Angel of Redemption (50 page)

“Yes. Madison was celebrating her birthday, and I
decided to fly her to Paris for the week as a gift.”

“What a wonderful birthday present.
” I
smile sweetly. “I was just commenting on how fantastic Mrs. Badeau looks.” I
glance at Madison, who’s scowling at me. If she could shoot death rays from her
eyeballs, I would be nothing but a pile of ash right now. Mr. Badeau doesn’t
seem to notice.

“Darling, this is, uh
… I’m sorry, I’ve
forgotten your name,” Madison sneers.

“Mr. Badeau, Kayla Brooks,” Dean introduces. Mr.
Badeau takes my hand, kissing it and leering at me like he’s Rico Suave. It’s a
little creepy.

“Of course. I’m sorry. Kayla’s a social worker.
She has a couple of kids placed at Wyatt House,” Madison explains.

The old man grins at me, completely ignoring his
wife’s babble. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” I flirt purposely.

Madison slips her arm through her husband’s. “It
was nice to meet you,
Katy
,
”
she says acidly. “But my husband and I have a few important people we need to
talk to before supper. Dean.” She runs her tongue over her top teeth. “We’ll
see you in a little while.”

When they’re gone, Dean shakes his head. “This is
so fucking painful.”

“Ah, come on, baby,” I purr. “That was pure
entertainment.”

Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against
mine. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Are you looking for suggestions?” I tease. “Because
I have a few.”

“Jesus Christ, woman,” he chuckles. “Let’s get
another drink.”

Kayla

Half an hour later, we’re
approached by a white-gloved server who informs us that dinner is served.

Dean leads me to our table, his hand resting on
my bare lower back. Emily and Aiden are already seated along with two other
couples. A few minutes later, we’re joined by the Badeaus. Madison hurries to
take the seat next to Dean, flashing him her boobs as she sits. He completely
ignores her, but by the way Aiden quickly shifts his eyes to his wife, I’m
pretty sure he got a good look.

A waiter fills our wineglasses while we introduce
ourselves to the other people seated at the table. One of the men is a surgeon,
and his wife is an OB-GYN; they seem nice enough. The other couple is not very
friendly toward us. They
’re both lawyers. She’s an assistant DA, and he’s
a divorce attorney.

“What’s her deal?” I ask Dean quietly, nodding in
the direction of the sour-looking woman.

“She was the attorney for the prosecution when I
was arrested for the drugs,
” he whispers back.

My mouth drops. “Why in the hell would your
mother seat us with them?”

Dean shrugs. “Because she’s under the impression
that people will be able to look beyond my past.”

“They should.”

“But they don’t. I’m used to it, Kayla. Just
leave it.”

I don’t want to just leave it, but I do because I
don’t want to upset him. Everyone is chatting and drinking and laughing. A
slideshow of people who have benefited from the Wyatt House Scholarship Fund
plays on a projector screen set up on the stage. A lot of the images are
college graduation photos. I’m watching, lost in my own head, when Dean shifts
in his seat. I glance over at him. He looks uncomfortable.

“What’s the matter?” I whisper.

“I have a hand on my thigh,” he returns, his
voice low.

My eyebrows shoot up. It’s bad enough that the
bitch does this when her husband is next to her, but now she’s treading on my
territory as well.

“Come here,” I order.

“Huh?”

I curl my finger and then wrap my hand around his
neck to bring his face close to mine. From her angle, I’m sure it looks like we’re
kissing. Dean’s whole body turns toward me.

“Is it off?” I breathe into his ear.

“Is what off?”

“Her hand,” I laugh.

“Oh. No. God, you smell good.”

“You’re smelling me?”

He hums and presses his lips against my throat.
Seconds later, his body stiffens.

“Fuck,” he grumbles.

Glancing downwards, I can just make out the tips
of Madison’s fingers rubbing his upper thigh. This woman has some fucking
nerve. Dean returns to sitting straight in his seat and reaches under the
table. By the look Madison gives him, he must have forcibly removed her hand.

Dean inhales heavily through his nose and picks
up his glass of wine, bringing it to his lips. I can see Madison eyeballing
him. She’s obviously not taking the hint. In a split-second decision, I reach
over and put my hand on Dean’s package.

Maybe I should have waited for him to put his
glass down. He jumps and chokes, spitting his drink halfway across the table.
Everyone looks at him. I don’t want anyone to know I caused the reaction, so I
stare at him as well.

“Are you okay, son?” Mr. Badeau asks.

“Yeah,” Dean rasps. “Fine, thank you.”

I press my lips together in an attempt to keep
from laughing, but Dean’s face is hysterical. He doesn’t look at me right away.
He waits until the table has resumed conversation. I stare up at one of the
chandeliers. I can see him turn his head out of the corner of my eye.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, blowing hot air
across my ear. I shiver involuntarily, but don’t move my hand.

“I’m helping you.”

“Really?” He chuckles silently, covering his hand
with mine. “Is this what you call helping?” I let my tongue slip out slightly
between my teeth and grin at him. He moves our hands over his bulge, and I can
feel it growing hard.

“Feels like it’s helping to me,” I tease.

“Shit,” he laughs.

I glance around the table. Madison meets my gaze
briefly with a sour expression on her face, but she looks away again
immediately. No one is else is paying attention. They’re all wrapped up in
their little conversations. I
’m suddenly very hot and bothered.

I cross my legs under the table, letting the
dress fall open at the slit, exposing my skin. Dean removes his hand but doesn
’t
push mine away, and I’m tempted to keep going. I want to feel how big it gets.
I’m surprised when I feel his fingertips brush over my thigh. I take in a
breath. Dean picks up his wineglass, drinking nonchalantly. What is this game
we’re playing?

A server comes around, momentarily distracting
me, until I feel another hand brush against mine. This one has talons and has
just invaded Dean’s crotch space. I whip my head around.

Madison gasps and snatches her hand back as I
glare at her incredulously. She’s wide-eyed for a moment before by her husband
steals her attention.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she coos, lifting the hand she just
used to accost Dean to her husband’s face. Dean looks at me, and I wrinkle my
nose in disgust. I remove my hand because the others at the table are starting
to get suspicious, but his hand stays on my leg.

“See? Helping.”

Dean runs his hand over his face, hiding his
amusement.

Our meals are served and people eat while they
continue to talk. Dean has to take his hand off my thigh to reach his food, and
I’m a little disappointed. Madison keeps shooting us nasty glances. Dean is
doing everything he can to keep from engaging in conversation with her, but
eventually, she’s had enough of being ignored.

“So, Dean,” she says loudly so that the entire
table turns to her. “I’m curious to know how the boys in the house are
benefiting from our charitable donations. You get money from the state as well,
don’t you?”

Dean looks up at Aiden. “We’re subsidized by the
state as well, yes,” he answers, setting down his fork. “But taking care of
seven teenage boys is much more expensive than the state can afford. We get
about twenty thousand dollars a year per child. It takes roughly twice that
much to care for each one. That includes food, clothing, household expenses,
allowances, and staff pay.”

“You give them allowances? What for?” she bites. “Aren’t
you concerned they’ll buy drugs or something?”

I find myself getting frustrated by her
questions, but Dean answers them easily.

“A lot of these kids are with us until they leave
the system. How can we justifiably send them out into the real world without
any knowledge of how money works? When they turn sixteen, we encourage them to
get a job unless it interferes with their schoolwork or stability. We also pay
for incidentals that the system doesn’t feel are necessary
—driver’s
licenses, insurance. These kids aren’t just a job; they’re our family. We want
the best for them. And I worry as much as any parent would about drugs and peer
pressure, but I do what I can to teach them responsibility and pray they’re
listening.”

I notice that several people from surrounding
tables have turned to listen to what Dean has to say.

“You teach them responsibility?” the woman lawyer
scoffs. “How do
you
teach them responsibility? You are the
epitome of someone who doesn’t understand the meaning of that word.”

The tension around the table is palpable.

“I understand it more than anyone,” Dean replies loudly.
“I’m not just some adult hypocritically spouting off to these kids about how
they should behave. I’m a living, breathing example of what can go wrong if
they make bad decisions. Do not make assumptions about my life, Mrs. Tally. I
love these kids and will do anything to keep them from making my mistakes.”

The room around us has grown eerily silent. There
is still the hum of distant conversations, but I’m pretty sure that a large
majority of people in our vicinity, including Joe and Maria, heard Dean’s
outburst. I glance around. No one seems to know how to react. Looking back to
Dean, I see his head is bowed.

“Come on,” I urge, standing up. “Let’s go get
some air.”

He downs the rest of his wine and stands,
grabbing my hand. We weave through tables. I can feel eyes on us, but I don’t
care. I’m only worried about him.

There’s a patio off to the side, but there are
curtains and a sign indicating that it’s closed for repairs. Dean ignores the
sign and slams through the door, dragging me behind him. At first, the cool air
feels good on my overheated skin, but the second the breeze blows, I’m
absolutely frozen.

Dean lets go of my hand and grabs the railing.
Music plays over the speakers. I don’t know if it’s from the gala, or if it’s the
hotel
’s mood music.

“Are you okay?” I ask, putting my hand on his
back.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“I said I am, didn’t I?” he snaps. I back up and
give him a minute to calm down. “Sorry. I’m used to this shit. I don’t know why
I let it get to me.” I wrap my arms around myself and try to keep my teeth from
chattering when another breeze blows over us. “They can question my past, I don’t
give a flying fuck. “ He clenches his fist. “But when they question my kids
…”

I want to touch him, comfort him…do something.

“Fuck!” he swears. “I gotta get out of here.” When
he turns, I move to stand in front of him. “Kayla,” he warns.

“Please don’t go,” I beg. “Please?” I watch his
Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“What do you want from me?” he asks, staring down
at me.
“I was right when I told you I can’t give you what you need. You
should’ve listened to me.”

“And I told you to let me decide what I need,” I
snap. “Now stop being an asshole and let me in.”

I suddenly find myself pressed up against the
wall, Dean’s hands on either side of my head, his lips on mine.

“Is this what you want?” he growls as he pulls
away. “A fucked-up man bringing you into his fucked-up world? You want people to
look at you and wonder why you’re with a monster?” His mouth is back,
aggressive and bordering on painful. I let him kiss me, but refuse to kiss him
back. When he finally deflates, his head bows against my shoulder.

“You’re not a monster,” I say, my voice just a
whisper.
“Nobody sees you that way. And even if they do, you should know
by now… I don’t care what people think or say or do.”

“I don’t know what you want,” he sighs into my
neck, defeated.

“I just want to be with you.”

“Because I’m so low maintenance?” The joke takes
me off guard, and I smile.

“Yeah. And because you’re really fucking sexy.”

He draws back. I stare into his dark, green eyes,
which look black in the low light.

“I’m sexy? Right now? In the middle of a
meltdown?”

I shrug. “What can I say?
”

His eyes dart to my mouth and then back to my
eyes. A new song sounds over the speakers. It’s slow, romantic.

“Dance with me,” I say, fiddling with his jacket
lapel.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“I don’t either,” I admit. “But no one’s here to
tell us we’re doing it wrong.”

After only a moment’s hesitation, Dean steps
backward, the hands that caged me in now held out in front of him.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he says, which, of course,
makes me laugh. He wraps his strong arms around me, pulling me close, and I
reach mine around his neck. We probably look like a couple of high school kids
slow dancing. I rest my head against his chest as we begin to move. My heart’s
beating way too fast. My eyes burn with tears I don’t understand. The way he’s
holding me, the way his fingers trail up and down my spine as we sway
,
the way his chest rises and falls against mine with each heavy breath… It’s all
nearly too much. I let my hand drift to the back of his neck, scratching my
short nails over the feathering of hair.

The song continues, but we’ve stopped moving.
Dean
’s hand is splayed out, pressing against the center of my back.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispers.

I can’t speak. If I do, I might say words I can’t
possibly mean. Closing my eyes, I run my nose along his jaw.

“Stay with me tonight.”

My breath stutters. “I
…”

“I want to be with you, too,” he murmurs.
“Since
the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

I take a moment to figure out if he’s really
asking what I think he’s asking, and then nod in silent affirmation. Suddenly,
I shiver violently.

“Oh, shit!” he swears. “Are you cold? I’m so
sorry.” He moves to take off his jacket, but I stop him.

“I’m fine. That
’s not why I’m shivering.”