Priest_by_Sierra_Simone 3

I should let go. I should apologize.
But I couldn’t. And I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “Maybe you loved
the wrong person.”
Because who wouldn’t love this gorgeous creature? This over-educated,
over-sexed woman who oozed intelligence and sensuality? This woman of
white skin and red lips and a brain built for running financial empires?
She met my gaze again. “Maybe you’re right,” she whispered.
We stayed like that a moment, our eyes locked, my hand gripping her
wrist, and then—may I be forgiven—I slowly ran a thumb along the
underside of her wrist, a motion that nobody could see, but that she definitely
felt because she took in a shuddering breath.
Fuck, she was so smooth, her skin so silky. I wanted to kiss that part of her
wrist, press my lips against her pulse point, right before I tied a rope around
it. In fact, I got as far as lifting her wrist off the table before the hissing of the
espresso machine brought me back to my senses.
What the fuck was I doing?
I let go of her hand and shut the laptop closed, standing abruptly. “Sorry.
It’s none of my business.”
“You’re a spiritual advisor,” she said, peering up at me. “Isn’t everything
your business?”
I was too busy pushing my stuff into my laptop bag to answer, desperate to
leave, trying to convince myself that it was okay, it was fine, I had just
comforted her, I had basically done nothing more than hold her hand, which I
wouldn’t think twice about doing with any other parishioner.
It was fine.
But when I turned around, Poppy was standing next to me with her own
bag all packed up. “Can I walk with you back to the church?” she asked. “My
house is on the same block.”
Of course it was.
“Sure,” I said, hoping I sounded normal and not like a priest trying to fight
an erection in public. “No problem.”
We stepped out into the heavy May heat, crossing the street. The silence
between us felt odd, laden with whatever strange moment had just happened,
and so I spoke, trying to stave off the fantasies that continued to crowd at the
edge of my mind.
“How long have you lived here?”