A Passion Most Pure by Julie Lessman

but he only drew her back with a force that made her shudder. He felt her pulse racing as his lips wandered her throat. The scent of her drove him mad. He kissed her with renewed urgency, the taste of her making him dizzy. And then, before she could catch her breath, he shoved her away, his heart thundering and his mind paralyzed.

    Faith reeled, nearly losing her balance. She swayed on her feet, breathless and weak, not trusting herself to speak. She had dreamed of his lips on hers, written pages of poetry about it. And now here it was, and she couldn't utter a syllable. Collin seemed bewildered, almost disoriented, rubbing his jaw with the side of his hand. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and she could tell he was trying to compose himself, to regain the casual confidence so much a part of who he was. His voice was gruff when he spoke.
    "Look, I'm sorry ... you made me angry." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. His mouth slanted into a wary smile. "Again." He took another deep breath, then exhaled. He appeared back in control. "But, you're right, you know. Your sister is too good for the likes of me. Unfortunately, that's not going to stop me. She's beautiful, smart, and most necessary of all, she loves me. And that, Faith O'Connor, is just too good to pass up."
    He studied her as if he didn't know what to make of her. "You're a bit scary, you know that?" He leaned close, his voice low and husky in her ear. "Something tells me in my gut I'm way ahead sticking with the younger sister." He touched her cheek, his fingers lingering on her skin. And before she could open her mouth, he turned and was gone, leaving her as cold and still as the statues scattered throughout the park.
    A chill swept her. Goose bumps prickled her arms. Shivering, she pulled her sleeves down and rubbed to bring back the warmth, then stopped. The thought of him produced another flash of heat, and instantly she felt lightheaded.
    She was ruined. The stark realization filled her with dread in the pit of her stomach. For years he'd possessed her dreams, but she'd been the master of those dreams. Now, he possessed her memory, and there was nothing she could do about it.

    Faith stooped to pick up her pad and pencil, and in the next moment, she slumped to the ground, tears rimming her eyes. How was she to cope with this? Schoolgirl dreams were one thing-harmless reverie. But how was she to cope with the memory of his touch on her skin, his lips on hers, which even now produced a surge of warmth? If she never saw him again, perhaps the memory would fade. But then, he had no intention of going away. He wanted her sister. The only man who had ever turned her head, raced her heart-that man wanted her sister. The reality all but crushed her. It seemed to be the recurrent theme in the life and times of Faith O'Connor, and bitterness poured forth in the overflow of her tears.
    As she lay there, the sky clouded over and the false warmth of Indian summer gave way to the chill of autumn. She rose to her feet and gathered her belongings, tilting her face to the sky. Frequent had been the times she had called on the faith her parents had instilled, and countless were the prayers she had cried to the God of that faith. But never had she needed him more.
    Faith clutched her prayer book and journal to her chest and straightened her shoulders. It was really quite simple. She would do the only thing she knew to do. The only thing that would matter in the end. She would put herself and the situation in God's capable hands. At the thought, a holy peace flooded her soul, as familiar as the warmth of the sun. She knew then she could face whatever lay ahead, and she wouldn't do it alone. Faithfulness was a strong bent of this God of hers.
    "We're a mite glum this evening, aren't we, Collin, me boy? So what's the matter-Charity's daddy won't let you see his little girl?"

    Collin turned to give his best friend a withering look before draining the last of his beer.