His mouth dried. His thoughts filled with the image of the woman—undulating around him, lithe and curved, naked except for a few strategically placed scarves. In his mind’s eye, her pale skin shone through the misty fabric, and her mouth was a luscious, ripe temptation, glistening red.
Her clipped voice snapped him back to reality. “I’m not a stripper. I told you, I’m here on a mission. It doesn’t involve—” She flapped a hand with a huffy sound. Pink stained her cheeks. “—that.”
Tony cleared his throat and shrugged. “Look, this has been great. I needed a laugh. It’s been a crappy day. But I’m done. Get lost before I really do call the police.”
He turned away and headed down the walk, back to the truck. Frigging nutjob. Hot or not, she was the last thing he needed to cap off this already shitty day.
“I’m sorry you’re having a bad day,” she called after him. Her voice was musical, its cadence lyrical. “But I’m not a nutjob. I’m here to help you, whether you believe me or not.”
That was it. He’d end this game right here and now. Tony whirled to face her. “Okay, lady. If you can read my mind, answer this.”
How many times did Jane and I make love before she left me in the dirt?
He stared at her and waited. He’d expected a wild guess, or a challenging deflection. What he didn’t expect was the warmth in her eyes, or the sympathy. She studied him in silence. Her lips trembled, just for a moment. Her lashes swept down, and she looked away.
“Four hundred and seventy-two,” she said, each word soft with sorrow. “One hundred and twelve until you were gifted with Miranda. One last time, in anger and in hatred, before she left.”
The memories shot through him with every word. Every thought that had played through his mind over and over each time he’d asked himself why, when he’d thought…he’d thought they were so good together. He’d started counting after the very first time. Their picnic date had ended in a summer shower that left them drenched and scrambling for the car. They’d laughed all the way back to her place, until that laughter turned to kisses. Caresses. More. And he’d counted each time they’d made love since, so he’d never forget.
Even if now, he wished he could.
Tony sank down on the nearest box, legs numb, chest tight. He stared at the woman. “Who—what are you?”
She knelt before him and laid her slender hand atop his knee. Just like Miranda. He tensed. Her fingers were warm, even through his jeans, and shot a jolt of fire straight through him. He shoved her away and scooted out of reach. He didn’t need a strange woman’s touch. He’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.
“I’m an angel,” she said, “and I’m here to save you.”
Tony tried to speak, but the words lodged in his throat. If angels existed, they would look like this woman. But she couldn’t be an angel; he didn’t believe in angels. He’d have to believe in God for that, and he’d given up on faith a long time ago.
So what was she?
Her shoulders stiffened. Her brows furrowed, and she fixed him with a puzzled look. “You shouldn’t lose faith,” she recited mechanically. “It’s like losing air. You’ll die without it.”
“You don’t sound like you believe that.”
“I do.” She tossed her head with clear pride. Wasn’t that a cardinal sin? “I’m an angel. How could I not believe?”
Yet there was a hesitation in her voice, an emptiness. A lack of conviction that told him she was the last person to make him believe in God. She hadn’t convinced herself yet, so how did she plan on saving him?
He shook his head. “All you need to lose faith is to lose your reason to believe. And you sound like you’ve lost yours.”
She lifted her chin. Her jaw jutted out stubbornly. “Are you talking about me, or yourself?”
“Maybe both.” He watched her. Her mouth was tight. Her eyes were glassy. “I can still breathe without belief in a higher power. If you hold a pillow over my head, I’ll die. That’s fact. That’s truth. That’s what I believe. And I think that’s what you believe, too.”
“You don’t know what I believe.” The flash of anger in her eyes almost made him smile. So she wasn’t all sweetness and light. She had fire. “You can’t sit there and tell me I don’t have faith.”
“Maybe not, but I can tell you to give up.” Tony ran his hand over his jaw and pushed himself to his feet. “You’re wasting your time here. There’s nothing to save in this mess.”
She frowned and flicked an imperious hand at the stacks of boxes. “You’re surrounded by material possessions. You had the money to rent a truck. You lost your home, but you still have another one. A home that will keep Miranda sheltered and warm. A home that will keep Miranda safe. You have so much more than so many others. More than anything, you have the love of a little girl who needs you, when so many others would kill to be able to even have a child.”
Her throat worked in a swallow. “You have so much worth saving. So much that shows everything you’ve worked for, and everything you love. But you can only see failure and despair. You’re lost. You’ve lost yourself. That’s why I’m here, Tony.”
Guilt took on a life of its own, and forced Tony to look away. Damn it, she was right. It only made him want her gone even more. That sweet face, those tormented, intense eyes, were the last things he needed haunting his life.
“Consider me chastised,” he muttered. “Now leave.”
He pointed down the street and waited, glaring. The tactic usually worked on one of Miranda’s tantrums, and would send her bolting to her room to take comfort in her dolls. This woman didn’t budge an inch. Her arms folded across ample br**sts, and of their own accord, his eyes drifted down. If she was an angel, shouldn’t her tank top cover just a little bit more?
The angry tapping of her foot dragged him back up to meet a ferocious glower. This woman was no angel. Not with the temper making sparks dance against those blue eyes.
“I don’t have a temper,” she said through her teeth. “And you can stop trying to scare me into running. I’ve seen worse. Do you think you can just sulk me into leaving?”
Tony threw his hands up. “What more do you want?”
“To save your soul. Remember?”
“From what?”