A Season of Angels (Angels Everywhere #1)(59)

“You’re leaving?” Monica was kneeling on top of the mattress. Her eyes were wide and pleading. “Don’t go. Please.”

The “please” had cost her a good deal, but Chet knew that if he didn’t make his escape then and there, it would be too late. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d find himself agreeing to this asinine scheme of hers.

As it was, their ongoing relationship continued to confound him. He’d never meant to see her again after she’d lectured him on the misery brought on by the evils of alcohol. Little by little he’d knowingly allowed himself to be drawn to this preacher’s daughter. They’d been a hair’s breadth from making love only moments earlier. She didn’t seem to realize how close they’d come.

“I should have realized,” she said in a small, pitiful voice, “that you wouldn’t want to marry me.”

Chet groaned inwardly. He was prepared to slip into the night as unnoticed as when he’d first arrived, but she’d managed to do it again. This woman knew exactly which cords to pull to reach him. It happened like this each and every time they met. Much more of this and she’d have the threads wrapped so securely around his heart there’d be no escape.

“It isn’t that,” he said, his back to her. Looking at her was dangerous, especially now with her lips swollen from his kisses and her hair all mussed up. He’d never known a woman who looked more beautiful when her hair wasn’t combed.

“Then what is it?” she asked. From the nearness of her voice he knew she’d moved off the bed and was standing almost directly behind him.

Nothing but the truth would satisfy her, Chet realized, yet he hesitated, knowing she’d argue with the devil himself.

“Tell me exactly what it is then,” she demanded, and he noticed she was regaining some of her natural pluck.

“Listen, sweetheart,” he said, knowing she disliked the affectionate term, “I’m not good enough for you.”

Until he’d met Monica his life had been reduced to wild weekends, blown paychecks, and cheap thrills with a cocktail waitress. He’d been shot, beaten, and chased down by a jealous husband. Not exactly pick-of-the-litter husband material for a minister’s daughter, but there was no telling Monica anything. He’d learned that the hard way.

“Don’t say that.” Her arms came up under his and she looped her hands on his shoulders, then flattened the side of her face against his back. She felt so good and warm pressed to him that for an instant he was nearly swayed.

“Nothing could be further from the truth,” she insisted. “Don’t you realize how much you’ve taught me? I was a prude until we met and now I know what it means to be in love. You’ve made me proud to be a woman.”

“Lessons rarely come cheap.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her arms slipped away from him and Chet was eternally grateful. He slipped out of the window, landing with a thud on the hard ground below.

Turning around to face her was a mistake in what was proving to be a long line of tactical errors. Her eyes were bright with tears and her lower lip was trembling. Something sharp and painful twisted in his gut. He could deal far easier with her anger than he could her tears.

“I’m not going to marry you, Monica,” he told her harshly. “So get that idea out of your head right now. It’s just not going to happen.”

She was silent for a moment, then nodded. “You can’t get much clearer than that. Good night, Chet.” Her voice was soft and a little broken.

She had her hooks in him good and deep. The best thing for him to do was to get out while the getting was good. Working as a private investigator, Chet had developed a sixth sense for these things. The time to leave was about five minutes ago.

“I’ll see you around,” he tossed over his shoulder. He waited for her to close the window, but she didn’t and he was left to wonder exactly how long she stood there watching him.

Fighting himself he made it all the way to his car, which he’d parked two streets over. He didn’t want anyone to see his vehicle and connect Monica with him.

He unlocked the door and sat in the front seat and battled with himself until he accepted that he wasn’t going to be able to leave matters unfinished between them.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, climbed out of the car, and retraced the same route he had taken only moments earlier. He came by the side of the darkened church and toward the back side of the house where Monica’s bedroom was situated.

Her room was dark. He hesitated, then carefully made his way to the window, tapping lightly against the glass pane. He heard her climb out of the bed and pull up the sash.

Neither of them spoke right away. It was as if they were both unsure of what to say. After coming all the way back, Chet hadn’t any more of a clue than when he left the car. Apparently Monica didn’t either.

“I volunteered to be a bell ringer,” she whispered. He couldn’t see her face as clearly as he would have liked, but he could tell from the soft catch in her voice that she’d been crying.

Damn fool woman. She should have known better than to fall in love with the likes of him.

“When?” he found himself asking, already anxious to see her again. They were playing a no-win game, but for the life of him Chet couldn’t make himself walk away from her.