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Leaning forward, she stares upward as though looking for something.
“Would you like me to walk you up?”
Shaking her head, she leans back into the seat. “You don’t have to do that.”
For someone so content to ask for help, she’s certainly hesitant to accept it when offered. “Would it make you feel more comfortable? Safer?”
“He’d freak out if he saw me with another man.”
“You don’t think the white collar speaks for itself?”
“Not for Calvin. I’m certain he’d think you drove me home for sex.”
The comment sends a shiver down my spine, and I have to clear my throat to keep from croaking the next words. “Well, we know that’s not true, so I don’t particularly care what he thinks.”
“In that case, I’d appreciate it. If you walked me up.”
Door held open again, I help her out of the car. My hand brushes the small of her back as we make our way inside, a mindless gesture, the way I used to every time Val and I would enter a room. Except, she isn’t Val, and I’ve no right to touch her with any level of possession, so I curl my fingers into a fist, taking a step back. Strange how natural it feels with Ivy, though, falling back on the habits I dropped when I became a priest. As I follow her up the stairs, I try not to stare at the back of her calves, the black line that runs the length of her panty hose and disappears into those heels. Heels that would drive me insane, digging into my back.
This all feels too familiar to me, and my bastardly body responds with the anticipation of a man who’ll be rewarded for the climb.
As we round the staircase to the second floor, the sound of shouts and arguing bleeds through one of the passing doors.
“Don’t mind them,” Ivy says over her shoulder. “They fight like that all the time. It’s like a pastime for them, or something.”
“Something to look forward to everyday.”
“They probably do. Wouldn’t surprise me if it was some twisted kink they’re into.” At the next floor, she comes to a stop in front of a door, and I take note of the number: 1040. “This is me.” Purse slung over her shoulder, she lowers her gaze from mine. “Would you like to come in? I mean, just to make sure no one is inside.”
“Sure,” I answer cautiously.
Key slipped into its lock, she turns to a click, and the door opens on to a room that’s remarkably bright, with white walls and sheer curtains. The décor is unapologetically female and carries a mouthwatering scent,herscent, like vanilla and peaches. I follow after her, my eyes wandering the scenery, while she slips in and out of rooms.
“Looks like its all clear.”
Gaze trailing over the record player, I swing my attention back to her, and everything inside of me tells me to leave, because everything in this place is a temptation, including her. The way she stands in her skirt, one heeled foot kicked behind the other, her blouse unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of cleavage. It’s too much at once.
“Would you like a glass of wine? I mean, I’m assuming that priests … you know, with communion, and all … ”
“I shouldn’t.”
“I understand. You probably don’t drink much.” The disappointment in her eyes comes off like a slap of rejection, an unintended dismissal of her offer, and I feel bad for it.
“I’m more of a whiskey drinker. But wine is good. Wine is calm.”
The wily glint returns to her eyes as she lifts her gaze with a smile. “Calm? Am I to assume the chaste Father Damon has a wild side?”
“I wouldn’t call myself chaste.”
“No?”
Pausing to consider my next words carefully, I shake my head. Who’s this girl going to tell, after all? And does it matter, after all these years? “I was married before. Not many know that about me, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything.”
“Was it annulled, or something?” Screwing her eyes shut, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, don’t answer that.”
“No. She died. My wife and daughter.”
Frowning, she tips her head, that troubled look returning to her face. “Can you excuse me for a moment?”
