Seven Sexy Sins (31 page)

He caught her as she did so and put his arms around her. She leaned on the seat, suddenly breathless. Even hammered, smelling strongly of whisky, he was still the most gorgeous guy she’d ever seen.

He kissed her, and she lingered for a moment before pulling away. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“Home where?”

She shut the door and walked around the car to get in the driver’s side. “My place. I’m not leaving you alone in this state.”

He sighed and closed his eyes.

Faith drove home, her heart hammering all the way. Had he meant it? Surely not. It had been a knee-jerk reaction, born out of guilt. But even so, the fact that he felt he wasn’t like his father and brother, an animal when inebriated, must count for something, mustn’t it? Did it mean he wasn’t leaving? 

When she reached her house, she helped him inside and took him straight through to the bedroom. She pulled back the duvet and began to unbutton his shirt for him. He leaned one hand on the wall behind her, studying her face, his eyes half-lidded, smiling. “I love you,” he said again.

She laughed and pushed his shirt off his shoulders as he tried to kiss her. “Undo your pants, you idiot.”

He tried to do as she said, but in the end, she had to help him. He fell backward onto the bed and she pulled the jeans off, dumped them on a chair and covered him with the duvet.

“Don’t go,” he said as she stood up.

“I’m just getting a jug of water. You’re going to need it.” She went into the kitchen, filled up a jug and brought it back to the bedroom with a glass.

He was already asleep.

She put the jug and glass next to his side of the bed, undressed quietly, pulled on a T-shirt nightie and slipped in beside him. Talking would have to wait until morning.

Her bed was warm with him in it. She curled up beside him, studying his injured eye, glad she hadn’t seen the fight with Dan. It would have made her cry. She leaned over and kissed the sore spot gently.

He’d hurt her, made her cry, and the pain he’d caused her wasn’t going to disappear overnight. But he’d also asked her to marry him. She knew the dream was as insubstantial as a rainbow. But it was beautiful, all the same.

When Rusty finally awoke, it was light, and he lay there for a while, looking out at the garden. Someone—presumably Faith—had opened the sliding door to the decking, and a light March breeze blew in across the duvet, cooling down his hot forehead. The sun’s rays pooled on the edge of the bed. The other side was empty, although a dent remained in the pillow.

He rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with his arm. It had been a hell of a night. He’d vomited at least three times, possibly more—it was all a bit hazy—struggling to the bathroom in the wee small hours, completely disoriented because he wasn’t in his own house.

But he’d been glad he wasn’t at home, because Faith had been there beside him. She’d talked to him firmly, cleaned up behind him, bless her, returned him to bed and forced him to drink water, stroking his forehead as he dozed off once again. He didn’t deserve her, and he felt embarrassed about what an idiot he’d been. But it had been kind of nice as well, having her fuss over him like that.

He turned his head and saw she’d left two painkillers on the bedside table, along with a glass of fresh orange juice. The clock said nine thirty. Sighing, he pushed himself up and took the pills. His mouth tasted like it had had a team of rugby players partying in it, and the orange juice was refreshing. Then he turned over again and looked out once more at the garden.

He hugged the pillow to him. People often said they couldn’t remember what they did when they were drunk, but he could remember the whole evening, even though it felt as if he was looking at it through a fogged-up window. He remembered watching the rugby with Dan, Toby, and Eve, wincing every time he took a sip of the whisky, but gradually growing used to the fiery, medicinal taste, until eventually he was knocking the glasses back as much as the other two. He thought of Dan, continually topping up his glass. Bastard. He’d known how Rusty would feel in the morning. He touched a finger to his sore eye gently. Dan had exacted his revenge in his own particular, Machiavellian way.

But he’d deserved it. Rusty had spoken the truth when he said that he and Faith were nobody else’s business, but even so, he knew he shouldn’t have slept with her without telling Dan. Dan wasn’t her father, but he was the closest thing she had, and he clearly saw himself in that role. He was only looking out for her, and Rusty had violated that trust in the biggest way possible.

He thought about Faith and wondered where she was. In the living room, presumably. He could remember when she’d turned up at the house and leaned over the sofa, saying, “Hey.” When he’d opened his eyes and seen her, his heart had nearly leaped out of his chest and boinged happily along the hall like a kid on a space hopper.

He lay on his back and looked up at the ceiling. He’d asked her to marry him. He remembered it clearly, and had meant it, at the time. What had she said? She hadn’t said yes. She’d said she’d talk to him about it when they got home, but he’d fallen asleep. He couldn’t remember her looking ecstatic, the way a woman was supposed to when you asked her to marry you.

He lifted his arm and rested his hand on his forehead. What on earth had made him propose, drunk as a skunk, in front of the others? Maybe he’d wanted to prove to them, especially Dan, that he was serious about her, that it hadn’t just been a fling. Or had he done it because he needed her to know how sorry he was? Like that was going to help. He’d been vile toward her, and the last thing she needed was a drunken idiot to declare he wanted her to put up with him forever.

But where did that leave him now? He was going to have to talk to her about it, and there was no way she would suddenly have had amnesia overnight. She was going to remember his proposal.

Did he want to marry her?

Rusty had never thought about what it would be like to live with a woman. Ever. He’d always been certain it would never happen. He’d carefully skated around the issue, not entertaining thoughts of having a wife or children. That life had never been for him. He’d never been a window shopper, figuring what was the point in looking when you didn’t have the money to buy, and thinking about long-term relationships posed the same problem. Girls had stayed over occasionally. But he’d never cleared out a drawer for anyone—never put their coffee mug next to his.

But now? Had that changed?

He thought about how he’d felt when he’d drunk more alcohol than he’d been certain it was possible to drink in one night. He’d waited for the family demon to rear up inside him, but he’d only got more lethargic as the evening had gone on, and everything had got funnier and funnier. Eventually he’d realised there was no demon, just tired, rather boring Rusty, not quite the fierce tiger he’d always dreamed he’d be, but rather a sad panda of a man, unhappy and forlorn without the girl he’d probably lost for good.

And now that he knew he didn’t have anything to fear? That there wasn’t something hidden inside him, waiting to rise up and destroy any relationship he had? He thought of Faith, and the way she’d been there for him during the night. What would it be like to come home to her every day after school? To sit at the table and eat dinner together. To go out as a couple, or cuddle in front of the TV and watch back-to-back DVDs. To go to bed with her, and make love to her all night, every night.

And he realised that the thought didn’t scare him. It actually made him incredibly happy.

He sat up, only seeing then that his clothes had disappeared and she’d put an old T-shirt and trackpants—presumably left there by Dan when he used to come and stay with Eve—on the chair, with a razor on top. He got up gingerly. He didn’t want her to see him just yet. Picking up the clothes, he went into the en suite and had a shower, hoping to scrub the smell of the alcohol off. He washed his hair, had a shave, dried himself and got dressed, all carried out slowly and cautiously, conscious that any sudden movement made his head spin. He didn’t have a toothbrush, but he used her mouthwash and then the comb she’d left on the side to get his hair in some sort of order.

He looked at himself in the mirror. In spite of a rapidly darkening black eye, he seemed younger, brighter somehow, as if he’d finally managed to get rid of the tarnish that had stained him for so long. He wasn’t a monster. He was just a guy. A guy very much in love.

Now all that remained was to see if Faith felt the same way.

He went into the kitchen. Faith was frying bacon and turned as he leaned against the doorjamb, hands shoved in his pockets. He smiled at her sheepishly, relieved when she smiled back. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” She motioned to the chair. “Sit down. Bacon sandwich coming up.”

“Bacon?” His stomach growled uneasily.

“Believe me, a fried breakfast is
the
best way to deal with a hangover. Soaks up all the alcohol.”

He shuddered at her description, but shrugged and sat, watching her as she put the bacon in between slices of bread and covered them with HP Sauce before slicing them in half. She put the plate down before him with a mug of tea and sat opposite him, tucking into her own sandwich. He surveyed his cautiously, his stomach churning. But the bacon smelled good, and eventually he realised he was hungry and ate with gusto, making her smile.

They said nothing for a few minutes and ate quietly. The radio was on in the corner of the room, and the sunlight lit the bubbles that floated up from the dishes soaking in the sink. Is this what married life felt like? If so, he could deal with it happily.

He finished off the sandwich and he licked his fingers, not missing the way her gaze followed the movement, then clasped his hands around his mug of tea and sipped it.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Better. A bit…”

“Delicate?”

“You’ve obviously been here before.”

“A few times.” She pushed her plate away and picked up her own mug. They sipped their tea.

He cleared his throat. “About last night…”

“It’s okay,” she said hurriedly. “It’s an unspoken rule that what you say when you’re drunk is forgotten about in the morning.”

“Faith…”

“I don’t expect…anything.” She met his gaze imploringly. “Just tell me you’re not leaving, Rusty.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Relief lit her face like fireworks in the sky. “Oh!” She sat back in her chair and gave him a wonderful smile. And that kind of did it, really.

Faith watched Rusty put down his mug. He scratched his head. “I know I was terribly drunk last night.”

“Er, yuh-huh.” She smiled, studying him. Apart from his swollen eye, he looked quite good, clean and shaven, and calm. And he wasn’t leaving. She couldn’t explain how happy that made her. She just wanted to be around him, even if they couldn’t be together.

He smiled back. “Even so, I remember everything I did. And said.” Meeting her gaze, and holding it, he took a deep breath, stood and pushed back his chair. Her heart began to thump as he walked around the table and knelt before her. “Faith, I’ve been an idiot. I’ve treated you like shit, and if you tell me to get lost, I’ll completely deserve it. But I promise you, if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I don’t have a ring yet. But… Faith Alice Hillman—will you marry me?”

She stared at him. “Huh?”

He raised an eyebrow and waited.

“Rusty…” She stood and pulled him to his feet. “Sweetheart, it doesn’t have to be all or nothing.” She touched his cheek. “You were drunk last night, and we’re all kinds of crazy when we’re drunk. I told you, I don’t expect anything.”

“I know. Your answer is…?”

She studied him, shocked. His eyes were clear, his face open and honest. He meant it. “You really want to continue to see me?”

“I think that’s what ‘Will you marry me?’ generally entails.”

She shook her head. “We don’t have to get married, Rusty, not yet. Not until we’re sure. We can have years together exploring each other before we have to commit.”

“I’m sure,” he said. “Is that a no?”

She blinked, her mouth open.

He laughed, stepped closer and cupped her face. “Don’t you want to marry me, love?”

“M…marry you? Really?”

“Uh huh. Marry. Get hitched. Tie the knot. I can call you the ‘old ball and chain’. ‘My better half’. ‘Little woman’. ‘The missus’.” He grinned.

“I…” Her mind had gone completely blank.

He kissed her. “Walk down the aisle with me, Faith.” He kissed her again. “Wake up beside me every morning.” And again. “Make love to me every night.” And again. “Have my babies.”

“Babies?” A tear ran down her cheek.

“If you want them.” He wiped the tear away. “The family demon seems to have skipped a generation, but I can’t promise it won’t rear its head in the next. I’d understand if you said no because of that.”

“I never say no because of something that
might
happen, Rusty. If it were to happen, we’d deal with it. But I don’t think it will. How could a son of yours ever be anything but an absolute sweetheart?”

He bit his lip. “So you wouldn’t mind having a husband who’s a hamster, not a T-Rex?”

A husband!
He really wanted her to marry him. “I love you, Rusty,” she said, half-laughing, half-crying.

“Yeah, I know. Since you were twelve. Can’t believe I never realised.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She rubbed her nose. “Eve, I’m guessing.”

“And Toby. He said he saw your face that night I kissed you on your eighteenth. He’s surprisingly observant for a Neanderthal.” He kissed her again, longer this time. When he eventually pulled back, though, he sighed. “You still haven’t answered me.” He gave her a beseeching look. “Don’t make me beg. It’s so undignified.”

A light came into her eyes, and her lips began to curve. “Oh, I fully intend to make you beg, but not in the way you mean.”

“Oh my.”

“You terrible man. Are you going to continue to corrupt me if I agree to marry you?”

He smiled wickedly. “Absolutely.”