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It’s as if he’s tracking me. I’m not sure if I should like it as much as I do. But I know it’s too strong of an assumption to have. I really am going crazy today.
“Mrs. Matheson!” Father Greg shouts again as he sees me coming toward him. Waving his hand frantically to signal me into his sphere.
“Hi, Father Greg. Lovely Mass today.” I beam, finally reaching where he stands.
He doesn’t even bother meeting me halfway. What a pompous jerk.
“Thank you, my child. It’s so wonderful to have you here today. I would like to personally introduce you to Father Lachlan O’Connell,” he says, pulling Father Lachlan’s attention fully away from Missy to me.
Missy is talking at him without caring if he’s interested or not. One of her many wonderful qualities.
He was clearly appeasing her up until that point, but I still didn’t like what I saw. I did like that I could feel him side-eyeing me the entire time I was walking toward the doors and even more obviously as I strutted over to Father Greg just now.
I had tried my best during that walk not to look at him, even with the sensation of his eyes on me once again.
Every time I did steal a glance his way, I ached in need. I could try not to look at him all I wanted, but my lady parts are not getting the memo that I am still married, and he is completely off-limits.
“Father Lachlan, this is one of the most generous members of our congregation, Mrs. Avery Matheson. Her husband, Kevin, owns GT Technologies based here in Charleston. I’m sure you’ve heard of it before,” Father Greg says dismissively, as if who isn’t keeping track of the top businesses in Charleston.
Father Greg either doesn’t realize or care that he just irritated Missy by stealing Father Lachlan away to talk about how prominent Kevin and I are in Charleston. I knew I donated more than Missy to the church already, but this felt like a small victory to hear I was essentially more important than she was in the eyes of Father Greg.
I don’t usually care about these types of society races, but she always acts like she’s above everyone else. I hate people like that, and yet, I am surrounded by them daily.
Father Lachlan’s smoldering eyes are on me as a grin breaks out across his face. His eyes are an emerald-green color. They are absolutely captivating.
He is unfairly attractive. Why does he have to be so unbearably good-looking? There should be some rule that if you have eyes that can be described as smoldering and a chiseled jaw, you can’t become a priest.
He extends his hand to mine in greeting. I look down to find a strong, calloused hand that causes the ache between my thighs to pulse even more.
I look back up at him to see his wide grin is still in place.
I’m now actively trying to discreetly squeeze my thighs together for some relief. This is going well.
He breaks eye contact with me and drinks in my movements. Father Lachlan’s nostrils flare for a moment before composing himself and locking our eyes together once again.
I extend mine into his and feel a surge of energy rip through me at the connection. I think he feels it too.
I really need to get that martini immediately.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Father Lachlan. St. Peter’s is a wonderful church. My husband and I love being parishioners here,” I say as I try to smile through the words.
Pretending like I still love my husband is something I’m used to, but today, I hate calling him that more than ever before.
Our hands are lingering together. His thumb skims against my skin, causing me to still. I can’t pull away from his touch.
“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Matheson.”
I flinch at that name spilling from his lips.
I can feel the emphasis on my title. Little does he know Kevin was just caught having sex with his assistant on my brand-new rug.
I really need to let go of that detail, but I mean, come on, really? Kevin knew I had just bought it. When he saw it, he told me it wasn’t fitting for a house like ours, like the pretentious asshole he is.
He knew how much I loved our courtyard too. In a house on the brink of shattering because of the people living in it, that courtyard was a space I found peace in. Often, it was my place of solitude to read in front of the fireplace year-round.
I peel my hand away and clasp both of them together in front of me, slowly rocking on my heels. I never usually display this kind of nervousness, but I have to get through this interaction somehow.
Lachlan is examining me as if he knows that flinch means more than I will say. He can’t get this confession.
