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“You think meditation is the answer to the last twenty-three years of my life? Just like that?” I laughed, a low scathing rumble that bounced around the room. “Let me save you a lot of time and frustration, preacher. Been there. Done that.” I shifted on my knees, intending to rise, but he was there, his hand on my shoulder, holding me in place.
“I never said it would be easy, Miss Fallon. Clearly you lack the mental fortitude required for such introspection. But lucky for you, I am well-versed in all matters of self-control and self-discipline. I have no doubt we will persevere with time and intense study. Your grandfather has paid handsomely to ensure it.”
His insults were delivered so silkily I could almost mistake them for casual conversation. Especially since my mind wanted to focus on the idea of what discipline at Father Gallagher’s hand might look like. But the mention of my grandfather sent those thoughts scattering.
There it was again. The reminder of why I was here. Of what a consummate failure I was.
This guy—this priest—thought he could succeed where literally everyone else had failed? Fine. Let him try. What’s the worst that could happen? Eventually he’d admit defeat, and I’d just be right back where I started. But, if by some miracle he was right and there was some little trick he could teach me, I’d finally get the one thing I’d been fiercely wishing for since I was old enough to understand what wishes were.
My wolf. My birthright.
I shifted uncomfortably. Kneeling was hardly the most demanding thing I’ve had to do, but the tile was unyielding beneath my kneecaps, and there was already a little ache building at the base of my spine.
“A little pain is good for the body. It keeps the mind sharp.”
I raised a brow. “If you think I’m going to let you start beating me—”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Why did I get the feeling he’d omitted the wordyet? And why did my protestation sound like such a lie?
“So what am I supposed to do now?”
“Now you will close your eyes and—”
“Pray?” I quipped. “Sorry, Father. I don’t think the big guy is going to listen to a heathen like me.”
“Miss Fallon, you are going to shut your mouth and do as you're told. Do I make myself clear? If that proves to be challenging for you, I will have no problem removing the temptation.”
“How? You going to gag me, Father? I didn’t realize priests were so kinky—”
“Silence!” he snarled, his movements so fast I didn’t realize he’d put his hand over my mouth until the delicious scent of him wafted up my nose.
If I’d thought the tile was unforgiving, it had nothing on the steel of Father Gallagher’s hand fused over my mouth. I couldn’t open it if I wanted to. And I did. But whether to bite him or lick him, I wasn’t sure. Both ideas were equally tempting.
He tilted my chin back so I was looking up at him. The dominance of his position, combined with the barely restrained power of his grip and the vulnerable bearing of my throat, had unease and something else skittering through my veins. Something I wasn’t ready to examine too closely.
“You will not speak until I tell you to. Blink if you understand.”
Once again, I obeyed, my body hardwired to follow his commands when delivered in that deep, resonant tone.
“Good, Miss Fallon. Now, when I let you go, you’re going to close your eyes and empty your mind. Errant thoughts will try to distract you. You will silence them. You will embrace the discomfort of your body and dismiss it. For the next ninety minutes, you will focus only on the sound of your breathing.”
I wanted to snort. My mind was not a quiet place. I wouldn’t last nine minutes, let alone ninety. But he wouldn’t let me up until I at least pretended to try. So I blinked.
“It’s good to see that you’re a fast learner, Miss Fallon. That bodes well.”
He released me. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination when I felt his hand slide down the front of my throat and hesitate a little longer than necessary at my collarbone before he returned to his position in front of me.
“Now, close your eyes...” he said, his voice still holding the edge of command, but lower and more soothing this time, “and breathe.”
“I can’t,”I whispered.
“You can and you will.”
Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, between my shoulder blades, and slid all the way down until it reached my bra. Could he tell? Did he know I was about to break? This was the third night in a row I’d been on my knees,meditating.
Something about Father Gallagher being present had me hyperaware of his focus on me, even if my eyes were closed. I knew he was watching. Judging.
