"Not you, Jack," he said to himself. It was more a warning than anything else. "Not you."
"I'm sorry." Faith looked up from her task, her expression hopeful. "Did you say something to me?"
Jack rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, wondering just what in the hell was the matter with him. He'd never been attracted to innocence before, even such attractively packaged innocence. "Just thinking out loud," he said gruffly, hoping to forestall any conversation between them. He wanted her to finish what she was doing and go. And the less contact between them while she did it, the better.
Faith put her sponge down and came around the end of the counter that divided the kitchen from the dining room, irresistibly drawn by even the slightest indication that he might be willing to talk. He hadn't said a word to her all afternoon that wasn't directly related to the job she was doing, but she'd felt him watching her while she worked. She'd wanted to respond to his interest, to let him know she was watching him, too. But she didn't know how. Sammie-Jo's brief lesson hadn't covered attracting the males of the species, only discouraging them. And she'd never had a chance to learn the finer points of flirtation on her own. Nor even, really, any of the basics. Usually, she wouldn't even have had the courage to try, but this wasn't usually.
This was the new Faith, she reminded herself. She'd begun a new life. And she wasn't going to let the old fears and the old rules stop her from living it to the fullest. Jack Shannon fascinated her and she wasn't going to be a hypocrite and pretend otherwise.
He was, as Sammie-Jo had so eloquently put it, the perfect tough-guy hero. But there was more to him than that, Faith thought. Much more. She'd seen it for just a moment the other day when he'd invited her in for coffee. There was another man under that tough-guy facade, a tortured man hiding the sadness in his eyes behind a careless manner and a cynical sneer. Faith wanted to think that was all that drew her to him—that hidden sadness that somehow made them kindred spirits—but her conscience wouldn't let her get away with such a whopper.
He was beautiful, too.
On the outside.
Where she'd always been told she wasn't supposed to notice.
But she had noticed. She couldn't help but notice.
Jack Shannon's body was tall and lean and strong, the muscles moving under the soft fabric of his T-shirt and faded jeans as lean and supple as those of a sleek and powerful cat. His face was lean, too, with squint lines around the eyes and deep grooves in either cheek. His jaw was chiseled. His chin was square. His brows were straight, heavy slashes above his eyes. His hair, as dark as the coffee he drank too much of, was long enough to curl softly against the nape of his neck. The shape of his mouth was masculine and well-defined, yet tender, too, like a child's in repose. And he had the long-fingered, elegant hands of a concert pianist.
How could she not be fascinated?
"Is your article giving you trouble?" she asked him, remembering some long-ago bit of girl lore that had to do with getting a man to talk about himself.
Jack looked up at that, surprised. "What makes you think I'm working on an article?"
Faith smiled at him, pleased that her ploy had worked. "Sammie-Jo said you were a reporter. So I just assumed that's what you were writing." She paused expectantly, waiting for him to toss the conversational ball back her way. "Is it?" she asked, when he didn't.
Jack scowled down at the nearly blank paper in his typewriter to avoid looking at her. That shy little smile of hers was as irresistible as sunshine peeking through the clouds. "Is it what?"
"What you're writing. Is it an article for one of the newspapers?"
"No," he said curtly.
Faith felt her cheeks heat. "Oh," she said in a small voice. Obviously, he didn't want to talk to her. Obviously, she was bothering him. Would she never learn? Embarrassed, she picked up her sponge and began
"I'm sorry." Faith looked up from her task, her expression hopeful. "Did you say something to me?"
Jack rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, wondering just what in the hell was the matter with him. He'd never been attracted to innocence before, even such attractively packaged innocence. "Just thinking out loud," he said gruffly, hoping to forestall any conversation between them. He wanted her to finish what she was doing and go. And the less contact between them while she did it, the better.
Faith put her sponge down and came around the end of the counter that divided the kitchen from the dining room, irresistibly drawn by even the slightest indication that he might be willing to talk. He hadn't said a word to her all afternoon that wasn't directly related to the job she was doing, but she'd felt him watching her while she worked. She'd wanted to respond to his interest, to let him know she was watching him, too. But she didn't know how. Sammie-Jo's brief lesson hadn't covered attracting the males of the species, only discouraging them. And she'd never had a chance to learn the finer points of flirtation on her own. Nor even, really, any of the basics. Usually, she wouldn't even have had the courage to try, but this wasn't usually.
This was the new Faith, she reminded herself. She'd begun a new life. And she wasn't going to let the old fears and the old rules stop her from living it to the fullest. Jack Shannon fascinated her and she wasn't going to be a hypocrite and pretend otherwise.
He was, as Sammie-Jo had so eloquently put it, the perfect tough-guy hero. But there was more to him than that, Faith thought. Much more. She'd seen it for just a moment the other day when he'd invited her in for coffee. There was another man under that tough-guy facade, a tortured man hiding the sadness in his eyes behind a careless manner and a cynical sneer. Faith wanted to think that was all that drew her to him—that hidden sadness that somehow made them kindred spirits—but her conscience wouldn't let her get away with such a whopper.
He was beautiful, too.
On the outside.
Where she'd always been told she wasn't supposed to notice.
But she had noticed. She couldn't help but notice.
Jack Shannon's body was tall and lean and strong, the muscles moving under the soft fabric of his T-shirt and faded jeans as lean and supple as those of a sleek and powerful cat. His face was lean, too, with squint lines around the eyes and deep grooves in either cheek. His jaw was chiseled. His chin was square. His brows were straight, heavy slashes above his eyes. His hair, as dark as the coffee he drank too much of, was long enough to curl softly against the nape of his neck. The shape of his mouth was masculine and well-defined, yet tender, too, like a child's in repose. And he had the long-fingered, elegant hands of a concert pianist.
How could she not be fascinated?
"Is your article giving you trouble?" she asked him, remembering some long-ago bit of girl lore that had to do with getting a man to talk about himself.
Jack looked up at that, surprised. "What makes you think I'm working on an article?"
Faith smiled at him, pleased that her ploy had worked. "Sammie-Jo said you were a reporter. So I just assumed that's what you were writing." She paused expectantly, waiting for him to toss the conversational ball back her way. "Is it?" she asked, when he didn't.
Jack scowled down at the nearly blank paper in his typewriter to avoid looking at her. That shy little smile of hers was as irresistible as sunshine peeking through the clouds. "Is it what?"
"What you're writing. Is it an article for one of the newspapers?"
"No," he said curtly.
Faith felt her cheeks heat. "Oh," she said in a small voice. Obviously, he didn't want to talk to her. Obviously, she was bothering him. Would she never learn? Embarrassed, she picked up her sponge and began
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