Part 11

He was ignoring her. Not, she told herself firmly, that it mattered. He’d accompanied her as a friend, nothing more, and she had only asked him because she hadn’t wanted to come on her own, anyway. And she enjoyed Spike’s attention. Spike who seemed attached to her side like a leech ever since he’d pulled her out to the dance floor. Not that she was listening to anything he was saying. Instead her attention kept wandering to Angel, who was standing with - she had to narrow her eyes for a moment to recognize the woman - Claire Halloway! Dammit, why on earth did it have to be Claire? She’d been Buffy’s Highschool nemesis, the self-declared Queen of Highschool, the girl who had beaten her year after year, except one, in the run for Homecoming Queen.

And now she was clinging to Angel like a climbing plant. And he even seemed to enjoy it, he smiled, laughed, accepted the drink she was handing him. He was laughing again. And now he even winked! Buffy felt her insides clench traitorously. She didn’t care, dammit! Angel was no more than a friend, if even that, there was no reason for her to feel something that was strangely close to jealousy.

Jealousy! Pah!

The only reason her gut was twisting heavily was simply because she’d always hated Claire Halloway. Or course that had to be the explanation. It had nothing at all to do with jealousy. Nothing.

Content with her own reasoning, she managed to tear her gaze away from the man who was supposed to be her companion for the evening, and turned to the one who had turned out to be, beaming at him brightly. “Spike, I’m rather thirsty. Would you mind getting me something cold and not too sweet?”

“Sure,” he replied with a wink, then disappeared in the crowd surrounding the beverages. She looked after him, the guy she had lusted after in Highschool, feeling absolutely nothing. He was a nice guy, witty, fun to be with, but he was also not tall enough, although he was still taller then she, he was too skinny, although she could also do with a few more pounds as Cordy had pointed out recently. And he was blond, although so far she’d preferred blondes to any other colouring in a man.

So far, yeah, but not anymore. Thanks to a certain someone she choose not to mention her whole world was hanging askew and she didn’t like it. Not one bit. Thanks to Angel no other man seemed tempting enough, not even the guy she’d been dreaming about all through her teenage years.

Disgusted with herself, and her own weakness, she turned only to come face to face with, “Willow!”

The redhead raised her brows and barely suppressed a grin, “How nice to see you again. Are you Buffy, by any chance? The friend I wanted to meet tonight, but who got lost with a certain bleached blond man who once was the star of her colourful teenage dreams?”

“I am so sorry,” Buffy put a hand on her friend’s arm and gave her a regretful look.

With a dismissive gesture, Willow put the other woman at ease, “Don’t worry. We’re going to see each other next weekend. But Liam seemed slightly … shall we say … disturbed at the way Spike has been monopolizing you.”

Her gaze travelling to the man in question, the blond snorted, “Yeah, sure. That’s why he’s been drooling over Claire all night.”

“So you do care?”

Whirling around, Buffy looked into the slightly amused face of the woman who’d been her friend for so long. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Willow grinned, “Just that you did your best tonight to demonstrate how little you care for him. That’s not the way to get a man, you know.”

The blonde’s eyes narrowed instantly, “I don’t want to get him, as you put it. He’s a friend, nothing more.”

“He is?” the redhead’s brows rose again, “Strange, I got the very distinct impression that there is something between you. The way you two look at each other - especially if you’re sure the other isn’t noticing.”

“I am not looking at him that way!” Buffy said firmly. No way she did care for Angel that way. He was nice, granted, and sexy, sure. But that’s where it ended. Couldn’t Willow see that? “He is a friend.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that, and I’m wondering if it’s merely to convince yourself.”

Before Buffy was able to respond to that outrageous statement, Spike appeared again, hading her a glass. “Here, club soda with lemon. I hope that’s okay.”

“Fine, thanks,” she beamed at him, even more brightly than before. So maybe she was sexually attracted to Angel, okay, maybe even strongly, but that didn’t mean she was … God, this was ridiculous. She ignored Willow’s meaningful look, and sipped from her drink. Maybe it was going to help her to cool down. She felt so hot, she was already wondering if the room was overheated.

*****

“Sexual harassment?” Kathie stared at Wesley in shock, her eyes wide and disbelieving, he felt her hand tremble on his arm. What was she going to think of him now? She hadn’t said a lot about her past, but he’d gotten the distinct impression that somewhere a man had forced himself on this sweet, vulnerable woman and left deep scars in her soul. How was she going to react to such an accusation? Would she run in horror? Or merely retreat to a safe distance? Either way, he wasn’t sure he could stand it. To see her looking at him in disgust was more he was able to bear.

“Yes,” he nodded, patting the hand on his arm, “One of my students made an official complaint. The Powers have suspended me from my post as long as the case is not decided.”

Her hand fell from his arm, and he smiled sadly, having expected her to do exactly that. But he almost jumped out of his skin when she suddenly shouted, “How dare they?”

His head shot around, and he found himself staring at five feet four inches of enraged woman. Her eyes were shooting fire, and her hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides. “How dare they!” she repeated, her voice rising even more, “This is ridiculous. You would never do such a thing. Can’t they see that?”

Wesley was hardly able to believe what was happening right in front of him, and stuttered, “Y-you don’t think I … I mean …”

“Of course not,” she snorted. “This is so utterly ridiculous. You would never force yourself on a woman, much less one of your students.” Her voice lowered, her eyes softened, “I know you, Wes. And I trust you. Do you think I would if I thought you capable of such things?”

He was humbled beyond words by her trust, and was hardly able to speak, his throat so tight, he had to swallow over the lump that had formed there. “Kathie.” Her name was all that came out, and he didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly her arms were wrapped around his waist, and he felt her hot breath through the thin material of his shirt.

“Kathie,” he repeated, holding her tight. “You don’t know what this means to me. To see you believe in me.”

“Of course I believe in you. As I said,” her head came up, and a smile bloomed on her features, “I know you. And besides, I have a brother who happens to be a detective. You see, we’ll have this solved in now time.”

At that he couldn’t help himself. Before he could contemplate his next move, he was already kissing her.

*****

It was about ten p.m. when Angel found himself seriously wondering why he’d been stupid enough to go this darned Highschool reunion. Or rather why he’d given in. No, that wasn’t true. Given in would’ve required persuasion, right? But instead of making himself hard to get, he’d all but jumped into that car, thrilled by the idea that he could spend some hours at Buffy’s side.

What a joke.

Instead of feeling cheerful because he was with the woman of his dreams, he’d had to spend the last three hours watching her flirting with Spike, dancing with Spike, or just being near the annoying blond guy. If he’d be wearing a tie - like most of the other guys at the “party” - he’d yank it off and throw it on the ground in frustration. And if watching Buffy with Spike wasn’t enough, he’d been forced to endure the attentions of Claire Halloway, who - as he knew now - had been Buffy’s Highschool nemesis, and who obviously found it extremely amusing to hit on the guy who’d come with Buffy Summers.

At least he was safe from her now, Angel mused with an inward sigh. That was the good part. The bad part was that he was now standing with Willow, Tara, Buffy, and of course Spike, who didn’t seem to be able to make a step on his own. Angel looked at his hands, then at his rival’s throat, assessing how well the former would fit around the latter.

Hardly to believe his own train of thoughts, Angel took a deep breath. This was going too far, if he was keeping this up, he was going to snap tonight and do something stupid. Like maybe beating the other guy up. Not that he actually deserved it. If he was honest with himself, Angel had to admit that Spike had done nothing to deserve his wrath. Buffy was the one who had brought him, but he couldn’t be angry with her either. He liked to think it was because she was doing what she was doing unconsciously, but he had the feeling that being angry with her just wasn’t part of his software, as Fred would call it.

Admit it, Angel, he thought with not a little amount of resignation, you’re completely besotted with this woman. And after watching her tonight, he wasn’t so sure anymore if this was a good thing.

Damn, this had never happened to him before. There had been women in his life, but so far, Angel had always managed to keep control over his relationships, if you could call them that. Some of them had been extremely short-lived, although he didn’t do one-night-stands, always wanted to at least care for his partner, even if their connection didn’t last long. But with Buffy, so it seemed, he was swimming in an ocean, the shore nowhere in sight, and he was more than a little afraid of drowning. Because one thing he knew for certain, Buffy had the power to hurt him - badly, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to recover any time soon - if ever.

He was just trying to focus back on the conversation floating around him, trying not to be annoyed by another one of Spike’s flat jokes, when his cell phone rang. Four pairs of startled eyes turned towards him, and he gave them an apologetic glance, before he pulled it from his pocket, and flicked it open, “Yeah?”

“Angel, it’s me.”

“Kathie?” A sick feeling immediately settled in his stomach. His sister never called him. Never. Except in a case of emergency. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” came her voice from the other end, but she sounded anything but. In fact she sounded distressed. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your evening with Buffy, but this isn’t about me. And I’m so… so angry, I had to call.”

Realising that the others were trying to understand what was going on, he covered the mouthpiece for a second, “It’s my sister. I’m sorry, this seems to be urgent.” He turned away then, concentrating on his sister’s voice. “Now, tell me, Kat, what’s going on?” He listened intently as she explained the reason for her call, described Wesley’s situation. “I didn’t know,” she said finally, “when you would be home tonight, that’s the only reason I called. Wes is worried sick. We need to do something.”

He didn’t want to but he had to ask. “You are sure he is innocent?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, baby, I’ll try to leave here as soon as possible. Tell Wes, Gunn and I will be with him first thing tomorrow morning. Tell him, we’re going to take care of this. And do me a favour, please try to sleep. I know your care for Wes-“

“Yes, I do,” she said firmly, and he knew her well enough that she was really serious about the guy.

“Okay. Call him. Tell him what I told you. We will talk tomorrow. I’ll try to leave soon, but it’s a two hour drive, so I won’t be back before midnight.”

“Alright.” He heard the relief from the other end, and the rolling in his gut settled. “Thanks. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

With that he switched the phone off, and turned, locking his eyes with Buffy’s. She might have ignored him for the better part of the night, but he couldn’t let it matter right now. He would’ve loved to have found another way to get home, giving her the cold shoulder for a change. But this was too important, he’d just have to nurse his own hurt feeling.

“Thas was Kathie. She needs me to come home as soon as possible. She’s terribly upset because a friend is in trouble.” He didn’t say Wesley’s name but he saw the understanding dawn in Buffy’s eyes, and nodded, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break this up, but this is important and I need to go. Now. Willow, Tara, I’m terribly sorry.”

“No problem,” the redhead gave him an understanding smile, “We understand.”

“Of course,” Tara added.

Buffy didn’t hesitate a second, snapping her purse from the near by table, “Then come. Will, Tara. We’ll see each other next weekend. Spike, it was good to see you again, and I’m sorry this has to end so abruptly, but you heard. This is an emergency.”

“Baby sister calling the big brother, huh? Yeah, of course the white knight has to ride to the rescue,” he said flippantly in an attempt to make another joke.

But Angel had had just about enough of the always witty, always chatty Mr. Stevens, whose real first name he still didn’t know. There had to be real name, he’d decided earlier. No mother in her right mind would call her son Spike

He whirled around, nailing the other man with what he hoped would be a murderous gaze, and only Buffy’s warm hand on his chest prevented him from grabbing Spike at his throat. “Angel,” she said softly, but firmly. “Think about Kathie. And Spike,” her eyes were suddenly cool, her voice even icier, “this was uncalled for. You don’t know what this is about, so keep out of it. Angel,” she put her other hand on his arm, pulling him with her towards their coats, “let’s go.”

He followed her, but shot the other man a last warning glance before they left. He had the feeling it wasn’t the last he’d seen of Spike Stevens.

Part 12

From the corner of her eye she saw glimpses of him whenever the moonlight fell over his features. His jaw was set, his eyes staring straight ahead, and there was nothing relaxed about his posture. In fact he was so tense, she was expecting him to crack at the merest touch.

Buffy wasn’t quite sure what had caused this behaviour, if he was simply concerned for his sister, and how she would deal with the news about Wesley, or if she was part of it, too. Now, back in her car, with more time to think than she cared for, she realised what a bitch she’d been tonight. After purposely ignoring his phone calls for more than a week, she’d used him as her date for the party, only to flirt with Spike the whole evening, showing Angel in the process she couldn’t care less for his company.

The problem was, she did care for his company. A lot more than it was good for the peace of her soul. Even without his constant phone-calls she wouldn’t have been able to ban him from her thoughts. Whenever she closed her eyes she saw his face, that outrageous grin, the deep knowledge in his dark orbs, his uneasiness in showing her his home, unsure how’d she react to it, and the way his eyes had followed her while she’d been studying his paintings.

They were another reason she hadn’t been able to forget about him. Having grown up around her step-father, her eyes had been schooled by one of the best, and she’d instantly seen the immense talent, the way Angel was able to express his feelings with colours and style. He claimed he wasn’t that good, but she knew he was wrong. If he would concentrate on art, he could become really famous. If others saw the things she’d seen, he would be a star in no time.

She was fascinated by the personality shining from the paintings, the devotion, she could see in each stroke of the brush, the way he was playing with colours and emotions was simply breathtaking. Even if she hadn’t seen the man behind them, she would’ve had a hard time forgetting about him.

As it was, the man himself was sitting beside her, tension still radiating from him, doing his best to ignore she was there at all. Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore, and asked, “Are you ever going to tell me why your sister called? Or are you going to punish me by pretending I’m not here.”

“You mean because I had such a good time tonight?” has asked right back, and although his voice was controlled, she could hear the anger in it.

She sighed, knowing that his accusation was only fair. She had been ignoring him all night after all. “I’m sorry. I know I behaved badly tonight. I … I don’t know what came over me … why I …” she sighed again, realising she was lying through her teeth. She knew very well why she had behaved like a bitch tonight, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t deal with it right now, and came back to her first subject, “So are you going to tell me? Only if you want, that is.”

He seemed to contemplate it for a moment, then she saw his shoulders relax slightly, before he said, “It was about Wes. It seems he’s been accused of sexual harassment by one of his female students.”

Buffy almost did a double take at that, “He, what? But … I can’t believe it.” She almost had to laugh, and she would’ve, hadn’t she already seen what an accusation like that could do to a person. Especially to a man as sensitive as Wesley. She didn’t know him very well, but from their evening she’d gotten the impression he genuinely cared for Kathie Sullivan, and that he wasn’t the kind of guy who forced himself on women.

“I can see why Kathie is concerned,” she said with a side-glace at Angel, “These kind of accusations can be quite serious.”

“Yes, she is, and I agree that it can be a serious offense,” he replied, relaxing another bit. “She cares a lot about him, and although I’m still not quite certain what to think of their … involvement … She hasn’t cared for a man that way since-.” He stopped abruptly, a frown appearing on his forehead for a moment. It was gone quickly and he went on, “Anyways. I didn’t want to separate from you friends.”

There was an emphasis on the word friends, Buffy noticed easily. “Spike and I go a long way back. I … had a thing for him in Highschool. Nothing ever came of it. He had a steady girlfriend then. She was older than me, beautiful, and very possessive. And he was totally in love with her. And besides, I already apologised for my behaviour tonight. I am really sorry, I shouldn’t have ignored you the way I did. And just for the record, Spike and I are just friends.”

“Could have fooled me,” he muttered, but she’d heard it nevertheless

“Okay, yeah, I might have gone a little overboard tonight,” she agreed, remembering the fluttering lashes, the bright smiles she’d given Spike. “But, Angel, the problem is-“

She never finished her sentence, because that very moment there was a loud noise, and then the car severed on the road. Buffy gripped the wheel tightly, trying to hold the car on track. She was an experienced driver, but even her experience didn’t prevent the car from slipping from the road into the bushes, where it came to an abrupt halt.

“Are you alright?”

She heard the concern in Angel’s voice as he tried to fee himself of the safety-belt. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a bit shaken.” Which was a true understatement. She felt her insides flip, and her hands, still lying on the wheel, had started to tremble. “What was that?”

“A guess?” Angel reached for the door, pushed it open, “I’d say one of your tyres just ended its long and dutiful life.”

Her eyes widened, “You mean I have a flat?” Oh, no, please no. “A flat tyre.” They were on a Highway, in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, and it wasn’t very likely another car would pass them any time soon. This was great. Just wonderful. Why on earth was this happening to her? And why tonight of all nights?

Angel nodded before climbing out, careful not to get caught in the bushes, “That’s exactly what I think.” After a moment he appeared at her door, pulling it open, “Yup,” he held out his hand for her, “The hind left is beyond saving.”

She stared at him, still trying to understand what he’d told her. She had a flat tyre. Which meant… ”Are you absolutely, undoubtedly sure?”

A small frown appeared on his forehead, as if he might question her hearing, or her sanity, or maybe both. “Okay, I admit I’m not exactly the expert on flat tyres. But see for yourself, this one,” he nodded at the one in question, “looks definitely flat to me.” He must have seen the colour rush from her face, because he hurried on, “Hey, that’s no reason to faint. I might not be an expert, but I have changed tyres now and then. We’ll have this little baby running again in now time.”

He turned and walked towards her trunk. He wouldn’t have guessed her to be the panicky type, but obviously he’d been wrong. He reached for the button to open the trunk, but before he even touched it, her voice stopped him cold. “That’s no use. There isn’t anything there.”

What the hell… “What do you mean, there isn’t anything there?” Despite her words he opened the trunk and was greeted by emptiness.

She could see the incredulity in his eyes, and smiled sheepishly. “Uhm … no spare tyre, that is. I … uh … My sister moved about two weeks ago. I helped her and to have more space…”

“… you removed the spare tyre,” he finished her sentence, running a hand through his hair, at the same time exhaling loudly, on an expletive. He didn’t use them regularly, but tonight might just be the time. This night certainly couldn’t get much worse. “Which means we’re stranded in this goddamn wilderness in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not the wilderness,” she argued, raising her chin at his hidden accusation. No way she was going to spend a whole night … endless hours … with Angel … in the confined space of a car. No way. Nuh-uh. Denial would never work in such close quarters. “We’re right beside an Highway. Someone will come … soon.” People did drive during the night. She and Angel did it. Certainly someone would come

“Yeah, sure,” he shook his head, then chuckled slightly, although it didn’t exactly sound amused. “Get real, Buffy. The way I see it, we’re going to spend the night in your car, if we like it or not. Because I don’t see anyone coming to our rescue.”

“Well, we do have our cell phones,” she replied, already diving into the car to get hers. “We can call-“

“What? You’re going to keep the local sheriff or whoever is going to come from his well-earned sleep just because you forgot to put the spare back in your car?” He slightly tilted his head, “On a second thought, that’d be exactly what someone like you would do.”

“No, I’m not going to call the local sheriff. Never heard anything about roadside help, huh?” With that she punched some buttons on her cell, waited for the other party to answer. When nothing happened she tried it again, listened, then with a disgusted snort stuffed the phone back in her pocket. “Just my luck,” she muttered, “The line is out of order due to temporary technical problems.” She threw her hands in the air. “God, this can’t be happening. It’s a nightmare.”

“You act as if the world’s going to end.” Angel slightly shook his head.

“I just don’t care for a night in a car and … What did you mean by saying, someone like me?” she asked suddenly when she remembered his words from before. “Like me, what? What do you think I am?”

He held up his hands, “Forget it, alright? I’m not in the mood for this.” He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. Why in God’s name had he ever agreed to go with her tonight? He looked at her, standing in the moonlight, her party dress clinging to her womanly curves, her legs long and tempting. And he also saw her big, expressive eyes, clouded with a mixture of anger and worry, and her mouth, rich and full, and oh so tempting. And he knew only too well why he’d come with her. Damn his hormones. He’d never had problems controlling them before, but ever since Buffy’d appeared in his life, nothing seemed to be like it was anymore.

“You are not in the mood?” she shot back, her voice rising. “You insult me … or at least I think you did, and then you just end the discussion?”

“I don’t want to discuss it, okay?” he replied, trying to keep his voice down. “We will spend the night together in this car. Maybe we shouldn’t try to make it even more uncomfortable by fighting.” Remembering Kathie who was still waiting for him at home, he reached for his cell-phone.

Her eyes narrowed slightly at that, “Are you going to call for help now?”

Ignoring the sarcasm in her voice, he didn’t look up while punching the number, “No, as you said, the line doesn’t work. I’m going to give Kat a call. She needs to know where I am or she might worry.”

Suddenly feeling like an insensitive heel, Buffy quickly looked away, ran a hand through her long hair. Of course Angel was going to call Kathie. That was showing again what kind of guy he was. And why she’d liked him from the start. He would be perfect, if… Damn. Don’t go there. Especially not now. You’re going to spend the night with the man. Okay, so nothing’s going to happen, she thought, trying to ignore the little pang of disappointment, but still. He is right, we should try to get along tonight. But hey, she’d told him she was sorry, right?

She heard him talk to his sister, explain why he’d be delayed, then he laughed slightly. “Kathie sends you her best,” he told her. “She said it’s just my luck to strand with a flat tyre and to have to spend the night with a beautiful woman. She offered to come and get us, but I could convince her to stay with Wes. I think he needs her a lot more right now.”

“It’s my fault, remember,” she snapped, feeling her gut flutter at his words. Did he really think she was beautiful? Her mouth was suddenly dry and she had to clear her throat before she was able to continue, “Okay, then. Maybe we should … you know, talk about how we’re going to do this.”

He chuckled at that, “Not to repeat myself, but I can’t believe you never spend a night in a car. On the other hand, people like you-“

She was in his face before he could finish the sentence, “And here we go again. What the Hell do mean by that. People like me? What kind of person am I?”

God, she was adorable, with the fury darkening her eyes, the righteous anger sparkling in them. His pants suddenly felt too tight. Gunn was right. His friend had told him he needed to get laid. And he was right. Angel needed sex, a lot of it. But the problem was, he didn’t want to have it with just any woman. He wanted Buffy. Unfortunately she didn’t want him. He still couldn’t believe he’d been so wrong about her, she’d been so responsive during their kiss at his house, but tonight her actions couldn’t have been clearer had she hit them home with a slash-hammer.

She was still looking at him, a furious goddess in the pale light of the moon, her hair almost white, she had an eeriness about her that took his breath away. “Tell me,” she demanded.

All he wanted was to take her and kiss her senseless. “Look, I didn’t mean to-“

“No,” she put her hands at her hips, “You are not going to do it again. I want an answer, now.” This was a lot safer, than all the other feelings racing through her. He was standing close, too close, and even with his clothes rumpled from the car, and the weariness etched in his face, he was simply too damned attractive. Angel would at least help her to get her mind from straying. This way she could blame her anger for the furious beating of her heart. And besides, his accusations really infuriated her. She had an idea what they were about, and she didn’t like them one single bit.

God, she was beautiful. He tried to pay attention to her anger, tried to focus on her question, but it was in vain. All he could think about was the tempting woman in front of him, x-rated images flashing through his mind. How would she look, naked, bathed in moonlight, slick with sweat? Jesus, he was going to lose it.

He quickly turned away, but before he could even draw a calming breath, she grabbed his arm, pulled him back to her, forced him to look … and then it happened.

“You know what…” she started, but the words died on her lips. Their eyes locked and held. Buffy felt her mouth go dry, felt her voice clog in her throat, felt her knees go weak. The raw passion she saw in his eyes was like a shot of aphrodisiac.

Like a wildfire initiating from a single flame they were in each others arms. But this time it wasn’t the kind of kiss they’d shared in his house. There was nothing of the romantic tension, the heating passion. No, this was urgent, groping like teenagers their hands were seeking contact.

Angel’s lips raced over her face, as if there wasn’t enough time left to taste every inch of her, while he crushed her against him, her lips showing him the same frenzy need he felt deep inside. When their mouths finally met, they parted instantly so their tongues could meld, so they could deepen the kiss before it really began.

Angel lifted her from the ground, devouring her mouth again, her legs coming around his waist with a will of their own, and she moaned deep in her throat when she felt the cold surface of the car behind her, his hips grounding into her again, showing her the extent of his need, initiating the same in her. She felt the warmth between her legs, and suddenly didn’t care that it was betraying everything she’d so desperately tried herself to convince of. Right now, all she could feel, all that mattered, was the body close to her own, the head radiating from him, the arousal she could not only feel pressing against her thigh, but on every inch of his skin.

His shirt was ripped apart on his collar, but he didn’t care. He’d never find the buttons again, but he hadn’t liked it anyway. He’d only put it on so she’d be pleased with him, so she might very well be the one to rip it off him as well. Her hands on his bare skin felt like Heaven. God, her mouth tasted like honey, so sweet, and tempting, and hot, and the little noises she made were driving him crazy. There was a part of his brain that tried to remind him they were right beside a Highway, and he was close to making love to her on the hood of her own car, but he didn’t, couldn’t care. This was what he’d wanted from the moment he’d seen her on the party, and although he’d imagined their first time in a bed, slow, and lasting, after tonight nothing else was possible. The tension had built steadily, and it seemed only fair for it to erupt in an explosion of feelings.

And she couldn’t touch him fast enough, completely enough. She wanted to discover every inch of him at once. His powerful shoulders, his muscled back, the impossible hard wall of his chest. Her entire body was on fire, burning with need, pulsing with longing, pent up for years, or maybe forever, never sated by the right men, the throbbing between her legs now so acute it bordered on pain.

Angel caught her wrists with one hand, pinned them to the cold surface of the car, while the other was going to her back, opening her dress, pulled it off, before he started devouring her. His mouth was almost rough, hungry, his teeth slightly scraping her skin, where they were travelling down her neck, towards the valley between her breasts, remaining there for a moment, unclasping the front lock of her bra, then lower still, to her navel.

When his tongue delved inside, she arched from the car, the sweet torture he was inflicting on her almost too much to bear. Her legs came around him once again, and she tried to free her hands, wanted to touch him, wanted to open what he still kept hidden from her. But she shouldn’t have worried. Before she could finish the thought, she heard a zipper open, then heard him groan, “God, I can’t wait.”

“Then don’t,” she returned on a hiss, gritting her teeth against the ache between her legs. “Don’t wait,” she urged him again. “I want this. Now.”

And he didn’t need any other encouragement. When he slipped inside, it was so powerful, they both cried out at the final completion. And then they were rocking together, holding each other, taking and giving.

As they sank into oblivion, Angel knew without a doubt that he was lost. To her, to his feelings. It might be wrong, but there was no going back now, there was no way he could, and more importantly, would change it. And when he cried out her name, it was on a declaration of love.

Part 13

There was something eternally beautiful about a sunrise. The way the darkness slowly faded, giving way to the light, like death making room for a new life. And although no sunrise was like the other, there was also something familiar, the steady rising of hope, of light winning over darkness.

Angel usually loved the sunrise, loved to watch the day being born. He would take a deep breath, enjoy a steaming mug of coffee, the quietness of the early hour peaceful and promising at the same time. This morning however, he wasn’t able to pay attention to the spectacular way the sun rose behind the horizon, and peace simply wouldn’t come.

The realization that he was in fact in love with Buffy Summers had left him shaken and restless. He’d suspected it for a while, truth to be told, he’d suspected it right from the start, that she could be dangerous for the peace of his mind, but last night, while the waves of orgasm had swept over them, he’d known it for certain. Crying out her name at the peak of passion, he had done it from the depth of his soul, had known that he was lost, even though he’d heard the alarm bells ring in his head, even though he knew it left him open for hurt and pain. But nothing mattered, could matter, besides this burning fire inside, that left no room for anything else.

He hadn’t been able to sleep after they’d finally made it inside the car, after they’d satisfied their needs again, this time with her on top, her hair gleaming above him, her pale skin shining in the moonlight. It had been on the ground that second time, and Angel still felt the abrasions on his butt. At least they hadn’t done it on the hood of the car again. Jesus, on the hood of a car! He’d never lost control like that before. Nothing had mattered anymore, not the danger of being discovered and locked up for immoral behaviour, not the strange location, the only thing that mattered was that he was finally able to fulfil his hunger, his need, and that Buffy had been doing the same.

She might deny it today, but yesterday night she’d wanted him as much as he wanted her, the second time on the ground initiated by her lips, her need for more. She’d instantly fallen asleep then, sprawled atop of him, and for a moment he’d considered staying like this, savouring the feeling of her so close to him for the rest of the night. But reason had finally won out, and he’d carried her inside, tried to make her comfortable in the backseat, her soft snores causing an ache deep inside his chest, a longing for her to be always near, always by his side.

It wasn’t going to happen, though. He was too much of a realist to believe that one - or two - quick romps in the wilderness - not that they it felt like this for him, but undoubtedly Buffy would see it that way - would change a single thing. At least not for her. For him it had changed everything. But he knew without doubt that she wouldn’t see it that way. Would she be embarrassed by her wanton behaviour, he wondered? Not that he minded it, or that it had been wanton at all. She’d been magnificent, and he’d not been able to look away from her face, with passion darkening her eyes, her mouth opening in a silent cry, her features slack with satisfaction. She’d been so beautiful, he’d wanted to paint her, to preserve her like that, but knew that no painter, even if he was a master of art, could catch that beauty.

He’d slipped from the car an hour ago, suddenly needing the fresh air, only a morning could provide, but he didn’t admire the sunrise as usual, he just stood there, beside the car, his eyes closed, his thoughts racing. Ten minutes ago he’d managed to surface enough to alert the sheriff of their problem, and the man had promised to send the local mechanic with a spare tyre. Maybe he should wake Buffy now, Angel thought, but the mechanic wouldn’t appear before eight, and as it was only seven now, he decided to let her sleep a while longer. And this wasn’t entirely unselfish. At least as long as she slept he could pretend she wouldn’t react the way he dreaded, at least for those few minutes his heart would still stay intact.

Closing his eyes, he raised his head to the sun, and thought about Buffy in his arms, with words of love on her lips.

*****

Her legs felt cramped. They sometimes did, especially after a restless sleep, with tossing and turning, or when Riley was lying in her bed, taking almost the whole space. He was a sound sleeper, but tall and broad, and her bed wasn’t made for men of his size. Well, that - of course - wasn’t entirely true, but it was another argument she had added to her long list why breaking up with the - according to her mother- ‘catch of the year’ had been a good thing. At least she would have her bed for her own from now on. Yes, that was definitely a good thing.

But in consequence it also meant that Riley couldn’t be the cause for her cramped legs. With a groan she rolled, stretching her aching extremities, only to come in contact with something hard and unyielding.

Hard and unyielding?

In her bed?

Her eyes shot open and she bolted upright, gasping as she found herself staring at the familiar interior of her car.

Where she had spent the night.

After having sex.

On the hood.

((Oh God!)

And on the ground.

((God. God. God.))

With Angel.

((Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.))

Her heart pounding wildly in her chest, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps, she frantically started searching for her shoes, found them underneath the front seat, her mind racing.

((God, what am I going to do?))

There was no denying it. She’d had sex with Angel, and not just sex, hot, wild, steamy, satisfying ((no don’t go there)) sex. More satisfying than she could remember ever having had before. ((Stop that!)) She closed her eyes, groaning inwardly at the images of her lying on the car, whimpering in pleasure, demanding more. God, it had been mind-blowing. She hadn’t known sex could be like that. It wasn’t like the stuff she remembered. With Parker, or Riley, or others. Not that there had been that many, but still. There was simply no comparison. When Cordy had told her about it, she had inwardly rolled her eyes, not believing one word. But now she knew. Knew it very well.

The problem was, mind-blowing or not, it didn’t change anything. Angel was still Angel, and he was still several years younger than her. Was it even possible a relationship between them could work? There wasn’t just their age, they were coming from completely different backgrounds too, leading different lives. She came from money, and from what she’d understood, Angel did not. She was a successful executive in her company, while Angel was struggling to get his business on its feet. Okay, they had art in common, and admittedly great sex, but could it be enough? And *what* the hell was she thinking anyway? A relationship? With Angel? There was no way they could have a relationship together.

And she didn’t even want to think about her mother’s reaction to this. To say Joyce would be shocked was putting it mildly. Not that she usually cared what her mother thought, but after the blow Buffy had delivered by dumping Riley, she wasn’t sure her mother was up for another *surprise*. And besides, she didn’t even want to have a relationship with Angel, right? Right! It was not only impossible, but madness. Sheer madness. She should be admitted to a mental institution for merely thinking it.

But maybe she could be excused this once. After a night like this she was probably entitled to think crazy thoughts. Like dating Angel. Living with Angel. Or at least having sex with him. Again.

Instantly she felt herself growing warm all over, her skin tingling at the mere thought of his lips touching it, of his clever hands finding all her sensitive spots, making her moan, and ...

She swallowed. Hard.

Closed her eyes. God, she had to get a grip on herself. She couldn’t let herself go on like this.

A motion beside the car had her looking around, and her eyes fell on a leather jacket outside the window. A very familiar leather jacket. The person who was wearing the jacket was leaning against the car, arms crossed in front of his chest, he didn’t seem to pay attention to what was happening inside the car.

Angel.

She felt her heart slamming against her ribcage - one time, hard - her mouth instantly dry again. God, this was ridiculous. She was thirty-four years old, for Goodness sake, not some hormonally driven teenager, with a crush for a good looking man. And Angel was a good looking man al right. More than that, he was definitely drooling material as Cordy would say. But she’d seen drooling material before, Hell even boring Riley was not bad looking guy as long as you didn’t know him any closer. And she’d known others.

Although Buffy wouldn’t call herself experienced, she wasn’t some fifteen year old virgin either. Some of the men she’d known had been probably even better looking than Angel. Face it, she told herself, there isn’t a rational explanation for what’s happening here. Something’s going on that’s beyond her control, in a way that excited a hidden part of her, but that mostly frightened her. In ways she wasn’t ready to admit. Not openly anyway. And not to Angel. Never, ever to Angel.

“Hey, man, that you with the flat?”

Buffy hadn’t even heard the truck coming, her mind occupied with images she couldn’t forget, and the man who had created them. The car that stopped behind hers was yellow with pink stripes and “Mickey’s” was written on its side in bold, flashy letters in neon green, and if she guessed right, this was a mechanic Angel had obviously called already.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she heard Angel reply, before he pushed himself off of the car, walked over to the truck and the man who was climbing down right this moment. He wore an overall with the same interesting combination of colours as the car, a Yankees’ baseball cap on his hat, his jaws busy with a red bubblegum.

“Nice,” the guy, probably Mickey, grinned and nodded at the flat tyre. “Forgot the spare, huh?”

Buffy experienced a slight pang of guilt at the comment and took it as her clue to leave the car and join the two men. “It was my fault,” she said without greeting. “I removed the spare tyre some weeks ago, and forgot to put it back in.” Forcing herself to look at Angel for a moment, she added, “Morning.

“She forgot it, huh?” the mechanic chuckled, winking at Angel. “Well,” he shifted his attention towards Buffy, gave her a once over that made her want to squirm, then turned back to Angel, “Wouldn’t actually call it a hardship, heh?” He winked again, “Nice ‘n cosy I’d say.”

Buffy felt herself blush and quickly had to look away, then stiffened when she felt Angel’s arm come around her shoulders. “My wife and I were on the way home when the car broke down.”

The mechanic’s head came up sharply, “Your wife?” he asked, swallowing. “I … uh … didn’t mean to…,” he trailed off, and Buffy saw his eyes nervously shifting from Angel to the car and back. “I’ll change it now, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, go on,” Angel nodded, pulling Buffy away, and leading her towards the bushes near by. “You okay?” he asked. “I’m sorry for … you know.”

She didn’t know why, knew that she should probably should be grateful for his simple way to stop the mechanic’s dirty remarks. The man had probably thought she was some cheap chick, and who could blame him. Her hair was certainly a mess, and the dress couldn’t look much better. Yet, somehow the Angel calling her his wife irked her a lot more than the mechanic’s dirty tongue. “Let go,” she hissed, wriggling away, and glaring up at him. “You probably thought it was fun, huh?”

He was clearly taken aback by her hostile behaviour, but right now she didn’t care, didn’t want to deal with the hurt she saw in his dark eyes. “Hey, I didn’t mean-,” he started, but she wouldn’t let him finish.

“No,” she held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it.” She couldn’t bear to be so close to him, not now, not after what - She quickly turned away, swallowed, “I just want this over. I need to go behind the bushes for a moment. He should be done soon,” she nodded towards the mechanic, “and then I want to go home. And forget that this all ever happened.” With that she stomped away, not daring to look back, but she could feel his eyes bore into her back all the way.

*****

"Dammit.“ With more force than necessary, Angel slammed the door shut behind him, wincing slightly when it rattled in its hinges. The same moment he heard a car start and drive away, and his shoulders slumped. Double damn.

Throwing his keys on the little desk near by, he shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it over the keys, only to find Kathie watching him from the kitchen doorway. Great. Just what he needed right now. Interrogation and sisterly wise-crack, or even worse, compassion. Then he remembered that Kathie had troubles of her own, and instantly felt like a heel. The man his sister cared deeply about, was in big trouble, and it was certainly more serious than being treated like a little boy by the woman you’d made love to the night before. Twice.

“I say it didn’t go as planned.” Kathie’s brows climbed as she took in her brother’s rumpled clothes, the red-rimmed and weary eyes, the dishevelled hair.

“Yeah,” he frowned to himself, walking past her straight towards the coffee machine. He’d proposed they’d stop on the way for some breakfast, but Buffy’d ignored him, just driven on straight to his doorway, where she hadn’t said goodbye, or anything else for that matter. She’d just waited for him to climb out, then driven away without a backward glance.

He poured himself a cup of coffee his sister had made already - bless her soul - and cup in hand opened the fridge for something to eat.

“Sit down,” she ordered from behind, pushing him away. “You look ready to sleep on your feet. Want some bacon and eggs?”

“Sounds like heaven,” he managed to force a smile on his face, then slumped into the chair. After emptying half of his cup in one large gulp, and burning his tongue in the process, he straightened, “So, how is Wes?” Maybe concentrating on work would help him to forget about his own misery. He’d heard about that kind of waking up from friends, with the woman looking at you as if you were a bug, but not in his wildest dreams he’d ever thought it would happen to him, or that it would hurt so much.

Kathie shrugged without turning, “What do you think? He’s dancing on the tables.” Cracking the eggs with more force than necessary, she paused for a moment, took a deep breath, “He’s … miserable. I think mostly because someone can even think he would do such a thing. He was here until after midnight, and he kept repeating it time and again. The Dean and he have known each other for over five years. Yet, the guy suspended him without a blink. I tried to explain that Mr. Blackwell didn’t have a choice, that the rules say he has to act that way, but it still throws him.”

“Is that the reason you are here this morning?” Angel asked, sipping again from the strong coffee. Thank God his sister made it like that, because he needed it, desperately. He felt bone weary this morning, and knew that deprivation of sleep was only a little part of the problem.

“I’m here because Wes doesn’t have a job right now,” she replied, mixing the egg with some milk and pepper, then pouring the mix into the pan. “And if he doesn’t have a job, I don’t have one either. I’m his part-time secretary, remember? And he doesn’t need one - at least not for the time being.”

He hated hearing the quiver in her voice, she couldn’t quite hide form him. Maybe someone else wouldn’t have noticed, but they were so close, he heard it instantly. She tried to be tough, had learned to be tough, but underneath she was still Kathie, his little baby-sister, the one who came running into his arms after Tommy Taylor had pushed her into the dirt with her new white dress on Sunday, knowing her father would probably hit her for it. Angel had managed to protect her then, she’d been only four, and his old man wasn’t big on hitting little girls - the only good side he’d ever been able to find in his father - but he’d rather have her beaten up that day, and been able to protect her later.

For a moment he closed his eyes, drew a long breath. No use in dwelling in things you couldn’t change anymore. Better focus on the things you can still change, “So this girl,” he said, feeling his belly grumble at the smell coming from the stove, “the student that accused Wes of harassing her? Who is she? What’s she like?”

“She’s in one of his classes,” Kathie added bacon to the eggs, then put two slices of toast on the grill, “Faith Marshall. She’s from a rich background, brunette, good looking, and knows exactly what she wants. She’s intelligent, but has never made any effort to get her grades up. She relies on dear Daddy to even the path for her.”

He sipped from his coffee again, frowned, “If she’s not interested in learning, how come she’s in college?”

“Didn’t you just listen? I said she had money. And her parents know the right people. The Mayor for one. And others.” She paused for a moment, filled his plate, then put it in front of him. “Besides, I’m sure although she sometimes likes to play dumb, she isn’t. She’s ...” She shrugged, “Who knows.”

“God, this smells like … thanks, honey,” he smiled at her, this time without effort, “So, this Faith,” he shoved some egg on the toast, then savoured the taste. Maybe he’d survive this day after all - even if barely. “How old is she?”

“Twenty-two. She’s already failed the class twice - English literature, that is, and it seems her parents are getting fed up with her. They threatened to cut her monthly pay-check if she isn’t going to improve.

“And you know all that, because …,” he asked, wondering if some of his PI business had rubbed off onto his little sister. Wesley had told her last night about the mess, and she was like a fountain of information this morning.

A smug smile appeared on her face, making her eyes sparkle, and Angel was stunned for a moment by her beauty. God, for a moment he hated Parker Abrams with a passion, for causing his sister eight years of anguish and unhappiness. She seemed a lot better these days, and if he liked it or not, Wesley seemed to be a big part of it, but she would never be the innocent girl he so much wanted her to be. She’d lost that part in one fateful night, thanks to the ignorance of her step-brother, and a father who hadn’t cared at all.

“Because I’m at least as clever as Faith.” Her voice pulled him back to the present, reminding him that she’d managed to pull herself out of the pits of Hell. Would she ever know how proud he was of her, he wondered, feeling his eyes moisten.

He quickly blinked, once, twice. There was no need to get all weepy now. She wouldn’t want his compassion anyway. She was fiercely proud of what she’d achieved, and rightfully so. “So what did you do? Hack into the computer?”

“As a matter of fact,” she grinned, when he groaned, “Hey, calm down. I didn’t do anything illegal. But after you called last night, I convinced Wes to go back to his office. So we spent two hours there at the very modern computer and I was able to read all the files the college has on Faith. I hardly know her, I’ve seen her once or twice in the office, when she was complaining about being treated unfairly. But that’s as far as our connections go, and I intend to keep it that way. She wouldn’t be a person I’d choose for a friend.”

“And you found all the information?”

She bit her lip, “Yeah … me and Fred. I called Gunn last night, after I called you. And he obviously informed your computer geek. And she instantly went to work. She’s a genius you know?”

“Yeah, some genius.” Angel sighed, thinking of their self-acclaimed secretary with the big glasses, and the big eyes. Another lost soul, he thought, sighing again. “Okay, so Fred found a bit more. Still, it doesn’t give us enough to nail her. I mean, I can see what she tried to do. Because Wes won’t help her get her parents off her back, she tries to dishonour him. But only because *I* understand that, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“But-“

“No buts.” He put a comforting hand on her arm, “Kat, just because we believe that he’s been shammed, doesn’t help. We need proof, hard proof. You just said her parents are rich, which means that very likely they’re going to fight for their daughter. If I’m not completely wrong, they’re going to hire some big-shot lawyer right this moment.”

*****

“Please, sit down Dr. and Mrs. Marshall, Faith. I can call you Faith?”

“Sure,” the brunette, dark-eyed college-student looked at the attractive man standing at his large oak desk, then sat down beside her parents. Her mother pulled a hanky from her purse, elegantly holding it under her eyes, careful not to destroy her makeup. She was sniffling and making little noises of distress, the way she’d done it ever since Faith had told her parents about that nasty professor who’d tried to get under her skirts.

Her father on the other hand sat ramrod straight, his chest puffed out, all importance, the power of old money and connections radiating from him. He hadn’t gotten weepy at all, but furious, the way Faith had expected it. It wasn’t that he really cared about her, Faith knew, but that someone had dared to touch something that belonged to him. Faith wasn’t his wife, just his daughter, but Frank Marshall still counted her as part of his property, like his desk, or his new expensive German car.

“So,” the lawyer, Mr. MacDonald, sat down in his big leather chair, folded his hands on his desk, then looked straight at her, “Faith. Why don’t you tell me what happened with that professor,” he paused for a moment, flipped through some pages, before he gazed up again “Wyndham-Pryce?”

She batted her lashes, then lowered her head, faking shame, “He … uh … tried to touch me,” she whispered, infusing her voice with just enough hoarseness to make it believable. “You know … at places.” For a moment she thought if that wasn’t painting it too thickly, but then pushed the thought away. Maybe the lawyer was as dumb as her parents, buying the untouched virgin act.

He didn’t. She saw it his eyes the moment they met hers. But for some reason, maybe because her parents were going to provide for his next car, or his next lover with the money he would get from them when this was over, he went along with it. “So he … uh … touched you, huh? And then?”

For her parents’ sake she gasped, and when she heard her mother moan, she knew she’d done the right thing, “I shoved him away of course. I would never let him go that far, I’m not that kind of girl.” She felt her mother’s hand patting her arm in a show of comfort, and went on, “But then he…,” she sniffed, let a tear roll from the corner of her eye, “he threatened me. He said I’d see it in my grades if I wasn’t going to give in.”

Mr. MacDonald’s eyes were sharp as razors when they bore into her. Faith felt like she was sliced open, and being studied on an Anatomy-table. One thing was for certain, that lawyer was out of her league, he wasn’t like her parents believing every word she said, or not listening at all like in her father’s case. Mr. MacDonald listened, all right. And he understood. “And that happened, when?” he asked, his voice like silk, mantled with steel.

“Uh … two weeks ago,” she admitted, holding on to the story she’d already told the Dean. And her parents. She thought about the money she got each month from them - their pay off for not caring at all. Her mother might be weepy now, but that didn’t mean she would ever miss her Bridge-afternoon, just to do something as trivial as talking to her daughter, and her father thought that giving her some thousand dollars a month was enough to keep his bases covered. Her parents didn’t even care enough to notice that her grades had never been good, that they hadn’t been good for a long time. All they saw was that their 22 year old daughter still hadn’t finished college and that it was an embarrassment with their friends. And so, in Faith’s eyes, she’d earned that monthly pay-check, every damned cent of it.

“Two weeks ago,” the lawyer repeated, “And why didn’t you come out earlier with this, why did you wait all the time?”

Faith sniffed again, swallowed, then after a dramatic pause, and more sounds of distress from her mother, she looked at Mr. MacDonald, “Because … I … felt that … they would maybe think it was my fault, that I had done-“

“Nonsense,” her father thundered, clearly at the end of his patience. “An old bookish guy sees a young attractive girl and smells summer. That’s disgusting. And certainly not your fault. Nobody will blame you. We won’t.”

No they wouldn’t, Faith thought. Because that would mean caring in the first place. That sounded downright bitter, she realised, and pushed the hurt away. She was long past that stage. She was strong these days, and hard. Nothing would hurt her, she would keep her head up, no matter what. “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered, fishing for a hanky in her pocket, batting her eyes. “That means everything.” God, she had become a first class liar, she thought.

She looked up and her eyes met Mr. MacDonald’s again. A muscle in his jaw twitched, she noticed, and his eyes were almost stormy grey now like the clouds on a rainy day, nothing was left of the blue she’d found so comforting when she’d stepped into the room . She felt herself shiver, because one thing she knew without a doubt. He wasn’t buying one word of what she was saying.

Go to Part 14