Beauty and the Blitz (47 page)

“I became a priest to heal everyone but myself. I wanted to shed the pain of my past without confronting it. I didn’t trust my desires, and I could deny them if I were celibate. I thought that made me…untouchable. Protected from the truth. From myself.”

He turned, his expression softened.

“I thought it’d protect me from you, my angel.”

I’d have held his gaze forever if it weren’t burning my soul into ash. “Why are you saying these things?”

“You
healed
me, Honor. You awakened me. You touched me, and that shame, the hatred I felt…faded.”

“Father?”

“I’ve forgiven him.” His voice was hard, but it edged only in pity. “My father was a man destroyed by his own demons…because he didn’t have an angel to guide him.”

If he meant to praise me, it hurt.

If he meant to thank me, I wouldn’t accept his gratitude.

If he meant to break me…

He stepped closer, but my instincts dulled. I should have pulled away before he took my hand.

Temptation.

Hadn’t we suffered enough?

“I was wrong,” he said.

His words heated through me, whispered in delicate praise and forbidden closeness. He brushed my cheek. The pleasure ached in me.

“I was using you to fight the pain in myself,” he said. “I thought you were the key to conquering my fears, but I was a fool. I was meant to forgive my past. That was the only way I’d finally have peace. I misled you, Honor. I hurt you. I…lost you.”

I hated myself for pressing into his hand. The warmth, the roughness of his fingers struck through me. It took every strength I possessed not to touch him as well.

So I reached for his robes.

Twisted my fingers in the cassock.

Held on to him, but pushed him away. I fought my every instinct to collapse in his arms.

Father Raphael stroked me. “You are not a test of my faith. You
renewed
it.”

“Don’t.”

“You aren’t a challenge for me to overcome. You were the way.”

“We can’t speak like this.”

“I thought you were an angel sent to
test
me, Honor.” His words lowered. “I was wrong. You were sent to save me, and it’s because of you I am healed.”

His lips brushed mine, but I twisted away before the softness dizzied my head and broke my heart any more. He leaned down, whispering into my ear, forcing me to listen to this beautiful torture.

“I wanted to be a priest for the wrong reasons. You would have me face the world as a man for the right ones.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I wrote a letter to the bishop this afternoon.”

“A letter?”

“A petition for my laicization.”

My breath caught, hard against a bubbling hope and wicked joy. He touched my face, and his words caressed the rest of me in gentle, loving warmth.

“I’m resigning my position,” he said. “It isn’t fair to the parish. I can’t devote my heart to the church while belongs to another.”

“But you can’t.” I trembled in his arms. “This is your calling.”

“I can’t hurt you, deny you, or live this life apart from you. How can I heal others, how could I
help
others, if I lost the one who saved me? I love you, Honor. I would have you be mine…if you would take this sinner for your own.”

I breathed his words.

I prayed.

I silenced my own hope.

“You would give this up for me?” I asked.

“I already have. I did the moment I met you, whether I understood it or not. It was never temptation. It was never lust. It was never sin.” He pressed his lips to mine, and I savored a truth that tasted so sweet. “I fell in love with you, and no one, not God, not the devil, not even my own past can deny me this blessing.”

I held him close. “Is it a sin to follow our hearts?”

“No, my angel. This is our absolution.”

B
lessed are the wedding planners
.

A day of dress fittings, shoe shopping, menu designing, and flower arrangements was a new type of hell I hadn’t known existed. We had a month until the wedding, but Alyssa and Samantha worked Mom into a tizzy, changing most of the details while demanding more decorations, a larger band, a bigger cake…

I only wanted the chance to stand at the altar with the man I loved and whisper my vows to him, God, and any who were still shocked by the scandal of it all.

It didn’t matter what the band played, what dinner we had, or whether we folded the napkins like roses or doves. As long as I had Rafe, I could stand before the altar naked for all I cared.

Though…we promised we wouldn’t do that anymore.

My classes let out at two, and I raced from the college to the boutique and florists. I met Mom with the caterer—a lovely woman from the parish—and made it to Rafe’s home at six.

And beat him there.

The little house was a perfect starter home for us, but I hadn’t moved in yet. The laicization process took months, and it was time we played by the rules. No
indiscretions
before marriage.

I hated that it was the one tenant we decided to honor.

But I had a key to his house, and I let myself in—carefully. He was still in the process of renovating. He said he wanted something fit for his
bride
. The church was involved in enough habitat for humanity ventures that I never doubted his skill, but…

I traced the lovely engravings on the cabinet doors. Scripture verses carved in beautiful calligraphy.

He put so much of himself into our home. Entirely too much.

After resigning from the clergy, he took the position as executive director for St. Cecilia’s struggling school system. It took most of his time and energy, but in just a few months the budget was balanced, attendance had risen, and the kids seemed happier.

And so did he, especially when he saw the difference in the lives of so many children, ones the same age he was when that darkness seized him. He loved knowing he could help those in the parish, even if he wasn’t wearing the collar.

The keys scraped his lock, and the little metallic twist thrilled me. I hopped onto the counter and waited to welcome my husband-to-be to our future home.

I bit my lip as he entered. He’d traded his cassock for a classy black suit and looked no less intimidating. He grinned as he saw me, though his smiled faded as he stared at my legs, crossing and squirming under his inspection.

“Hey,” I said.

I still trembled for him, especially when he gave me that hungry look. He stood still and uncompromising in his suit. Broad shoulders. Thick chest. I remembered what hardened under it.

Still imagined it.

The wedding couldn’t come soon enough.

He had spoken, but I missed it all.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked.

His eyebrow arched. Rafe approached the counter, his steps deliberate and heavy.

“I wondered if you had waited long?” The teasing edge to his words might have sliced through the pretty dress I wore…picked specifically because I knew we’d see each other tonight. “I guess so, or my angel wouldn’t be so distracted.”

He drifted too close, his hand tickling over my arms, down my hands, to the lovely diamond ring he’d placed on my finger just a few months before.

“Long day,” I whispered. “Classes and getting everything ready for the wedding.”

“
Right
.”

His kiss teased a mew from my lips. It was a mistake to touch him, but my fingers drifted within his suit coat, stroking the hard muscle that strained against his dress shirt. He liked that, and a low growl rumbled from his throat.

“Careful, my angel.” His warning was just another tease, an invisible stroke against my cheek, my chest. Lower. “We still have another month until our wedding.”

I swallowed, hard. “I know. It’s just…”

“Are you tempted?” He leaned close, his lips pressing my temple. “What are you thinking?”

He did it on purpose, these little games. But I felt the hardness stiffen against me. We teased each other for the past five months. Look, but no touching. A kiss goodnight pressed against the wall, but nothing more. He burned me from the inside out, but I knew how to scorch him.

“None of my thoughts are pure, Rafe.”

“Can you resist them?” His hands tickled over my side, gripping my hips in the way I remembered. “Can you deny these feelings?”

“I must.”

He hummed, low. “I’d hate to think that my bride-to-be is suffering such…torment.”

The thought slayed me. I kissed him, flicking my tongue over his just how he liked it.

I murmured over his lips. “I can wait another month.”

“I can’t.”

I squealed as he lifted me from the counter. He swung me into his arms and carried me from the kitchen to drop me onto his bed.

He groaned as his lips kissed a path over my neck and lower. I tried to hide my smile.

“But it’s wrong…” I grasped his arms, his hair, and arched into his bite. “We aren’t married yet. We can’t give into this temptation.”

“I’d surrender to these sweet sins.” His kiss drifted lower. “There is not a force in this world or the next that’s holier than my love for you, Honor.”

He pulled my clothes off, and his touch, kiss, and worship cast me over the edge too many times in too many ways. I shuddered for him, calling his name and begging for the sweet mercy of his body within mine.

We joined, moved, breathed as one.

Pure.

Unified.

Together.

No temptation, no sin, would ever destroy what we surrendered in love.

T
he End

A
party wasn’t
a party unless I had two women begging to take me home.

And the fun only started when I agreed to fuck both of them.

The blonde grinded against me first. Not that I wasn’t partial to blondes, just had seen a lot of them lately. Blue-eyes, sexy curls, lips that pouted more than they’d ever smile. She was the kind of girl who’d suck out a man’s willpower through his cock then demand a credit card to go shopping. I’d learned to stay away from those girls. Good for one fuck, maybe two, but then they’d always want the same thing.

Money. Tickets for their friends. A car. New tits.

Somewhere out there, four women had eight, brand new tits courtesy of Jack Carson. It was almost like a public service.

And the league said I needed to devote more time to charity. I was doing the world enough favors.

Only a few of my teammates joined us for the night out. Half of them took off before the party got rowdy. The rest grabbed more beer and a girl of their choice.

I ordered the waitresses to bring us another round of everything—alcohol, wings, phone numbers. The music pounded, and two of my teammates shook the jukebox until their change poured out. The R&B blared, and some of the girls started to dance.

And those lovely ladies knew just what to shake.

After a song—and three discarded thongs—another handful of coeds slipped into our private room. They giggled as they recognized the stars of the Ironfield Rivets and paraded to my table. I let one through, a pretty little brunette I stacked next to the blonde.

Now this brunette I liked.

She wore a sexy black dress, something deserving of the Vegas strip, not the city of Ironfield. When she curled into my lap, the hem rose. I covered that exposed thigh with a hand.

Soft. Warm. She’d do for a night.

The brunette coo’ed, fake and practiced. She didn’t need to patronize me. I preferred a real moan. My fingers tucked inside her panties.

Shaved.

I liked that.

I tickled until I earned her genuine, sexy sigh, except my flirting pissed the blonde off. That wouldn’t do. I gave her a wink, and she settled down, leaning close enough to let me glance at her tits. She had a better rack than the brunette. The heart-shaped tattoo was familiar though…

Now I remembered. Last week, I saw her blowing Orlando, one of my linemen. It wasn’t unusual for the same girls to pass through the team. I had to admire her dedication. She worked her sweet-ass up from a lineman to the star of the offense. She wouldn’t stop until she fucked me—the team MVP.

She couldn’t get any better than me.

And she wouldn’t have a night better than what I’d offer.

The blonde licked her lips at me. The brunette wanted me to finger her. I studied both of their bodies.

“You girls might want to exchange names.” I tugged on the blonde’s dress strap. “Tonight, you’re gonna get to know each other real well.”

The brunette was into it, but I was pinching her clit. She’d do anything I said. I hoped the blonde liked brunettes or they wouldn’t have as much fun when I took both of them home. Then again, some resentment was sexy. It was entertaining when the girls got territorial. A little cat-scratching, back-biting, and hissing to stake their claim made the sex damn exciting.

Besides, everyone loved competition—especially me, especially when two big-titted women fought over my dick. A man didn’t get to the top of both his game and his women without encouraging healthy rivalry. And it was a good night to shoot for my personal best.

A threesome was fun, but it didn’t impress anyone anymore. A foursome though—entertaining
three
lovely ladies?—that sounded just right. I was in the business of making plays and memories.

Fortunately, another blonde roamed the room, searching for a lap to grind in or a cock to suck. I hauled her into the seat next to me.

“You.” I didn’t even ask her name. “Sit.”

Her voice was breathy. “Yes, sir.”

I’d never get tired of that. The new girl earned the scorn of both the brunette straddling my lap and the blonde at my side. I expected one of them to bolt, but even a third of my attention was enough of a thrill. They all stayed, staking their particular claim. The new blonde tested the limits of her halter-top and rubbed my bicep. The first blonde entwined her hand on my other arm. The brunette shimmied against my thighs.

“Girls…” I grinned as their fingers roamed over my chest. “It’s gonna be a
damn
good night.”

Bryon Washington sloshed his beer at me. The half-hearted toast was as much a congratulations as I’d get from my best friend and teammate. He smacked the waitress’s ass as she delivered another round of desserts. We hadn’t ordered them. She shifted from Bryon’s roaming touch.

“Compliments of the owner,” she said. “He’s a diehard Rivets fan.”

“Thanks, babe.” I remembered my manners even with three girls hanging over me. Wouldn’t my PR team be proud? “I’ll send him an autograph.”

She glanced over the table—covered in empty glasses, spilled beer, chicken bones, and a general mess. I doubt she wanted an autograph, probably just needed a night off after we trashed the place. At least she was cute. She could have gotten a ride all the way home if she played her cards right.

Bryon mourned her departure as she collected a tray of empty plates and escaped from the shouting and riotous laughter. He got over her rejection quick enough.

“You should share the wealth, Jack,” Bryon said, surveying my blondes. “A pretty boy like you don’t need
three
girls. It’ll look better if the team captain bangs only one lucky lady at a time.”

I didn’t care how it’d look, only how it’d feel. So far, the brunette stroking my hard-on through the denim promised a night to remember.

“Hoping I shuffle one off to you?” I asked.

Bryon winked at the brunette in her skin-tight, black dress and patted his lap. “You gotta maintain that gentlemanly image, Jack. Coach’s orders.”

“What
gentlemanly
image?” Like
anyone
had ever called me a gentleman. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I plan to show these lovely ladies a night on the town. They should be lucky to have Jack Carson as their tour-guide.”

“They won’t see much of the city from their knees.” He grinned at the brunette. “Come here, honey. He won’t miss ya.”

That wasn’t how this worked.

I was the leader. I was in charge.

And, like any alpha in a pride, I ate first. The others could have their scraps after I took my fill.

I didn’t let Brunette slip from my lap.

The last time the guys and I went out for a night, Bryon came to dinner with rainbow stripes around his dick—three different colors of lipstick ringing his cock. He bragged about it for a week, thinking he was hot shit.

I wasn’t a man who got out-classed or out-done, especially with women.

The blonde giggled and teased her fingers around my shoulders. Her nails poked when they should have stroked, but she’d have a good grip on my cock later.

“Yeah, go on, Honey,” Blondie said. “I’ll take good care of Mr. Carson.”

The brunette arched an eyebrow that might have screamed a dozen obscenities if it weren’t plucked to death, drawn in, and botox’ed stiff. She licked her lip and turned her attention to me.

“I can entertain him all by myself.” She breathed in my ear. “Right, baby?”

She smelled like cigarettes and one too many martinis. Blondie scowled. The other blonde adjusted her halter-top and let her tits do the talking.

Three under-sexed, intentionally-starved, loose-moraled women vying for the opportunity to get fucked by the Rivets’ quarterback? Yeah, I’d take those odds.

I waved to another waitress, frantically mopping up a spill. She leapt at the chance to serve someone other than my offensive line as they chugged another pitcher of beer and gnawed on the bones of their third order of barbeque wings.

She was just some chubby little college girl, pushing up glasses and huffing as the pitcher spilled. Beer soaked into the carpet. She was cute, but too flustered. I liked a girl with confidence.

“Another round for these ladies.” I waved over my newest fan club. “Whatever they want.”

“I know what
I
want…” The blonde bit her lip, her eyes skipping the flirting and darting to my groin.

The waitress sighed and grabbed her pad and pencil, though halter-top blonde scoffed as she had to repeat her order over the noise. My offensive line roared in laughter and stole the remote, turning the television to a show replaying one of our critical games last season.

One of my best passes was highlighted in full glory for us to admire. The table bumbled, and glasses went flying. The girls laughed. Blondie ran a hand over my throwing arm.

She squeezed the muscle.

Giggled.

She’d learn soon enough that wasn’t the hardest part of me.

The waitress bolted to the kitchen and returned, red-faced and brushing the sweaty hair from her cheeks. She looped the room, depositing drinks and collecting dishes. This time she left the door open, and our private party was no longer separated from the restaurant. It wasn’t a great place, just some trendy little burger bar that seemed a good investment for when I got my contract renegotiated. The burgers were greasy, the women attractive, and it offered a night of endless fun.

Except Rivets’ management said we weren’t
technically
supposed to be partying in public anymore. They said we were likely to cause a scene and our behavior was hard to spin to the fans.

I didn’t understand that. We acted like any other red-blooded man who had a couple million to blow and the attention of short-skirted women. Apparently, that was a problem. The team and league were as big a pain in the ass as my publicist.

What was the point of being rich, famous, and sporting a nine-inch cock if you didn’t get to celebrate with it once in a while?

Or two or three times a week?

I only lived once. I owed it to myself to make the most of it.

The brunette freaked before anyone could enjoy their drinks. “Waitress, I ordered
olives
not
onions
.” She punctuated her displeasure by eating the onion anyway.

“Sorry!” The waitress gritted her teeth as the brunette tossed the martini glass at her tray. It splashed on her apron. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“With
two
olives. Or should we write it out for you?” She giggled at me. “Honestly, is it that hard?”

The waitress blushed and looked at me. “Anything else for you, M—Mr. Carson?”

“Call me Jack.”

“O—okay.” The waitress teetered between star-struck and terrified, like she stared down the entire defensive line of the Ashenville Hawks. “Anything for you, Jack?”

“Nah.” I watched Bryon grab another girl. He cornered her in the shadows, and that meant it was time to go. The guys were a little too rowdy, and my women were antsy. “Just whatever the girls want, honey.”

“Aw, come on.” Blonde halter-top tapped my beer bottle. “I thought Jack Carson liked to party.”

“Baby, the party hasn’t started yet.” I rubbed her thigh. She wore too much perfume and no panties. Too easy.

“Don’t you want to play?”

Yeah, but there was a fine line between fun and forgetting the condom. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby.”

I left half of my beer and gulped the rest of my water. If I wasn’t blacking out, no sense wasting calories. I planned to bulk, but we were doing it right. Chicken breasts. Eggs. Almonds.

Besides, my publicist had a shitfit the last time a story passed on the internet about me being drunk. I wasn’t even driving and, somehow, I became the bad guy for having fun.

Of course, the story also included the picture of the girl with her hand down my pants. And, if I remembered that incident right, we might have had an issue with some slight public exposure too. Nothing that embarrassed me, but, then again, what I packed deserved to be admired.

Still, we were supposed to be
partying
. If my publicist couldn’t understand that, then Leah needed to get laid instead of bitching about my image and bad publicity. My chosen friends were more impressed by the story of me bouncing three girls in my lap, but the league and media wanted ribbon cuttings and donations to charity. I did that too, but where was the
fun
in it?

The waitress dodged Bryon’s slap, juking just as good as he did on Sunday afternoons. If opposing defenses groped instead of tackled, she’d have made an excellent addition to the team. She hurried out, but two men from the general dining room rushed inside.

It amazed me how adult men could lose their shit when face-to-face with their idols. They were gruff, dirty construction workers probably having a beer after their shift, but standing in the presence of the team made them as happy as a kid getting a Playboy for Christmas.

The first man brushed the dust from his plaid shirt and hollered at the table in glee. The second, an older and balding man, tried to text with trembling fingers. I gave him credit. At least his phone had an Ironfield cover.

“Holy shit!” Plaid hooted. “Goddamn, I’m the biggest Rivets fan in the fucking world. Mind if we get some pictures?”

Bryon grunted, freeing his girl from the corner. “Man, we’re eating—”

“It’s okay.” I scooted the girls from my lap. “I don’t mind.”

Technically, I was told by my PR team
not
to mind. One of Leah’s fucking rules. Be gracious to the fans, even if they interrupt your dinner, your night out, or your score with three beautiful women. After the run-in with the drunk asshole who thought it’d be a good idea to grab my dick while taking the selfie, Leah clarified I also wasn’t allowed to punch any fans. Apparently having a bruise on my cock wasn’t an excuse.

Nothing
was an excuse for Leah.

“Goddamn, Jack-
fucking
-Carson!” Plaid stumbled before me to shake my hand. “My oldest son played for Oakdale High School. He faced you every damn year. You whooped our ass.”

Everyone loved a local boy. “I broke every record Shawnee Hills had.”