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He starts with the customers, explaining how each is as different as the books on the shelves. "Learn what they like, recommend stuff they might not have heard of, don't be pushy," Dante instructs. His voice easy, like we didn't almost lose control in the staff room.
Next, he shows me the registers and explains the process of handling transactions. "Don't screw up the change," he adds. "People tend to get a bit testy."
I nod in reply. "Got it, I think."
He arches a brow. "Next is in the back." He leads me out back. "Inventory, restocking, and creating displays," Dante continues, taking me through every corner of the store. He explains how to manage the inventory, restock the shelves, and put books on display. "Make the displays exciting,” he stresses, "something that'll make them stop and look."
The rest of the tasks, such as arranging events, handling online orders and deliveries, and managing the book club arrangements, blur together in a rush. They're straightforward enough, but trying to focus when Dante is talking after he kissed me is nearly impossible.
"And the cleaning," Dante finishes, glancing around the store. "Keep the place tidy and clean. Nobody likes a messy bookstore."
He looks at me, "Got all that?" His voice is light, but there's that raw lust still sparking in his eyes, completely conflicting with the way he's talking.
"Yeah, got it," I manage to get out.
“Let’s start with organizing the returns,” he suggests.
I start to go through the books on the counter. My mind a million miles away. And then suddenly I feel Dante's hand brush against mine. We're both reaching for the same book on the counter.
His skin is warm against mine, a stark contrast to the cool leather of the book cover. I quickly pull my hand back, my heart pounding, and he does the same.
There's a moment of awkward silence between us, but it's charged. "That book's quite popular. Remember to push the sales." He glances around and notices that Derek is in the back room. He leans toward me. "About what happened back there, when can we make it happen again?" he demands.
My stomach flips. "Dante, you're a priest. It's not?—"
"Does it looks like a give a fuck?" He steps closer, invading my space. "My cock is hard twenty-four-seven while I'm thinking of you. I keep having to do Hail Marys because I can't stop jerking off, but I'd much rather do them for something far more satisfying and sinful."
The image that appears in my head is hot. Dante stroking his dick while calling my name. I swallow hard and focus my attention on his eyes. I'm about to speak when the bell chimes over the door and Dante immediately steps back. There's nothing jerky or suspicious about his movements.
He looks at the customer and smiles, walking over to greet them. And I watch him like I'm under some sort of spell.
"Hey there, can I help you find anything today?" His voice echoes through the store, again the polite, friendly priest.
I gulp, returning my attention to the books on the counter, but I can't shake the image of Dante's smoky eyes burning into mine. I thought moving to an even smaller town than the ones before would simplify my life and help make my escape easier.
How wrong I was.
I can't set down roots because Eric will find me in the end. But the thought of leaving this town and Dante… I don't want to leave. And the worst part is, I'm not even sure I can stay away from the enigma that is Father Jensen if I wanted to. He's determined to have me, no matter the costs.
7
DANTE
Ipark my motorcycle on the other side of the street and climb off. The last thing I should be doing is creeping around Madison’s place after what happened at the bar Monday night, but I can’t help it.
I was lucky that it was Kevin who hit on her. He wasn’t up for a fight and backed off. Otherwise, I don’t think I’d still be a priest. I would have pummeled him to a pulp in front of everyone. Hell, I might have murdered him. And when I saw her climbing out of Jack Michaelson’s car, I wanted to murder him, too. The worst part about it is Madison insists he takes her to work every day, and she hinted that me demanding I take her means I’m acting like her bastard husband.
What is this girl doing to me?
I rarely get my motorcycle out of the garage, but I don’t want anyone to recognize me tonight. I’m going to watch my pretty little doe. The motorcycle is a small piece of my past I kept. The headlights die, and I’m plunged into darkness and shadows.
The soft glow of light from Madison’s window draws my attention. I’m glad she picked this shithole on the outskirts of town where there are no near neighbors. It’s easier for me to watch her without being seen.
A voyeuristic fascination takes hold of me as I watch her working in the kitchen, cooking her dinner. Cloaked by the shadows, I can’t help my sick and twisted fantasies play in my mind. I wonder if she’d be into the shit I used to be into.
My past is dark. And my sexual appetite was always borderline depraved. I love primal play. I used to act out my sick fantasies with willing girls. But Madison is nothing like them. She’s innocent. A virgin.
But watching her, even from this dark corner, isn’t enough. Not anymore.
