A Passion Most Pure (Daughters of Boston, Book 1)

by Julie Lessman

  Collin grinned. "You got that right. But don't worry, old buddy. Where we're going there'll be plenty of angels, I promise."

  "That's what I'm afraid of," Brady replied wryly, appearing to settle back to enjoy the ride.

  Mitch hadn't been late for almost two months now. He didn't dare. The last thing he wanted was to encounter a smug smile on that pretty face of hers. Not that she seemed prone to that. On the contrary, since her first day, she'd been the model employee-always smiling, always working hard, always on time. Oh, occasionally he took pleasure in picking at her in the Monday meetings, just to see the sparks fly, but for the most part, she'd managed to keep that temper under wraps. It was enough to make him crazy. She had the knack of being as polite and courteous as he was gruff, but deep in his gut, he sensed she didn't approve of him. And that was a reaction he didn't get from many people, and even fewer women.

  He had never had a woman stand up to him before, unless you counted Bridie, which he didn't. Bridie and he went way back. Her husband had been his best friend, a fact that allowed Bridie to think she could take more liberties with him than others did. Sometimes he let her, sometimes he didn't, depending upon his mood. Either way, Bridie was not the threat that Faith O'Connor seemed to be.

  She actually could write, he discovered, and it surprised him how quickly she adapted to the pace and deadlines of the Times. She did, indeed, appear to have ink in her veins, as Michael liked to say, obviously inherited from her editor-father who, according to Michael, was one of the best in the business.

  Despite the rocky start, she fit in well with his group. A little too well with Jamie, to suit his tastes. The two of them were almost inseparable. And he noticed Jack seemed to spend less time with the presses and more time sitting on her desk these days. It was natural, he supposed, that a pretty face would do that to the men in his department, but it galled him nonetheless. She was here to work, not to provide them with a social life, and he'd be hung up to dry if she thought she was going to hook a husband on his time.

  She got on well with both Bridie, who took on the unlikely role of Mother Hen, and Kathleen, who thoroughly enjoyed jabbering with her. Although Mitch didn't have the slightest idea how they could gab through an entire lunch hour and then some. Without question, she got along famously with everyone-everyone except himand for some reason he couldn't explain, it was driving him up the wall.

  "O'Connor," he yelled, "get in here!"

  Faith's head jerked up. She stared at Bridie with saucer eyes that strained wide with apprehension. She swallowed a lump in her throat. "It's five o'clock," she whispered. "What could he possibly want?"

  Bridie grinned and hunched her shoulders. "Who knows, maybe he's going to give you a raise. You've been doing great, you know." She grabbed her coat and headed for the door.

  "Bridie, wait! Are you sure?" Faith put a hand to her stomach and breathed in slowly.

  "O'Connor, are ya deaf? Get in here!"

  Bridie blew her a kiss. "Yes, Faith, I'm sure. See ya Monday-I hope."

  Faith managed a smirk and adjusted her starched white blouse and plaid woolen skirt before tentatively approaching his office door. The moment she stepped over the threshold, she could smell the musky scent of the soap he used, and her stomach fluttered. He leaned back in his chair facing the window, a newspaper in his hands. He was so absorbed in what he was reading, he didn't look up, which was fine with her. For once, she could watch him unaware, something she seldom did, and in fact, took great pains to avoid.

  Charity had been right. Mitch Dennehy was, by any definition, a "man of the world," and Faith hated herself for being so intrigued. Of course, the fact he was considerably older than she, quite attractive, and very bright had something to do with it as well. Sometimes she found herself wishing she worked for someone more like Michael, someone fatherly and comfortable. Mitch Dennehy was thirty-four-only five years younger than her own father-but working for him was anything but comfortable. For pity's sake, he was her supervisor! She didn't like the feelings he provoked-flushes and palpitations every time he looked her way. It was maddening, and Faith made a mental note to subject these annoying feelings to some serious prayer.

  "O'Connor! Where the-" he bellowed without even looking up, and she cleared her throat, catching those blue eyes by surprise as he spun around in the chair. His face broke into a grin, and her pulse took off. Probably because he scares me half to death, she reasoned before something clicked in her brain. The last time her heart had raced like this was with Collin. Faith swallowed a gulp, realizing what that meant.

  "Don't just stand there, O'Connor, come in and sit down. You look like I'm gonna bite your head off."

  He grinned again, and Faith sat down, her nerves prickling under her skin like a foot fallen asleep. She perched on the edge of the chair, suspended between an adrenaline high and a bout of nausea. Her eyes focused hard on the wood grain of his desk. Her brain was whirling. Okay, just keep thinking: he's almost as old as my father ... He's almost as old as my father ...

  Mitch studied her blanched face and was tempted to rile her, just to rouse a little fire in those green eyes. How she could go from this nervous, scared little thing to a spitfire in record time was beyond him. All he knew was when she did, he was so bloomin' attracted to her he couldn't think straight. He should have known this would happen. She was just the type that always managed to trap him. Thank goodness it was never for long.

  He rose and ambled to the door to shut it, and the click of the lock drained all color from her cheeks. He restrained a grin as he returned to his chair to settle in. "O'Connor, I have to give it to you-you surprised me. Your writing is fresh and honest, and I like how you've managed to fit in." He hesitated, squinting at her. "Jack's not giving you problems, is he?"

  She was just a desk away, and he could tell she was jumpy as she picked at her nails and straddled the edge of her seat. She usually managed to avoid being anywhere near him, except during the Monday meetings, which didn't matter because the room was filled with people. But now, here she was, barely inches away and so close he could almost feel her breath on his face. He leaned forward, and she shivered. "Is he giving you problems, O'Connor, 'cause if he is ..."

  She glanced up with wide eyes. "No! I mean, of course not. Jack's fine. At first, yes, he did scare me a bit, but now that I've gotten to know him, well, I think he's just fine."

  Mitch sank back in the chair. "You and Jamie seem pretty close," he said, eyeing her carefully.

  A weak laugh tripped from her lips. "Yes, we are. Jamie's great."

  His jaw stiffened, and he forced a smile. "Good, good."

  She straightened in the chair, raising her chin. "Was ... there anything else you wanted to talk about, sir?"

  She always called him "sir," had from the first day he laid eyes on her, and it never bothered him before. Suddenly it made him feel old, and he didn't like that one bit. Blooming saints, he was only thirty-four. And younger women were his specialty, weren't they? His mood darkened as reality cast a shadow on his conscience. Yes, but not this young, he realized. She was only twenty-and two months, to be exact-yet somehow it hurt too much to do the math in his head. He took a deep breath and pushed his chair back from the desk.

  "No, O'Connor," he said, his smile gone sour. "That's all. Just wanted you to know you're doing a great job. Keep it up." He shuffled papers on his desk, avoiding her eyes.

  She rose. "Are you all right, Mr. Dennehy?" she asked, searching his face.

  His jaw locked tight, and he heaved a fist on the desk. She jumped, as if the explosive sound had goosed her in the air. "No, I'm not all right, O'Connor, ya got that? 'Mr. Dennehy' sounds like I'm your father. I'm not, by a long shot. So to you and everyone who works for me, I'm Mitch, not Mr. Dennehy!"

  Her eyes widened with shock as she stood inert for several seconds. She blinked, and her body visibly relaxed as a faint smile squirmed at the edge of her lips. With a gleam in her eye, she slapped her palms on his desk and l
eaned in. "Understood, Mr. Dennehy. And to you and everyone who works with me, I'm Faith, not 'O'Connor."'

  His eyelids flickered in surprise. A little-boy grin tugged at his lips. He stood up. "You hungry?"

  She tottered back, a pink haze on her cheeks. "Hungry?" she stammered. "For what?"

  "For food. What did you think I meant?" His eyes locked on hers as he put on his jacket.

  The haze whooshed to scarlet. He laughed out loud and rounded the desk to stand in front of her. She looked scared to death. It made him want to protect her and take advantage of her, all at the same time.

  She stumbled against the chair. "I don't know ... I really should be getting home ... but I suppose I could ... I mean, if you're hungry and all ..."

  The smile on his face creased into a grin. He took a step closer. "As a matter of fact, I'm ravenous." Before the shock could register on her face, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, feeling a charge between them before she slammed her hand to his chest. She pressed one palm to her flushed cheek while holding him at bay with the other. "Mr. Dennehy ... Mitch ... what are you doing?"

  "Whetting my appetite."

  Her chest heaved as she jabbed him away with her fist. "Well, stop it, now!"

  "Only if you'll have dinner with me."

  "Yes ... I'll have dinner with you," she sputtered, "but understand me, please-I am not on the menu!"

  She backed away, arching over his desk to put as much distance between them as she possibly could. It took all the restraint he possessed not to bend right over and taste those lips once again. Her eyes widened with innocence, an unsettling reminder she was only twenty to his thirtyfour. And although she was making him crazy, he knew enough to know she wasn't his usual bill of fare. She was right to fend him off. Something told him that this time, the physical attraction would just get in the way. For now, at least through dinner, a little restraint might do him good. He stepped back and offered his arm.

  "Deal," he said with a grin. "Let's eat, then let's talk. We can always discuss dessert later." And with a wink, he ignored the strain on her face as he firmly tugged her to the door.

  It was Saturday, the only day of the week she could sleep in. And here she was, completely awake at 6:00 a.m., her mind racing and her heart close behind. Faith stretched beneath the covers before she snuggled up again, reflecting on the events of the evening before.

  Never had she imagined the two of them together. Oh, she knew he was everything most women longed for-she wasn't blind, after all-only naive, she suspected, for she'd never even entertained the notion. He was her manager, a person she found attractive, certainly, but not a man she could date. She chewed on her lip. For pity's sake, it couldn't be wise to date your supervisor, could it? And he was closer to her father's age than to hers, she reminded herself, facts that remained the only clouds in an otherwise blindingly blue sky.

  The moment he kissed her had sent shock waves jolting through her, something she hadn't felt since Collin. The thought provoked a disturbing mix of feelings. She was scared. Mitch ignited passion she'd hoped to escape, at least for a while. And she was glad. Maybe it meant she'd finally be free, free from Collin. Most disturbing of all was the sadness, the aching hesitancy to allow any man to remove Collin from her heart altogether. And yet, she knew this Mitch Dennehy could do just that, and the realization left her trembling.

  She closed her eyes and smiled. He was ... so amazing! He'd practically carried her through the newsroom, allowing a brief call to her mother before he whisked her to his favorite pub and ushered her into a cozy booth. He was in charge, just like at the paper, only now he was selecting wines and requesting special dishes as he chatted easily with the waiter. He was a man who knew what he wanted. And for the moment, at least, he wanted her, and the memory caused her pulse to race.

  They had talked for hours-over poached chicken and her first sip of wine-and she had been spellbound, more by his charm than the effect of the alcohol. Gone was the gruff Mr. Dennehy who had a habit of barking orders and storming into Michael's office. In his place was this incredibly handsome man with a teasing smile and penetrating blue eyes. Eyes that looked at her as if she were the next course. Eyes that made her wish she could be.

  They talked about everything, from Bridie to Michael to the McGettigan scandal, and then they talked some more. He told her about his dear maiden aunt, now deceased, who had been more of a mother than his own. He had been shocked when she'd left him her entire fortune, which he refused to touch except for various charitable donations and his one extravagant purchase-his beloved Model T. He had learned from an early age to work for his money, not subsist on someone else's fortune.

  He asked her about her family, and she unleashed a wealth of memories that brought warm laughter to his eyes and sometimes tears to her own. She told him about Maisie and Mrs. Gerson and the faith that meant so much to her. She never dreamed she could talk so freely about God with a man who didn't seem so inclined, but he listened as if it were the most important thing he'd ever heard. She all but glowed when he told her about his own faith, instilled by his dear Catholic aunt, and she laughed out loud when he grumbled about never missing mass, not because it was a sin, he said, but because his aunt would hunt him down.

  Once during dessert, he'd taken her hand to softly kiss it. "That's just to let you know," he whispered, "that I find spending time with you far more delectable than any dessert on Duffy's menu." Heat surged, causing her to quickly slip her hand from his. She wondered if he knew the effect he had on her, and suspected he did from the dangerous look in his eyes.

  "Mitch," she whispered, "there's something we need to discuss."

  He spooned a bite of dessert, then laid his utensil down, taking her hands in his. "Yes?"

  She'd found it difficult finding the right words, but he waited patiently, fully attentive as he absently stroked the inside of her palms. The heat of his touch alarmed her, and she jerked her hands free to bury them in her lap. "Mitch, I ... I enjoy your company, I do. And I hope we can go on ... enjoying each other's company. But I have, well, convictions." Her hand flitted to the side of her plate, where her finger slowly traced its edge. She dropped her gaze to her half-eaten pie. "I hope you understand what I'm saying," she continued, cheeks stinging. "I'd very much like to keep our relationship ... well, you know ... friendly."

  "Friendly," he repeated. She nodded. He reached for her hand and stared with lidded eyes while he brushed her fingers with his lips. A hot blush broiled her cheeks. She snatched them away.

  "Yes, friendly! Which means, Mr. Dennehy, I refuse to get into this ..."

  "Into what?" he asked calmly.

  Her chin jerked up. "You know exactly what, Mitch Dennehy."

  "No, I don't," he said. "By this do you mean a relationship with your supervisor, or dinner with a friend ... or enjoying the favors of a man you're attracted to?"

  The heat he ignited converged to her cheeks. "The last one," she snapped, "although the first is coming in a close second."

  A brittle laugh escaped his lips as he hunkered back in the booth and folded his arms. "Okay, Faith, I do know what you're talking about. So, what are you telling me? We can see each other, but hands off? I can't touch you or kiss you? What?"

  She hesitated before answering, his sudden mood giving her pause. "Mitch, please understand, my faith means the world to me. I have every intention of saving my ... well, my affections ... for the man I marry. I want to see you, I do. But I can't indulge in 'favors,' as you put it, because they're wrong. That means if you and I are going to have a relationship, I need you to know I mean what I say. We can occasionally kiss, Mitch, but when I say no, the kissing is over. And if it isn't, the relationship is."

  He stared as if she had just flicked food in his face, and she could only imagine the thoughts whirling in his head. Here she was, barely a woman at twenty years of age, dictating what he could and could not do. Without a word, he pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and poured anot
her glass of wine with the other. He downed a third of it before answering. His lips hardened to rock.

  "Pretty presumptuous, aren't ya, Faith? I mean, you're assuming I want a relationship with you." He let that sink in, seeming satisfied when she sucked in a breath. He continued, glass twirling in hand as he relaxed against the booth. "But I don't think it would be too long before you broke your own rules. It only took one kiss to see the attraction between us. You know what I think? I think you'd relent, not me."

  She flinched at the sting of his words. "You couldn't be more wrong. The man I love made that mistake. Do you really think you could get away with it?"

  His smile cracked. "The man ... you love? You're in love with someone else?"

  "Yes," she said, her voice a hiss as she seized her purse in her fist. "I don't even know why I'm discussing this with you. You obviously don't take me seriously. I want to go home." She started to rise, but he reached to pull her back down. His blue eyes congealed to gray.

  "You're not leaving, Faith, we need to talk." He pinned her arm to the table and leaned forward. "Who the blazes are you in love with?" he demanded, suddenly in one of his stormy moods.

  "It's none of your business," she whispered, her eyes flitting to the other patrons in the room. "The only reason I mentioned it at all is because I want you to know I mean what I say. The choice is yours, Mitch." A nerve twittered in her cheek as she elevated her chin in defiance. She was sick of this, first with Collin, now with him. Somewhere there had to be a man who cared enough to respect her wishes. If Mitch Dennehy wasn't it, then good riddance.

  For several seconds, he remained silent, his face livid as he stared her down. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked away. His tone was sharp. "Okay, Faith, you win." He faced her, his lips pressed into a mulish bent. "I want to see you, it's as simple as that. But there's a part of me so mad I want to tell you to take a flying leap. And maybe I will after we see each other a while. But for now, I guess, it's on your terms."