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Even when we take a seat on an empty bench, Priest remains quiet. He was chatty at the café, and now he’s back to being a mute.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore and break the silence. “You know you can just tell me if you’re trying to find a way to leave without hurting my feelings. We agreed on no strings, and I’m not going to try to track you down. I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me.” I let out a long, steady breath. “You can go, guilt-free.”
I don’t know what I was expecting, but certainly not what he does next, which is to clasp my cheeks, lower his mouth over mine, and kiss me so deeply that I feel it down to my toes. The warm gushy feeling in my belly returns, and suddenly, I want more than anything for Priest to want to stay. If this is his goodbye kiss, I’m going to be wrecked.
When he draws back, he touches his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. “This is complicated, remember?”
There’s that word again! Complicated. What does that even mean? All sorts of stuff starts running through my head. I jerk away. “Oh my God, are you married?” I squeak.
“Hell no!” he says emphatically.
“Girlfriend?” I watch as he shakes his head. “Wanted by the police? Have you murdered someone?”
“Not lately,” he replies with a curve to his lips, showing me that smile that melts me.
“Then I don’t understand. I didn’t come looking for you. You came for me. I had taken our night and made it a special memory. When you disappeared and didn’t call, I assumed you went back to no strings and that was it. You show up today with my best friend and her fiancé and we’re back to complicated.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”
“I’m not a normal guy,” he says.
“What?”
“I’m a member of Satan’s Pride,” he says, like this is supposed to mean something to me. I know all about the Pride. Bethany and Frankie have been involved with Demon, or, as the rest of the world knows him, Lucien Bardon, and he’s a member. At first, it freaked me out. Then I got to know Demon. He talks so openly about his brothers that I think they’re just a great group of guys doing what they think is right.
“I’m well aware.”
“I’m devoted to my brothers. My sister, Camille, is married to Steady. They’re my family.”
“Okay.” Not sure what else to say. I don’t know where he’s going with this.
“You’re not getting it.”
“Enlighten me.”
“I don’t do nine-to-five. I can get a call at any time because my brothers need me, and I’ll go. They come first, because without them, I’m sure I’d be rotting in a prison cell, or probably dying the same way as my real brother, John, with a knife to the gut. I fight for the Pride because they came for me when the enemy decided to make me pay for John’s sins. I was beaten so bad, I wouldn’t have lasted much longer, but Guard and the guys saved me. Camille and the others nursed me back to health. I was in therapy for months, and not once, never, did they leave my side,” he explains, but now I’m even more confused as to why he thinks this is a deterrent.
“It’s great you have that. But I don’t get what this has to do with me.”
“I wasn’t a good man. I still have nightmares about the man I was turning into.” Priest has demons. Then again, we all have our issues.
“You’re not that man anymore,” I remind him.
“Babe, look at me,” he says. “How would I fit into your life? You’re high class, I’m not. You’re champagne, and I can’t stand the stuff. I rarely drink, and when I do, it’s beer. You’re couture, I’m jeans.”
I look down at my jean-clad legs. “I’m jeans,” I reply quietly.
“You’re fancy jeans.”
“Jeans are jeans.”
“Are they?”
“Aren’t they?” I pause before going on. “You think I’m a snob?”
“No, I’m not saying that.” Priest rises to his feet, raking a hand through his short-cropped hair. “You come from a middle-class family from Maine with an older sister. Your parents never wanted you to leave home, but you did it anyway. You worked your way through college, worked in corporate for a year, and decided you wanted to be your own boss. You’re the woman with a plan. You schedule lunch, and you’re all about doing the right thing.”
“How do you know all this? Bethany?”
“It doesn’t matter how I know. What matters is that you get why taking us”—he waves his hand between us—“into more than where we started can cause trouble. If I take us there, I won’t let you go. I’ve had a taste of your sweetness, and if I come back for more, I’m not going to be able to walk away. My past is ugly.” He hangs his head, letting out a heavy breath, then lifting his eyes to the sky.
