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If my cat, Baby, were here, she’d be all over those vases. Pushing them off the side, watching them smash to smithereens on the floor.
I almost chuckle at the image, then remember I have no idea where she is or if she’s even safe, and all the humor evaporates.
The crunch and whir of an electric drill cuts through the silence, echoing in the largely empty space, and I see Martin’s jaw clench as he rubs the bridge of his nose.
He’s not happy about something, maybe the noise or maybe me.
My heart jumps to my throat. All my happy thoughts and girlish fantasies fall to the floor like a thousand marbles, rolling under the chairs, the desk, hiding away where they can’t be seen. Or heard.
“Yes, of course.” He drums his fingers on the desk, his dark eyes flicking my way on a crooked smile and hope and lust flood back through me. “Yes. The usual. Is that all? Kitty and I have a session.”
He glances at the workers standing around the stepladder, talking about where they need the “line to run”. Only one of them is actually doing any work, measuring up and lining up a drill.
“That’s all.” Sister Nathalia curtsies like a little girl and backs away, not even bothering to look at me—or deliberately avoiding it. She already made a disapproving grunt when she saw that I was in here when she arrived.
“She doesn’t like me,” I say as soon as she’s shuffled out the door.
Martin frowns, tongue glancing along his upper teeth as I bite back a little moan, shivering at thoughts of my orgasmic shower scene last night. “That’s just her way. She doesn’t dislike you.”
“You sure about that?”
“Well, I haven’t asked her. She wants what’s best for you, that’s all. Same as me.”
“Nope, not the same as you.” I stare into his eyes, not clarifying what I mean by that. Because what the helldoI mean anyway? Wishful fucking thinking, that’s what. “Do you like this outfit?”
I pull at the hem of the checked skater dress, lifting it just a little to show more thigh before letting it drop. It’s not exactly slutty, but at the same time I’m not sure if Jesus would approve. His gaze lingers over my exposed cleavage, the glimpse of my bra, and a single moment stretches into a lifetime.
“Doyoulike it?” he asks, his voice rasping in his throat. It feels like the question is a reflex, like turning questions back on themselves is what he does as an automatic response.
Well, two can play at that game.
“I do if you do. I don’t think Sister Nathalia does.”
Father Martin’s jaw clenches, the muscle twitching, face set and dark. “You look very…”
“Nice?” I suggest. “Pretty? Hot?”
“I…”
There’s a chuckle from the corner where the workers are clearly getting an eye full of me. “You look fine to me, baby doll. How about a twirl?” One of the construction workers laughs while another one whistles and I turn to find them leering at me.
Yuck.
Blow shit up…
Father Martin is across the room in an instant, and the worker’s throat is in his grip as he’s slammed into the wall. His skull bounces off the plaster work with an audible clunk, and I find myself on my feet, gawping like the other men are gawping.
“You don’t fucking look at her, you hear me? She’s not your fucking baby doll.” Martin growls.
The man’s eyes are wide as he twists his head back and forth, feet scrambling against the floor. “Aren’t you a fucking priest?”
“Yeah, and if I have to I’ll send you on your way to hell. Capiche?”
The man nods, desperately struggling for breath. He slaps the wall, eyes fixed on Martin’s, who grunts, releases his hold and turns my way.
“We’re getting out of here,” he growls, eyes narrow on the worker who is rubbing his throat while the other two guys pretend to be busy on the electrical panel in the wall.
His words brook no argument, and I’d follow wherever he went, but I don’t have to. Because in two long strides he’s by my side, his arm draped over my shoulders, tucking me under his arm as he walks me out of the room, slamming the door behind us and into the quiet of the stone hallway.
