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Being this close to him, I couldn’t help but remember that dream, how he’d appeared out of nowhere. It was clear I was attracted to him even though I shouldn’t be; it went against everything I wanted and everything his religion was against. Nothing could ever happen between us.
Then again, nothing should ever happen between me and any other guy ever, now. Not now that I was engaged to Luca fucking Moretti.
But the thing was, I didn’t want to be engaged. I’d just started to accept my own sexuality and the touch of men on my body—certain men, anyway. If I wanted to fuck someone, I was going to fuck them.
Not saying I wanted to fuck Ezekiel, but—
Hmm. Maybe that was what I was saying.
“I’ve done nothing but pretend for the last three years,” I whispered. “I know a faker when I see one, and right now it’s like looking at a mirror. Well, a masculine mirror, but a mirror. But that’s all right, isn’t it? Because it takes a certain kind of man to be a priest in this city. It takes a sinner to spiritually lead a pack of wolves.”
He let out a soft hum of approval. “That it does, and yet here you are, all the same.” He moved, starting to circle me, stopping when he stood directly behind me. Too close, with how his whispered words brushed against my ear as he spoke them, “Some would be uncomfortable being alone with me, knowing what you know.” He wasn’t touching me, and yet it felt like his body pressed against mine. I could barely breathe.
“We both know I’m not like other people.”
Again, he hummed, although this particular sound almost came off like a chuckle. “Let me lock the door, to make sure we have some privacy. Don’t want any more of those Serpents finding their way in.” He said nothing more, leaving me near the altar to do just that, and I couldn’t help but turn to watch him do it.
Watching him lock the door, how he walked, the way he held himself… he certainly was a man beneath that priest outfit, wasn’t he?
I waited until he returned to me to say, “Speaking of the Serpents, I don’t know that they were the ones who shot me.”
“I doubt it. If they were, they would’ve hurt you enough to drag you to their boss, not leave you on the sidewalk, bleeding out.” Ezekiel’s blue gaze lingered on me. “And I don’t think the other heirs or their parents would risk the Black Hand’s wrath coming down upon them.”
“I think it was my father,” I whispered, blurting it out before thinking it through. What did I know of this man? How could I claim to have his confidence and his trust when we hardly knew each other? What if he went to the Hand, or worse, my father?
That got Ezekiel to react. His eyebrows came together, and he squinted at me. “Your father? Truly? Why would your father try to have you killed?”
“I don’t know about that, but having me shot? Yeah, he’s done worse.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Shall we get this little training session started? Or…” I couldn’t say anything more, not when I noticed how he continued to stare at me. If I thought he had an intense look before, it was tenfold now.
Almost like the man didn’t like hearing the possibility that it was my father behind it all.
“What?” I asked, fighting the way my lower half reacted to the look on Ezekiel’s face. Maybe I was misguided in how I took his expression. Maybe it was all in my head. It was quite possible, more than probable, really, that he didn’t give a shit about me or what my father may or may not have done.
Still, it was kind of nice to imagine—not that I needed any help or protection, of course.
“When I think I have you nailed down, you say something that surprises me. It makes me wonder…” Now it was his turn to trail off, a pensive look crossing his handsome face. He reached up, running a hand along his jaw, not once breaking eye contact with me.
Again, I asked, “What?” He didn’t say anything after that, and as much as I wanted to prod and discover what had his tongue tied—for he didn’t seem like a man who was ever speechless—I also knew we had to get this show on the road. If we didn’t start this little training session right now, I doubted it would ever get rolling. Swallowing, I whispered, “Maybe we should just get started.”
The longer we stared at each other, the more impure thoughts that ran through my head. I knew he was a strong man, but I wondered what exactly he looked like beneath those clothes, how muscled he truly was. If he had any scars or tattoos he kept hidden from the world. If there was more to him that he concealed. As wrong as it was, I wanted to know more about this strange, peculiar man.
“You’re right,” he spoke with a nod. “We should get started. I’m assuming you don’t want to be here all night—and if you are right and it was your father, it would behoove you to get home before he realizes you’re gone.”
That much I couldn’t deny.
“We’ll start slow,” he said. “I don’t want you to overexert yourself and aggravate your injury.”
I wanted to argue with him, tell him I could handle anything, but I held back. For some reason, I had the feeling arguing with Ezekiel would get me nowhere. If ever there was a stolid, immovable man, it was him. So, instead of arguing, I simply nodded once.
“Stand there,” he said, pointing. I did as he instructed, lifting up my hands, my fingers curled into fists, and the action caused him to chuckle and ask, “What are you doing, Giselle?”
“I’m… I’m getting ready to fight you?” As I said it, I knew I spoke it like a question, and if I could’ve smacked myself, I would’ve. I did not sound like the confident girl I could be. This man made me all kinds of things, unsure being the biggest.
He was a priest. He was Father Charlie 2.0. I shouldn’t even think of him in that way, let alone dream about him going at me like an animal claiming its mate. I should wrangle my hormones and get them under control.
But… but as I stared at his lips, watching the corners of his mouth smirk at me, as if I’d done something amusing, I knew that was wrong. He wasn’t Father Charlie 2.0. He might be a priest, but he was no ordinary man of God. He was a killer, a pretender, just like me, and as strange as his intensity was, I was drawn to it, to him.
And that said nothing about those crisp, clear blue eyes that bore into me like he could see my soul.
