Hope For More (Trinity Book 3)

by Devin Fontaine

  Oh. My. God. He just gets hotter and hotter.

  He stared at her, waiting for a response. Hope blinked and gathered her thoughts. “Hi, Mr. Vittorio.” He narrowed his eyes and she backtracked. “Um, I mean Dante.”

  One eyebrow lifted, Dante stared at her a moment before speaking. “Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, fine. I just, um, clocked out.” She pointed toward the break room as if he didn’t know where the time clock hung.

  Faith waved from her seat on the sofa. Hope gave a meek little wave back. Both of her friends looked stressed out, but with Dante standing there, she was too intimidated to ask if anything was wrong.

  “So… I-I’m just gonna go.” Hope took a step back into the hallway.

  Dante nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Verity squeezed her one last time and whispered, “I’ll text you.”

  “Okay.”

  Hope turned and scurried down the hall. That was awkward as hell. The second she entered the bar area and laid eyes on Thomas, everything in the world was right again. He stood when she approached and gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek. Tingly heat sparked from the contact of his lips to her skin, the sensation similar to the electric static she felt earlier, only much stronger. A quiet gasp escaped when the prickly burn turned to desire; smoldering, molten desire that gathered low in her belly and between her thighs. An ache which required soothing. A fire that begged to be extinguished. She felt as if she might burst into flames and burn to ash if this desperate, throbbing need wasn’t satisfied.

  “Have you eaten?” Thomas asked.

  She stared stupidly, her mind wandering. Wondering what his naked body would feel like if it were laying on top of hers. His weight pressing her down into a mattress.

  “Yes,” she croaked.

  There was really only one thing she wanted. An awkward laugh burst free and she disguised it as a hiccup. No way would she ever admit that.

  “All right. Did you want to get a drink?” He gestured toward the bar.

  “Um, sure. But…”

  Why was this so hard? Hope ducked her head so Thomas wouldn’t see her embarrassment.

  “But what?” With a gentle touch, he put a finger on her chin and lifted until they were eye to eye. “Hope?”

  “Can we…?” She licked her lips and glanced around, praying no one was looking. “Can… can we, maybe, um, go to your place?”

  God bless him, Thomas’s only reaction was a slight widening of his eyes.

  “Sure.”

  Having got it out there, the tension in her chest loosened. Thomas nodded and his finger slid from her chin and he took hold of her hand. Her gaze maybe, accidentally, slipped and she caught a glimpse of his groin. Hope almost choked. It was clear Thomas felt at least a little bit like she did, if his growing bulge were any indication.

  “I walked here,” Thomas said. “It’s only a few blocks to my place. Is that okay? I can call a cab if you want.”

  No, it wasn’t okay. Her skin tingled and burned and the discomfort and need in her sex multiplied until she thought she might spontaneously combust before they got there.

  “It’s fine,” Hope said.

  Maybe the walk would give her time to calm down. She wasn’t that girl. The one who climbed all over a guy or seduced him on the first (or second) date. Because she had been a stripper, many men believed she was easy, when it couldn’t be further from the truth. No one believed her when she said she was a virgin—not that it was any of their business—so Hope didn’t bother explaining anymore. But honestly? When did she have time for sex? She and Garrett had been on their own for years, both working two or more jobs. Besides, one thing she knew was her brother would kill any man that touched her.

  For some reason, she hoped Garrett approved of Thomas, because Hope wasn’t sure she was strong enough to resist. If the opportunity to make love with him presented itself, she knew she would take it.

  The thought almost made her snort. If the opportunity presented itself? She pretty much asked the man back to his place to get him alone for sex.

  “Hope?”

  “Hmm?”

  Thomas chuckled. “I asked how your day went.”

  “Oh.” Oops. “It was fine. A regular day, you know? Get up, brush your teeth, go to work…” she trailed off when she realized she was babbling.

  “Mine, too,” he said, only he didn’t sound entirely sincere. Hope let it go. If Thomas had a bad day and didn’t want to talk about it, she wasn’t going to push. They stopped in front of a lovely, well-kept brownstone. “This is my place.”

  “It’s nice.” And it was. The street was tree-lined and quiet. No graffiti on the buildings or the sound of loud music or arguing.

  Thomas huffed. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s divided into six apartments.”

  She wrapped a hand around his arm as he unlocked the main door. Key in the knob, Thomas stopped and looked at her.

  Hope’s gaze softened. “I don’t care where you live. I guarantee I’ve lived in worse.” She smiled. “All I want is to spend time with you.” Public servants didn’t pull down huge salaries, and that was fine. She wouldn’t let Thomas be embarrassed by his money or lack thereof. “Things mean nothing to me. People do.”

  He returned her smile and he seemed to relax. Hope hadn’t noticed how tense he had been until the muscles of his arm unclenched under her hand. She hated that he thought she cared about the state of his apartment or how much money he made Thomas finished unlocking the door and led her up a flight of stairs. There were two apartments on each floor. He used a different key to open the door on the left. It swung open and he held it open.

  “Ladies first.”

  Smiling, Hope stepped inside and waited as Thomas entered behind her and flipped on the lights. Looking around, Hope was confused. What could Thomas possibly be worried about? His place was perfect. Small, but warm and cozy and lived in.

  “I love it,” she said, and meant it.

  “Thanks.” Hope heard his keys drop in a bowl. “Kitchen is through here.”

  She followed him though an archway into a good-sized, if outdated, kitchen. He pulled down two wine glasses and removed a bottle from the fridge.

  “Is white okay?”

  “Sure.”

  While he poured the drinks, Hope ran a hand across the white tiled countertop. Everything was neat and clean. Green potholders hung from a little hook next to the stove, a tea kettle sat on a back burner, and a tiny succulent rested in a pot on the windowsill over the sink.

  “I love this kitchen. It reminds me of my childhood.”

  Thomas handed her a glass and sipped from his. “Tell me about it.”

  “Can we sit?” she asked.

  “Sure.” They returned to the living room and Hope sat on a well-used leather couch. Thomas lowered next to her and tucked one leg under his body to face her, so she did the same.

  “Garret and me, we grew up outside the city, Westside.” Thomas nodded. The Westside was the poor side of town. Most of the residents were blue collar, no education, hard workers, but jobs could be hard to come by. “Me and Garrett and our parents. It was nice. We didn’t have a lot of money, but we had what we needed. Food, beds, clothes…” She traced the edge of her glass. “Then, one day, we didn’t.” The memories clenched her gut. She tipped the glass and took a big sip.

  “I’m sorry,” Thomas said.

  “For what?”

  “That your parents died and you were left to fend for yourselves. The system should have been there for you.”

  Hope patted his leg and studiously ignored the reappearance of the electric pulses that seemed to leap from his body to her fingertips.

  “Garrett didn’t apply for benefits. He was barely eighteen and scared they’d take me away.” She glanced at Thomas and found his attention laser-focused on her hand, the one that lay on his leg. He swallowed and their gazes met.

  Thomas inhaled and she heard his breath catch. Without breaking e
ye contact, he reached over and placed his glass on the coffee table. She did the same, her eyes never leaving his. Hope wasn’t sure if she could tear her gaze away, even if she wanted to. Even if the apartment caught fire. The electrifying sensation grew stronger, sparks zapping her palm. Her skin quickly absorbed the pulses of energy, disseminating them to light up her nervous system.

  When Thomas moved, Hope wasn’t expecting it. He struck like a cobra, one hand darting out to grip the back of her head, the other braced on the back of the sofa. In the blink of an eye, he lowered them to the cushions, his body resting on top of hers. It was even better than she imagined. Hope gasped and his mouth landed on hers. If Thomas’s touch felt like a thousand sparks, his kiss was like an explosion of fireworks when they came together. He licked his way inside her mouth, while deep groans rumbled from his chest. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was torture. And it was ecstasy. She wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to the shifting muscles in his back. Thomas slid a hand beneath her to cup her ass. He held her tight as he ground his hips down between her legs. The pleasure was so intense, white spots detonated behind her closed eyelids.

  Panting, Hope clawed at his shirt, yanking the hem from his pants, desperate to get closer. When she slipped her hands under the fabric and touched his bare skin, her eyes just about rolled back in her head. His skin was burning up, sticky with sweat. She wondered what it tasted like. Would his skin be salty? Or would it taste like the seductive cologne he wore? The crisp masculine scent that drove her crazy and muddled her thoughts.

  “Fates, Hope,” Thomas rasped against her lips. “You’re so beautiful.”

  She pulled her hands out of his shirt and threaded them in his thick dark hair, fisting big hunks. “So are you,” she whispered.

  He gasped and closed his eyes as she tugged his hair. Someone must have possessed her body, because in a move totally unlike her, Hope jerked his head back and licked a path up his throat and God, it tasted amazing. Like sweat and spice and man. He opened his eyes and braced on his elbows, lifting his torso so he could look down at her. As Thomas studied her, she stared right back. Releasing his hair, she slipped her hands around his front and slid them down to rest on his broad chest. She could feel his heart hammering inside, so vital and alive. When her gaze returned to his face, the sight knocked the breath right out of her lungs. The look in Thomas’s eyes could only be described as carnal. She saw the desire burning inside, as obvious as if flames flickered in his blown pupils.

  “I want you,” he rasped. His hungry gaze softened and he shifted his weight to one arm so he could trace her lips with his free hand.

  All Hope could do was lay there. She was completely and utterly under his spell. His to command and own. And God, did she want Thomas More to own her. Make her his. When he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, this time it was gentle, nothing like the greedy, primal attack earlier.

  “Hope,” he croaked. “I think I should take you home.”

  She panicked and clutched his shoulders. “Why? No. I want to stay.”

  Thomas rose, easily breaking her hold, and sat on the other end of the couch. He fixed his clothes and adjusted his obvious erection. He looked debauched, lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed, his shirt mangled and untucked.

  “Hope…”

  This was it. The “you’re a stripper” speech. She wanted to cry, but she’d be damned if she let another man make her feel worthless. It only hurt so much because it was Thomas. She thought he was different. How wrong she was.

  “It’s fine.” She stood and fixed her own clothes. “I’ll call a cab.”

  “No. I’ll bring you home.” Thomas rose and reached out. Hope took a step back and wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling vulnerable.

  “I’m a big girl,” she spat. “I don’t need your charity. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

  Thomas’s face crumpled in confusion and he shifted forward. “I don’t think that at all.”

  “Just…” She held up a hand to keep him back. “Let me go.”

  Before he could respond, she snatched her purse off the floor and fled. Hope ignored Thomas calling her name, all but running out of the apartment and down to the street. It took putting two blocks between them until she couldn’t hear his pained shouts. Once she was sure she was out of earshot, Hope allowed the tears to come. God, she was so stupid thinking Thomas was any different than any other man. When would she learn they were all the same? Well, not exactly. Every man previous to Thomas wanted to fuck her first, then when she refused, treated her like a used napkin, tossing her in the trash. She had been fooled by his approach. Taking her on dates. Lavishing kind touches and supportive words. He threw her defenses off by changing the game.

  Well fuck him and fuck everyone else.

  She couldn’t change her past, and wouldn’t even if she could. Not for him or any other man. It was his loss if all he could see was that she used to take her clothes off for money. She wasn’t a stripper, a victim, or a girl in need of rescuing. Her blood boiled and she puffed out her chest.

  She was a freaking survivor.

  CHAPTER 9

  “W hat do we have?” Joan asked Jude, the Patron Saint of Lost Causes, as she ducked under the police tape. Jude, in his beat cop uniform, kept pace with her as she made her way to the crime scene.

  “Deceased male, no name or age as of yet, scorch marks around his mouth,” he said.

  “Any idea if he’s immortal?” Joan stopped at the CSI truck and snapped on a pair of gloves. It angered her that the crime scene unit arrived first, but she had been elbow deep in the dead daemon case and it took longer than she liked to wrap up what she had been doing, then make her way here in traffic.

  Jude cleared his throat. “None as of yet. The coroner isn’t here yet, so no one has been able to touch anything.”.

  Protocol dictated that a body could not be moved or disturbed until the medical examiner did his or her thing. Then photographs were taken, and after that, the techs could gather evidence.

  “Thanks, Jude. I’ll take it from here. If you and your partner could keep the scene contained, that would be great.”

  “Not a problem, detective.”

  Jude walked off to keep the gathering lookie-loos and journalists away and to take statements from anyone who mayhap witnessed anything. She turned and steeled herself before stalking toward a damp alley that led behind a local bar. One whose clientele was predominantly human. She silently prayed the victim was human. Not that she wanted harm to come to any of the citizens of Eastlake Falls, human, daemon, angel, or otherwise. But if the dead immortal were a one-time thing, it would be much less ominous for everyone involved.

  Two technicians in face masks and protective foot covers stood to one side, their kit on the ground, one with a professional camera in her hands. Joan nodded as she passed to enter the scene. “Detective,” they each said.

  No one else was in the alley. There were two dumpsters which reeked of waste. Joan detected a few small vermin in the bins chewing away at whatever bits and scraps they came across. Otherwise, the alley was devoid of life and fairly clean, all things considering. No boxes or papers on the ground. No litter of any kind, actually, which she found odd in itself. She stepped over to the body, keeping a few feet between them so she wouldn’t contaminate the scene. The deceased appeared to be in his early twenties, an age that made it possible for him to be immortal, but didn’t rule out his being human. He lay face up, positioned like the other victims of the Horseman, limbs spread like a starfish. Even from several yards away, Joan easily spotted the black markings around the male’s mouth.

  “Shit.”

  “Detective Puella, did I actually hear a curse pass your lips?”

  She spun and found the coroner, Joseph, walking toward her, his medical kit in hand.

  Her face burned slightly, but she shook it off and shrugged. “We’re all capable of sin now and then, doctor. Are we not?”

&
nbsp; He shrugged back and gave her a small smile. Joan watched his gaze shift and knew he was examining the body. His smile vanished and the humor drained from Joseph’s eyes. Placing his kit next to the deceased he knelt at the male’s side.

  “What do we know?” Joseph asked as he opened his kit and began preparing to examine the body.

  She repeated the information given by Jude, who happened to be the responding officer along with his partner, a fairly new female angel named Sarai. Michael requested more help from the Hereafter to deal with the Horseman once an immortal turned up dead. Sarai was only one of several additions to the department.

  “I see.” Joseph did several tests Joan had seen him do many times. “This male is, was, angelus.” His sorrow was palpable. “Seala,” Joseph called out. The technician with the camera hurried over. “Take your photos, I must needs turn him over.”

  Seala snapped several photographs from every angle. “I’m done, sir.”

  Joseph nodded in Joan’s direction. She held the male’s feet whilst Joseph took hold of his shoulders and they gently flipped him to his stomach. Seala snapped more pictures and backed away to await the okay to gather physical evidence.

  Whilst Joseph finished examining the body, Joan did a slow walk up and down the alley. No trash, not even tiny bits of paper or cigarette butts. Odd for an alley in back of a bar. She walked further and stopped.

  “Seala!” Joan shouted over her shoulder. The tech joined her on the far end of the alley. She pointed at the ground. “See all this? The garbage? It looks like it was blown here by a strong wind.”

  Seala stared for a few seconds. “It does, detective.” They both glanced up and down the alley. “Like it was over by the body and a strong gust of wind brought everything down here.”

  Trash piled against the alley wall where a hard right turn lead back to the street. The alley made a squared-off “U” shape around the bar with the victim on one bottom corner of the U and the trash on the other. Joan walked the length up one leg of the U to the street on the opposite side of where they originally entered.