’m used to this shit. I don’t know why I let it get to me.” I wrap my arms around myself and try to keep my teeth from chattering when another breeze blows over us. “They can question my past, I don’t give a flying fuck. “ He clenches his fist. “But when they question my kids…”

  I want to touch him, comfort him…do something.

  “Fuck!” he swears. “I gotta get out of here.” When he turns, I move to stand in front of him. “Kayla,” he warns.

  “Please don’t go,” I beg. “Please?” I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

  “What do you want from me?” he asks, staring down at me. “I was right when I told you I can’t give you what you need. You should’ve listened to me.”

  “And I told you to let me decide what I need,” I snap. “Now stop being an asshole and let me in.”

  I suddenly find myself pressed up against the wall, Dean’s hands on either side of my head, his lips on mine.

  “Is this what you want?” he growls as he pulls away. “A fucked-up man bringing you into his fucked-up world? You want people to look at you and wonder why you’re with a monster?” His mouth is back, aggressive and bordering on painful. I let him kiss me, but refuse to kiss him back. When he finally deflates, his head bows against my shoulder.

  “You’re not a monster,” I say, my voice just a whisper. “Nobody sees you that way. And even if they do, you should know by now… I don’t care what people think or say or do.”

  “I don’t know what you want,” he sighs into my neck, defeated.

  “I just want to be with you.”

  “Because I’m so low maintenance?” The joke takes me off guard, and I smile.

  “Yeah. And because you’re really fucking sexy.”

  He draws back. I stare into his dark, green eyes, which look black in the low light.

  “I’m sexy? Right now? In the middle of a meltdown?”

  I shrug. “What can I say?”

  His eyes dart to my mouth and then back to my eyes. A new song sounds over the speakers. It’s slow, romantic.

  “Dance with me,” I say, fiddling with his jacket lapel.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to dance.”

  “I don’t either,” I admit. “But no one’s here to tell us we’re doing it wrong.”

  After only a moment’s hesitation, Dean steps backward, the hands that caged me in now held out in front of him.

  “Don’t laugh at me,” he says, which, of course, makes me laugh. He wraps his strong arms around me, pulling me close, and I reach mine around his neck. We probably look like a couple of high school kids slow dancing. I rest my head against his chest as we begin to move. My heart’s beating way too fast. My eyes burn with tears I don’t understand. The way he’s holding me, the way his fingers trail up and down my spine as we sway, the way his chest rises and falls against mine with each heavy breath… It’s all nearly too much. I let my hand drift to the back of his neck, scratching my short nails over the feathering of hair.

  The song continues, but we’ve stopped moving. Dean’s hand is splayed out, pressing against the center of my back.

  “What are you doing to me?” he whispers.

  I can’t speak. If I do, I might say words I can’t possibly mean. Closing my eyes, I run my nose along his jaw.

  “Stay with me tonight.”

  My breath stutters. “I…”

  “I want to be with you, too,” he murmurs. “Since the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

  I take a moment to figure out if he’s really asking what I think he’s asking, and then nod in silent affirmation. Suddenly, I shiver violently.

  “Oh, shit!” he swears. “Are you cold? I’m so sorry.” He moves to take off his jacket, but I stop him.

  “I’m fine. That’s not why I’m shivering.”

  He stares at me, looking deep into my eyes. “Do you want to go back?” he asks, his voice hesitant.

  “No.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts. “Let’s go, then.”

  We walk silently back inside and toward the elevators. There are people from the gala in the foyer now. I see Aiden and Emily talking to Tracey and Bill. Aiden’s eyes flicker in our direction and then back as though he didn’t even see us. Everyone is smiling happily.

  When the doors open, I follow Dean into the elevator. I look up at him just as they close again. He brings the hand that he’s holding up to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. It’s an invitation that I readily accept, pressing myself against him, my lips meeting his tenderly.

  The elevator opens, and my heart begins to pound in my chest. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so nervous in my life. He pulls the envelope the coat check girl gave him out of his inside coat pocket, removing two keycards. There are sticky tabs on them with numbers. He picks one and slides it into the lock.

  I don’t even get a chance to see what I’m walking into before the floodgates open.

  He pulls me to him, pressing his lips against mine with such passionate fury that I’m left breathless. He grunts when I thread my hands through his hair, encouraging his eagerness. His lips, his tongue, his hands touch every inch of my body. They’re all working in tandem, driving me crazy with lust.

  “God, I need you,” he murmurs. “So fucking bad.”

  I can only whimper as he takes my mouth again. I push at his jacket. It slides over his shoulders and down his arms. He has to let go of me for a second to get it off and then lets it fall to the floor.

  “Jesus, how many layers do you have on?” I grumble, unbuttoning his vest. It joins his jacket on the floor, as does his bow tie, once I’m able to tug on it enough to make it come undone. His shirt’s a little more difficult, only because he’s hitched my leg up and is pressing himself into me. It feels incredible, but I need to get him naked. I finally manage to get the shirt open, but can’t pull it from his arms. His cuffs are still buttoned.

  “Dean,” I growl. “Get it off!”


  He backs away for a second, unbuttoning his cuffs and tossing his shirt on the ground. He stands in front of me in nothing but tuxedo pants, all muscles and ink. His eyes scan up and down my body.

  “Your turn.”

  He spins me around, his chest against my back, his mouth on my neck. His hands run up my sides, ending at my shoulders, and slide the dress down my arms. He leaves the top of my dress hanging around my waist and brings his hands back up to cup my breasts.

  “How do I take this off?” he asks, pulling lightly at the silicone bra I’m wearing.

  I cover his hands with mine and push them down over my ribcage before discarding the bra myself. My eyes roll back in my head when his hands crawl back up.

  “Fuck,” he groans in my ear, his thumbs passing over my hardened nipples.

  All too soon, his hands drift away. I’m about to protest when I realize where they’re headed. The room is so silent that the sound of the zipper teeth on the lower half of my dress echoes loudly. The dress falls to the floor, pooling at my feet and leaving me wearing nothing but the skimpiest pair of underwear known to man and my Jimmy Choos. At least they match.

  Dean’s not touching me anymore and, for a moment, I worry that he’s having second thoughts—that his demons are too strong for us, and he’s going to pull away again. I turn slowly to face him. He’s staring at me like he’s never seen a naked woman before.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” he rasps, before clearing his throat.

  “Then why aren’t you touching me?”

  He licks his lips. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re attempting to kill me.” My face breaks out into a relieved smile. “You’re so little,” he says, tracing a finger over my collarbone.

  “Are you afraid you’re going to break me?” I ask, looking up at him coyly.

  “Maybe,” he answers, his finger dipping down between my breasts.

  Reaching out in front of me, I flick open his slacks and slip my hand inside, gripping him over his boxers.

  “Don’t be. I’m pretty sure I can handle you.”

  I slide my hand down farther and then back up. He bends down, gripping the backs of my thighs and lifting me. I squeal and yank my hand from his pants to grip his shoulders. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me toward the bed.