A Season of Angels (Angels Everywhere #1)(37)

She didn’t like the way he said sweetheart. He made the term of affection sound like an insult. “I’d rather you didn’t call me that.”

“What?”

“Sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“Listen here, honeybunch,” she murmured sarcastically, “I’m not your sweetheart or anything else.”

“I didn’t say you were. Let’s just forget it, all right?” He stalked over to the sink and dumped what was left of his coffee. “I’ll see about getting you home now.”

One look out the window told her the snow hadn’t let up in the least; if anything, it was coming down heavier. Chet wanted to be rid of her and she was just as eager to go. She didn’t know what she was doing with a man who hung a picture of a naked woman in his office. She was out of her element and eager to get back where she belonged.

“I can take the bus.” She felt obliged to volunteer, but it was doubtful how much longer the transit would continue to run in the heavy snow.

Chet cast her a look that told her what he thought of that idea. “Come on, this might take a while.”

Monica bundled her coat around her and hurried after him. The wind was bitterly cold as it sliced through the open garage. Chet drove a battered Chevy Impala with a tail pipe that hung so low she wondered if he could make it over a speed bump. She couldn’t imagine that the faded green was a factory color.

“My Mercedes is in the shop,” he said, unlocking the passenger door for her.

Monica let herself inside and searched until she found the seat belt, clicking it into place. Chet started the engine, which came to life with the roar of a lion, and pulled out of the parking space.

The streets were terrible, and the traffic was a nightmare, but Chet was an excellent driver and managed to avoid the worst of it. Monica breathed a sigh of relief as they left the congested downtown area.

Both were quiet for several minutes, and as they neared her neighborhood, Monica tensed. “It might be a good idea if you dropped me off a block or so before the house.”

“Why? You aren’t wearing boots—your feet would be drenched within minutes.”

“I know, it’s just that . . .”

“It’ll save you having to make explanations if your father happens to see me.”

“Yes,” she murmured, appreciating that he’d said it for her. He drove a few more blocks, before pulling over to the side of the road. The church and parsonage were within sight, but it wasn’t likely that her father would notice her with Chet.

Now that she was near home, Monica wasn’t eager for her time with Chet to end. She clenched her purse in her lap with both hands. “Thank you,” she whispered, fingering the mustard-seed necklace. “For everything.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“I mean it,” she said, more adamant this time. “You didn’t need to do this and I appreciate everything you went through . . . even when it didn’t seem like it.” Only heaven knew how long it would take him to drive back into the city. The streets were difficult enough as it was.

Chet’s hands were braced against the steering wheel, his gaze focused straight ahead. “I don’t know that we solved anything.”

“You’re not the monster I assumed,” she said, making light of her prejudices. Honesty, however, could be a burden. Now that she’d admitted as much, she wasn’t sure where that left them. Monica didn’t know and she doubted that Chet did either.

“You’re not quite as prudish as I believed.”

They looked toward each other and a smile blossomed between them, slow and sweet. Time stood perfectly still, but it seemed impatient as if waiting for them to act. The stillness swelled around them, cutting off sound except the silent wonder of the falling snow.

Monica didn’t know who moved first. It didn’t seem that either of them had, when she found her mouth inches from his. Chet was motionless. She could barely feel his breath, barely feel her own. She should move, should turn away from him and flee while she could, but she couldn’t make herself do it. Enthralled, she raised her hands and placed them on his shoulders. He felt solid and strong. Her touch was all Chet needed. He bent forward and claimed her mouth in a slow, leisurely exercise.

This wasn’t the way it was before. It was much better . . . much worse. She dragged her mouth from his, frustration close to the surface, but she wasn’t allowed to vent that or anything else. Before she could so much as draw in a stabilizing breath, Chet caught her face and brought her mouth back to his.

His need was urgent now and he kissed her again and again as waves of confusion assaulted her. A warm, dizzy feeling began to build within her, spreading throughout her body. The sensation flooded every cell. She was aware of everything about Chet, the taste, the feel, the masculine scent of him.

When they did finally ease away from each other, neither of them seemed to know what to say.

Slowly, Monica raised her eyes to his. His gaze revealed the extent of his confusion. The same bewilderment, the same questions, the same doubts.

Monica had no idea how long they stared. The air crackled with static electricity, with sexual tension.

“You better get inside,” he said, and his voice sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of a deep well.

She nodded and turned away from him. Her hand was on the car door when he spoke again.