Page 56 of Dark Side of the Cloth (The Righteous 1)
“Here, let me take that for you, and I can hang up your jacket too.” Dean took the long coat and pie from her hands.
As soon as his back was turned, she wiped off her moist hands again. Her emotions were all over the place, but her libido had no issues deciding what she needed. The rich scent of something wonderful cooking reached her nose as they ascended the stairs to Dean’s apartment. The wood stairs creaked while the poorly lit stairwell didn’t help her already racing pulse. Dean held the door open for her to walk through when they reached the top of the stairs. It reminded her of pushing through a veil into a world she shouldn’t be able to visit, and yet she stepped over the threshold into Dean’s quarters.
“Would you like some wine with dinner? I made chicken enchiladas. I hope that suits you.”
“Wine sounds perfect. I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Yasmine took an appreciative sniff of the delicious aroma. “It smells divine. I love enchiladas.”
“It’s my mama’s recipe. She made me learn to cook when I was a little boy, much to my father’s dismay.” His voice darkened at the mention of his father. “She’d say you never know when one day you’ll need to impress a pretty girl.” Yasmine couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face at the compliment.
“I will assume then that your mother never saw you becoming a priest?”
“She passed away when I was eight. I think I wanted to be an astronaut at the time,” Dean said.
She stared at his back and felt a tug of sadness for him. She’d certainly had her share of sadness, and she knew what it was like to be that age and lose a parent.
“I’m sorry for your loss. That couldn’t have been easy.”
“No, it wasn’t. She was a sweet woman, and I still miss her.”
Yasmine wandered through the small space that had seen many priests come and go. She ran her hand over the dark woods of the decorative tables and spiraling pillars that marked the living room space. Heavy tapestries hung on the walls. Their gold and maroon colors gave off a distinct male aura. Many crosses hung on the walls, and Yasmine made sure to avert her eyes from the physical reminders of how wrong this was.
“Here you go.”
Yasmine smiled at Dean as he held out a glass, her still shaky hand taking the offering. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Would you like to sit?”
She dutifully sat in one of the plush chairs, smoothing out her dress. She had gone through everything in her closet until she finally found the perfect dress that wasn’t too sexy and wasn’t her normal casual attire. She knew her best asset was her eyes, and the spring green color of the dress made them pop.
She’d never seen Dean so relaxed or open. His legs crossed at the knee as he leaned back on the couch, sipping his wine, yet all the while, she couldn’t seem to feel at ease. She was jumping at the old pipes vibrating, the wind thrashing against the window, and the sound of Dean’s voice was pulling her tight like a violin string. And even with all of those taught emotions she had swirling inside her, Yasmine couldn’t stop staring at the small V of exposed skin at the top of Dean’s button-down shirt. She licked her lips, her mind wandering to what he’d taste like right there.
“If you keep staring at me like that, we may not make it to dinner,” Dean said. His voice was low and husky, eyes intense as he stared at her.
Yasmine’s cheeks flamed once more. She quickly crossed her legs, trying to keep her searing libido in check. “I…I’m sorry, I—” she stuttered. Giving up on trying to say anything, she gulped down the wine, draining her glass and drawing a deep laugh from Dean.
“I wanted to apologize again for not calling you or coming to see you when I got back into town. I have been warring with what is right versus what I want.”
Yasmine looked away from his gaze, guilt bubbling in her gut.
“I’m sorry about what I did to you in the confessional.”
“Don’t be. That was the most fun I’ve had with a confession ever.” His entire face was shining with humor, which only made her feel worse rather than better about what she’d done.
Yasmine cleared her throat. “Do you have any hobbies?”
“No, but I love baseball,” Dean said. He leaned forward and placed his wine glass on the table.
“My father was a baseball fan. I used to sit with him on the couch, and even though I didn’t understand what was going on, I’d cheer along with him and sulk when things seemed to be going poorly. My favorite part was booing when the opposing team got a home run.”
“You were a good daughter.” Dean smiled, but the look in his eyes was hooded with what she could only describe as sadness.
“Maybe. We stopped watching baseball after we had a couple of tragedies in our family.” Yasmine looked down into the glass of golden wine. It always hurt to think of her sister being taken, her mother committing suicide, and her father slipping into a depression. She’d been left alone to deal with the trauma, and she wasn’t sure she’d done a very good job of it. Some would say she needed to finish school instead of taking on the business because she never lived.
A buzzer sounded in the otherwise silent room, making Yasmine jump.
“Come, let’s eat, and I’ll refill your wine. You seem to be thirsty.”
“Thank you.” She couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes as she stood, but she wasn’t given a choice when he placed his finger under her chin and forced her to stare into those hazel depths. Her body instantly shook.
“Don’t think sad thoughts tonight.” He placed a small kiss on her cheek. “And don’t worry, Yasmine, nothing will happen that you don’t want, but if I have it my way, you will be dessert,” Dean whispered, then laid a gentle kiss on her lips.
