Page 3 of Altered By Fire (Undercover Sinners 1)
Even as my mind is running multiple scenarios of how I'd like him to come onto me.
Goddamn it Natalia, it's for thoughts like that, that you need to be here.
Great. First, I lie to a priest, then I think all kinds of dirty thoughts about two men of God—at the same time—and now I'm taking the Lord's name in vain?
Oh wow, the nuns have their work cut out with me.
"You okay there, Miss Petrova?" This intense, sinfully attractive priest asks me, and I realize he's been holding out a cup of steaming liquid to me while my thoughts wandered.
"Oh." I blush with embarrassment, hoping my devilish thoughts aren't plastered across my face, "Thank you, err …" I stare down into the cup at the plain black tea. Gross.
"We have milk and sugar if you'd like?" Hawke offers politely, but his eyes seem to see straight through my soggy red dress as he runs his gaze over me. "You look like you might want it sweet and creamy."
My jaw drops, and I squeak in surprise before a professional smile curves his lips. His lush, kissable lips.
"Your tea, I mean," he clarifies, and I feel my cheeks burn. Of course he meant the tea.
Thank God he cleared that up before I said something stupid like, no, I like it rough and dirty. Tie me down and spank me Father, for I have sinned.
It probably would’ve been hard to play that off as anything else.
Not trusting my voice, I take the mug from him and our fingers brush. Call it a stress-induced delusion, but I swear electricity jumps between us at this light touch. For a moment, our gazes lock, and my breath catches in my throat. I'm frozen, captive, vulnerable, until he looks away and I can breathe again.
Get a fucking grip, Natty. After everything that’s happened tonight.
Once again, my mind rattles fractured, damaged memories out for my inspection. Copious glasses of champagne being downed, those few lines of cocaine in the bathroom with the son of my father’s sworn enemy … and then …
Sucking in a couple of deep breaths to hold back the tears, I press a hand to my galloping heart and take the seat offered to me by the electrifying priest.
It does nothing to stop the memory of what happened next.
The sound of the gunshot still rings in my ears; the smell of smoke lingers in my nose.
That fire was the last straw. It changed everything. It forever altered my destiny, and my purpose in life. It took a certain type to watch their lover shot in front of them, then doused in gasoline and set on fire. Apparently, I was that type. Lucky me.
"Thanks," I murmur softly, dipping my eyes to my tea as I try to tamp down my traumatic thoughts, try to ignore the horrors I witnessed a mere hour ago, "Father." Remembering where I am, I tack the title onto my thanks, and hope it’s the correct form of address for a priest. What do I know? This is my first time inside a church let alone speaking to one of God's chosen.
Hawke pauses as I say this, stopping just behind my chair and looming over me like the Holy Ghost. "Say it again," he tells me, his voice rough.
My shoulders tense. Shit, I've got it wrong. Will he reject my petition to become a nun if he knows I’m not really religious?
"Say. It. Again," he commands in a tone that demands my obedience.
A visible shiver runs through me, and not from the cold, damp cloth barely covering my form.
From arousal.
"I said," I whisper, licking my lips nervously, "Thank you … Father."
A sound rumbles from Hawke, like … hunger, and he strokes a finger lightly down my wet, chestnut brown hair. Maybe this is exactly the distraction I need. Nothing could distract me quite as well as a dangerously unattainable flirtation.
Then again, the last unattainable man I’d seduced is now nothing more than a pile of ash on my father’s garage floor.
Another bone-deep shudder rolls through me.
"Boss." Another man's voice comes from the doorway Colt left through. Hawke snatches his hand quickly back from my hair and continues over to the little fridge to fetch out the milk for my tea.
"Mace," Hawke replies, and I turn in my seat to see who this Mace is.
Dear, sweet baby Jesus. What kind of church have I stumbled into?
I didn't research this; I hadn't Googled the best places to become a nun. Hell, I didn't even know if this was that sort of church. I'd run blindly from that party, seeking nothing more than asylum, but needing salvation. The church offered those things, didn’t they?
But I sure as hell hadn't anticipated this. This, a third man so painfully attractive I was beginning to wonder if this was a test, sent to me from God.
