Ah, here it came, and now Gray understood that the long spiel was all a lead-up to the “warning.” Don’t fuck with his daughter. Gray didn’t rise to the bait. He merely sat and waited for Pop to say his piece.
“You’ll go back to your job at the end of your leave. I’ve seen guys like you. I admire you. You make a damn fine cop. I have no doubt about that. But I don’t want you messing around with my daughter or using her as a diversion then leaving town to go back to Dallas.”
Pop’s way of putting it irked Gray. “You make her sound like a damn toy. I like Faith. She’s a sweet girl.”
Pop nodded. “That she is. She’ll make some man a damned fine wife. Have a passel of kids. A nice home and security.” His emphasis on security drove home to Gray what Pop wanted for his daughter. And to his credit, it was what most fathers wanted for their daughters.
“I understand,” Gray said calmly.
Pop’s expression softened. “I like you, son. I like you a damn lot. I don’t want you to take it the wrong way. Faith could certainly do a lot worse than a man like you. I just don’t see your pathways paralleling each other. That’s all.”
“Not a problem,” Gray said, not wanting to point out that he’d never expressed the desire for a relationship with Faith. No sense pissing the old guy off.
CHAPTER 12
F aith bopped around the office with ill-contained excitement. She was nervous, excited and petrified, all rolled into one, about her appointment tonight. Sex on the brain made for some interesting daydreams, and she could only be grateful it had been a slow day in the office.
The sexual tension between her and Gray simmered like a cauldron, and it made her even more determined and anxious to explore her most secret desires. He brought out every lustful fantasy she’d ever thought of, and even some she hadn’t.
She wanted him. That was certainly not one of her most secret desires. There was nothing secret about it. And he’d have to be awfully thick not to realize she wanted to have sex with him. But. There was always a but.
She wanted a strong, masterful man. From all outward appearances, Gray was that man. He talked the talk, but then she’d had a few talkers in the past. They’d promptly fizzled in bed and out.
Which is why you’re going tonight. To identify, to own, to take what you want. She sensed this was the first big step, and once she embraced this change, this desire to be her own person, there would be no looking back.
She emitted a tiny sigh as she arranged a pile of contracts on her desk. Then she logged onto the internet and opened an e-mail from Damon, the man who’d set up her appointment at The House.
They’d actually exchanged several e-mails since her phone call a few nights ago. He had put her at ease with his friendly, open attitude. He’d encouraged her to ask questions and in return had given her a wealth of information about what went on at The House and also what she could expect from her tour.
In one of her sillier moments, and after spending five hours poring over internet pictures of leather-clad Klingon look-alikes, she’d e-mailed Damon to ask what she should wear. Because if she was expected to don a black rubber suit with no ass and a hole where her tits were supposed to go, they could kiss her ass. Her bare ass.
She skimmed over the e-mail, smiling at the reminder that the environment she was entering tonight would be raw and explicit. She felt an excited tingle all the way down to her toes.
She was reasonably prepared for her visit to The House. Or so she imagined. She’d scoured countless sites on the internet, researched all the links that Damon had sent her, and she’d even worked up the nerve to sneak into Micah’s apartment and raid his porn collection. She’d certainly gotten an eyeful. Apparently soft porn wasn’t in Micah’s vocabulary.
She grinned as she mentally went over the list she’d compiled of scenarios and positions she wanted to try. All she needed now was a willing partner, and maybe a better understanding of the need driving her. Which she hoped Damon and company could shed some light on.
She spun around in her seat, feeling just a little giddy and more than a little ridiculous. She slapped her hand down on the desk to stop her motion when the phone rang.
Stifling a giggle, she reached for the phone. “Malone’s,” she said breathily.
“Faith, we need to talk.” Her mother’s strident voice scratched over Faith’s ear like a tree branch on a tin roof. “I need money. I need you to help me. You have to help me.”
Gone was the wheedling and cajoling she was so used to hearing in her mother’s calls.
Forgoing any attempt to soften her rejection, Faith gripped the phone tighter. “I asked you not to call me again.”