by Brux, Boone
He nodded and took the bag from her. “Good idea. Let’s get this over with.”
She gave him a weak smile. What did it matter if he met Whitney? Better now than after she’d fallen hopelessly in love with him, which usually happened around week three of dating. Not that they were going to date—but in case they did. He was staring at her, waiting for a response. “Let’s go.”
Three subway rides later, they stood at her apartment door. Maybe Whitney was at a shoot, or shopping, or having her bikini line waxed. Faye slid the key into the door. The lock clicked and opened on the first try. “That’s weird. Usually it sticks.”
“Your lucky day,” he said.
“Maybe.” It didn’t feel lucky. Actually, it felt kind of ominous, like the creaky door that opens by itself in a horror movie. She pushed the door and it swung wide. No Whitney, or any other evil entity that she could see. “Come in.” Faye slid the bag onto the kitchen counter. “Welcome to my humble home.”
“Nice place.” He stepped inside and followed her into the open kitchen. “Do you live here alone?”
“No.” She pulled the bottle of water out of the bag and set it on the counter, avoiding his gaze. “I have a roommate.”
“A girl roommate?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Good what? Good because he wanted to get a look at the other female occupant? Or good because it wasn’t a guy? She didn’t dare hope she’d heard a twinge of jealousy in his question.
“So,” he said, turning to her. “Where’s the possessed computer?”
“In my bedroom.”
His eyebrows raised in what looked like pleasant surprise. “Good.”
She grabbed the bag and led him into her room. Her monitor looked the same—dark, ordinary even. No flames leapt from the inside. And it wasn’t levitating or spewing acid around the room. She pointed. “That’s it.”
Christopher walked to her desk and sat down. He wiggled the mouse, bringing the screen to life and displaying her Twitter feed. The whole situation seemed less frightening with him here. “He’s been busy.”
Faye inched forward, the ominous feel returning. “Who has?”
He turned and smiled at her. “Hopeless Romantic.”
Heat spread up her neck. OMG, what had he said? The need to reassure Christopher there was nothing between her and HR rushed through her. “He’s just a Twitter friend. We’ve never met in person.”
“Why not?”
“Um…” How could she answer that without looking like a complete loser? “The opportunity never came up.”
“And if it did?”
Much to her dismay, it wasn’t jealousy she was hearing in his voice. Best to play it cool. She shrugged. “Yeah, why not. He seems like a nice guy.”
She wasn’t certain but she thought he smiled as he spun back to face her desk. Crap, maybe she’d read the signals wrong. He’d said he liked her, but maybe it was buddy-like. Double crap.
“So what’s first?” he asked.
She dug in the bag and pulled out the silver-plated crucifix. “I say we hit it with the big guns.”
He stood and pushed the chair out of the way, giving her a look of wide-eyed anticipation. “All right, let Satan have it.”
How the hell did she get herself into this? How could he not think her an idiot? For the first time in forever she had a guy in her room—a great looking guy—and instead of giving her mattress a test run, she was attempting to cast Satan out of her computer. Christopher said he believed her, but honestly, he must think she was a complete whack-job.
“Maybe we should put the other stuff on it first. You know, give the crucifix a little extra whammy,” she said.
“Good idea.” He took the bag from her and walked back to the computer. He set one bobbleheaded Jesus on the CPU and the other on the keyboard. Each rosary was draped over the monitor. The nativity snow globe sat to the right of the monitor and the burning bush to the left, glowing in all its orange and red fiber-optic glory. He stepped back and surveyed his creation. “All set.”
Faye lifted the cross with a shaky hand. What if it didn’t work? Sure, the attention she was getting was kind of nice, but it wasn’t worth the price. What if it did work? Would her computer come to life and destroy the upper level of her apartment building? Would apartment 7G become the entrance to Hell?
“Hey,” said a voice from the doorway.
Faye screamed and swung around, wielding the cross in front of her. Whitney stood in the entrance, gleaming with sweat in the tiniest of workout outfits, and holding the half empty bottle of holy water. “You scared the crap out of me.”
She took a big chug of the water and swallowed. “What are you guys doing?”
“Whitney?” Faye snatched the near empty bottle from her hand. “Why are you drinking this?”
“I was thirsty.” Whitney cocked a brow. “Besides, I figured this is what you’ve been drinking to make your skin look so good.”
Faye shook the bottle at her. “No, I haven’t been drinking this.”
Her roommate shrugged. “What are you getting so upset about? It’s only water.”
“Not just water, holy water.” Whitney stared at her. “Blessed by a priest.” Still no response. “To cleanse the soul?”
“Oh, I thought it was some kind of special detox diet water.”
“Yeah, to detox my computer.” Faye raised the bottle, eyeing the level. “I’ll probably need to get more.”
“Who’s your friend?”
Faye glanced up to see Whitney’s gaze riveted on Christopher. A predatory interest gleamed in her eyes. Crap. “This is Christopher. We work together. He’s a photographer for Mr. Shogun.”
Faye cursed herself. Telling Whitney he was a photographer was like chumming for sharks.
Whitney gave her ponytail a graceful brush and stepped into the room. “A photographer? How fascinating.”
“Christopher.” Faye pointed the cross at her roommate, dreading his inevitable interest. “This is my roommate, Whitney.”
“Hello.”
She lowered the cross and chanced a look at him. He smiled but didn’t seem overly moved by the heat-seeking missile of curves moving toward him.
“Nice to meet you…” She struck a well-practiced at-ease pose and lowered her voice to a purr. “Christopher.”
He smiled but didn’t say anything else. An awkward silence stretched between them while Whitney waited for the usual response. When it didn’t come, she straightened. Something that felt a lot like smug satisfaction threatened to make Faye smile.
Whitney crossed her arms, pushing her boobs almost out of her abused sports bra. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No,” Faye said. She gave Christopher a silent plea not to say anything. Maybe it was a combination of her possessiveness over him and her desire to avoid Whitney’s criticism, but Faye realized she didn’t want to share the exorcism with anybody but him. “We were just talking about work.”
Whitney gave a throaty laugh. “Work, that’s all she thinks about.” Her eyes widened. “Hey, I have V.I.P. tickets to a new dinner-dance-club, Kapow. Wanna come?”
Faye pinned the back of Whitney’s head with a glare that should have ignited her scrunchie and burned a hole through her brain. “I’m sure Christopher has plans.”
“Are you going?” he asked her.
Whitney spun and glided to Faye, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Of course she’s coming. Faye just loves to hang out with me and my friends. Poor girl hardly leaves the house. It’s a real treat when she ventures from her hole.”
Heat crept up Faye’s neck. Like usual the words were an attempt to belittle her, but things were different today. This time she cared what Christopher thought. She opened her mouth to reply.
“I’m a homebody myself,” he said, cutting off her snarky retort. “And yes, if Faye is going, I’d love to go.”
Whitney’s lips tightened and her one-armed hug slipped free from Faye
’s shoulder, her voice sounding a little higher than was natural. “Great. I’ll leave your ticket at the door.”
He gave her a dimpled grin. “Can’t wait.”
With a stiff spine and a fake smile, she pivoted and left the room.
Faye cocked her head to the side and crossed her arms over her chest, producing nowhere near the results Whitney’s action had. “Are you really a homebody?”
He held up his hand. “Scout’s honor.”
She scrutinized him, trying to figure out if he was messing with her. “You don’t seem like the type.”
“What type do I seem like?” He stared.
She shrugged.
He flicked his head toward the door. “Her type?”
“Maybe.”
“I get that a lot.” He leaned back in the desk chair. “But that’s not me. I grew up in the Midwest. I have eight brothers and sisters.” It was his turn to shrug. “Women want a suave, world traveler. They’re very disappointed when they find out I’m not.”
“I find it hard to believe any woman would be disappointed with you.”
His smile hit her full force. She lowered her arms, taken aback by the flurry of feelings assaulting her. Trust, hope, disbelief. It was so easy to talk to him and yet, she dare not believe anything she felt, he felt as well.
“I’m glad you think so.”
Faye opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. He stood and took a step toward her. A knot formed in her throat. Was he going to touch her, take her in his arms, and kiss her? God, she hoped so.
He placed a hand on her shoulder and ran it down her arm, then entwined his fingers with hers. “Are you ready?”
Wow, he smelled good. She stared at him. “Ready?”
“To exorcise Satan.”
Like a slap in the face, his words shot her back to reality. She looked at the computer. The last thing she wanted was to burst the bubble that she’d been floating in for the past few minutes. “Uh, I’m not really feeling it anymore. Maybe tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Yeah, you’ve got our date to get ready for.”
“Our date?”
“Faye,” he said, turning to take her other hand, “the only reason I’m going is because of you.”
One pathetic and raspy word was all she could manage. “Really?”
His smile softened and he lowered his head. Time stood still as she waited for his lips to touch hers. When they did, her eyes slid shut, her body sinking into the feel of his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close. Her mouth opened and he deepened his kiss, slowly brushing his tongue against hers. Sweet Jesus, he tasted like sin and paradise all rolled into one.
She wound her arms around his neck, and strained up on her tiptoes, needing to be closer. Never had she experienced a kiss like this. There had been men in her past, but most of her sexual experiences had been amateurish and fumbling. This felt like a whole new level of intimacy.
His hand moved down to cup her rear end and pull her against him.
“Is that a telephoto lens in your front pocket?” she breathed.
He nibbled her ear. “No, I’m just really happy to see you.”
A small groan escaped before she could shove it back in. Did she sound inexperienced, desperate?
After several minutes of mutual groping, Christopher pulled back. “I’d better go.”
“Are you sure?” She rubbed her chest against his. He hadn’t even tried to cop a feel yet. “Because I’m pretty sure you should stay.”
He kissed her again, deep and long. “If I don’t leave now, we’ll never make it to Kapow.”
She reached for him but he stepped out of range. “Fine by me. I didn’t want to go anyway.”
“I know you won’t understand.” He held his hands up in defense. “But it’s important you go tonight.”
Something in his voice made her stop. She lowered her hands. “Why?”
“I think it’s important that people start seeing you in a different light.”
“What people?”
He pointed toward the door. “Whitney, for one. She doesn’t treat you very well.”
“How do you know? This is the first time you’ve met her, right?”
He shifted uncomfortably, not meeting her gaze. “Yeah, this is the first time.”
She appraised him. What wasn’t he telling her? “You’ve never dated, photographed, or slept with her, have you?”
He scrunched up his face. “No way. Seriously, besides magazines, I’ve never seen her before.”
He’d have no reason to lie to her and she had no reason not to trust him. She relaxed her shoulders, releasing the breath she’d been holding. “Fine, we’ll go, but don’t expect miracles where Whitney is concerned.”
The last of her resolve vanished when he flashed his white-toothed smile. “Hey.” He swept his arm in a game-show host arc toward the religious paraphernalia-laden computer. “We’re all about miracles.”
Chapter Four
Saturday Night
The music thudded inside Faye’s chest like a second heartbeat. Lights flickered and danced, winking off the huge mirrored ball rotating in the center of the ceiling. She shielded her eyes and peered through the rail at the bodies bumping and jerking on the floor below her. Either the people were dancing, or everybody was having an epileptic seizure. Really, was disco back in style?
Christopher hadn’t shown up yet. She scanned the bar area but didn’t recognize anyone. Thoughts of doom surfaced, bringing with it a buttload of self-doubt. Try as she might, she still had a hard time believing somebody like Christopher White would be interested in her. Shivers tingled across her shoulders as she remembered the way he’d kissed her. The exchange had been full of anticipation, need, tongue, and completely wonderful. Curse her for wanting to believe he was the real deal. Usually that led to heartbreak.
“Hey, Faye.” Maxwell Chase, Whitney’s friend, slid into the booth next to her. His thigh and hip pressed against hers. “You really look great.”
She inched over and leaned away from him. Man, the guy needed a lesson on personal space. “Uh, thanks, Max.”
He stared at her. “No, I mean it. You really look good. Did you get laid or something?”
“It’s a new water she’s been drinking,” Whitney chimed in. “Some kind of special detox that she doesn’t want to share.”
“Well.” Max slid closer. “It’s working.”
Faye scooted over several more inches. Any farther and she’d fall off the bench. She considered denying the holy water detox, but then she’d have to explain why she bought it. Cleansing seemed the lesser evil over possession.
A tall, blond man in a black suit stopped next to the table and stared down at her. “Hello.”
Faye glanced up and returned to searching the upper level for Christopher.
“Hey, Fabio.” Whitney straightened in her chair, sweeping her golden swath of hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” She shifted over, making more room. “Sit down.”
He slid into the booth next to Faye. She clutched her gin and tonic with both hands as he jostled her, pushing her against Max and making her a man-sandwich.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said. “I’m Fabio.”
You’ve got to be kidding. She gave him a strained smile, hating the need to make small talk. “So, are you a model, too?”
“Fabio is the top male model in Europe and America,” Whitney cheeped.
Faye glanced at her roommate. Down, girl. She looked like she was ready to levitate off the bench.
Fabio ignored her and continued to stare at Faye. “I’ve just added Japan to my list.”
She brought the glass to her lips. “Congratulations.”
The ice clinked against her teeth when she tipped her drink back. In three large gulps, she downed the gin and tonic, enjoying the light burn in the back of her throat.
He leaned in, his chest pressing against her shoulder. “I’m celebrating tonight. Would you
like to join me?”
Whitney gave a little whine.
Faye ignored her.
After all the unsolicited attention she’d received today, she was getting used to the bizarre behavior of men. Maybe there was a full moon. “Actually…” She prayed her next statement wasn’t a lie. “I’m meeting someone.”
“Too bad.” He stroked her arm with his index finger, descending to capture her hand. A needy groan wafted from Whitney, reminding Faye of the dog. Fabio brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed them, adding a swirl of his tongue for good measure. “I’d promise you a night you won’t forget.”
Ewww. Faye pulled her hand away and discretely rubbed it against her black skirt, suppressing the urge to shudder. Both men were staring at her as if she was the last Krispy Kreme doughnut on the plate. She fanned herself with a napkin. Hot air seemed to raise off the dance floor and envelope the upper level. So much for being a V.I.P. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly eleven. Maybe Christopher wasn’t coming. She couldn’t blame him. There were a thousand other places she’d rather be tonight.
“Beautiful lady!”
The exclamation made Faye jump, pulling her from her brooding. Edwardo, from the coffee shop, stared down at her. “Oh, hello, Edwardo.”
He pressed a fist to his chest. “You remember my name. I am a happy man.”
She doubted that’s all it took to make him happy. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I am now.” He held out his hands. “Come dance with me.”
“Oh, no thanks.” She pointed to Whitney. “My roommate would probably love to dance.”
Whitney glared across the table.
“No, it’s you or…” He spread his legs and cradled an invisible partner, which Faye presumed was supposed to be her. He performed a kind of grinding motion that looked nothing like dancing and a whole lot like pleasuring himself against the table. “…nobody.”
Whitney’s mouth dropped open. “As if I’d dance with you, jackass. I could dance with anyone in here if I wanted to.”
Edwardo shrugged. “Not me.”