Gateway to Heaven

Gateway to Heaven

By Beth Kery

Published by Beth Kery at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 by Beth Kery

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Chapter 1

Christian Lasher stilled like a predator that had just sighted unexpected prey when he glanced over Father Gregory’s shoulder. His eyelids narrowed over a pair of blue eyes a female reporter from
Rolling Stone
had once described as being equally adept at giving the impression of stripping away the protection of a woman’s clothing, as they were at drilling straight through her outer façade to her very soul.

The same reporter had added that, much to the regret of a broken-hearted collection of discarded lovers, Lasher seemed to prefer what he saw in the former instance much more than what he saw in the latter one.

Father Gregory apparently didn’t notice Christian’s sudden absorption as he continued to pump his hand, extolling his thanks for the hundredth time that afternoon. “The parish, and especially the children, will be eternally grateful to you—and the other members of the band as well, of course. The proceeds from this year’s festival will not only make it possible for us to finally build a new gymnasium, but also to hire a full-time art teacher, something we sorely need.”

He glanced solicitously back at the elderly priest, but his eyes returned to their former target immediately. “I guess it’s the least I can do to make up for putting that skunk in Sister Elizabeth’s desk drawer back in the sixth grade,” he mumbled distractedly.

Father Gregory’s broad smile faltered, as did his vigorous shaking of Christian’s hand. For a brief moment, his voice became as stern as the one Christian recalled from his grade school days. “You were responsible for that? We couldn’t use that classroom for a month.”

He grin was nearly as devilish as it had been back when he was a twelve-year-old hellion.

“
Yeah, and I don’t think Sister Elizabeth ever got the smell of skunk out of her habit either, although I know she wore the same one every Tuesday until I graduated the eighth grade.” Before Father Gregory could make a predictable comment about Sister Elizabeth’s years of dedicated service to St. Catherine’s, Christian continued. “Who’s she?”

The object of his interest was bending over to speak in a soothing voice into the tear-streaked face of a brown-haired child. Not the same little girl Christian had seen her with in the park next to St. Catherine’s or in the lobby of his loft condominium. Not the little girl whose white-blonde hair was two shades lighter than her mother’s and who shared the same red bow of a mouth and sparkling green eyes. The little girl Christian had seen this woman with on several occasions was too young to be of school age.

Despite the almost Quaker-like conservatism of her dress, Christian thought she might be one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. He had no right to find her so appealing. He’d seen her repeatedly with the little girl. Christian had already noticed that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but that was never proof of anything. Cecilia used to forget to put on her ring once in a while. There were a million reasons this young woman may not be wearing one.

He didn’t do married women. Not his thing. Never had been.

He’d returned to his hometown of Chicago for a sabbatical during this stressful, painful period of his career. He needed a sanctuary to lose himself for a while…maybe to find himself again. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with a woman who was either married or by the look of her clothes, a step away from the nunnery.

Wait a second…when he was a student here, hadn’t all of the teachers been nuns?

But then Christian recalled the way the woman’s eyes had widened when he’d intentionally held her gaze yesterday in his condominium lobby. In that brief meeting of their gazes, he’d seen passion secretly encased in all of that innocent softness, that sea of soothing calm. He doubted she even knew it existed. Christian admonished himself for it but he couldn’t seem to stifle the impulse.

He wanted to cause some serious waves in that calm sea.

“
Ah, perfect. That’s Megan Shreve, our art teacher. We got her almost fresh out of graduate school last year. You’ll be able to personally meet one of the people your performance will directly benefit. After the St. Catherine’s block party we’ll be able to offer Megan a full-time position,” Father Gregory said enthusiastically as he began to start over to the woman. He paused and looked up in surprise when Christian stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“
Don’t tell her about the block party and
Lasher Down
and all that stuff. Just tell her I’m a St. Cat’s alum back for a friendly visit. Come on, Father, it’s not like I’m asking you to lie or anything,” Christian added compellingly when he saw Father Gregory’s hesitation.

Father Gregory gave a conspiratorial nod. Christian knew the priest had assumed he wanted to keep his identity secret due to modesty, a desire for anonymity in his charitable acts. That was part of his motivation, but his primary reason was a lot more mercenary.

He doubted the depraved hard-rocker type would impress Megan Shreve.

Not that he was depraved. Not that he wanted to impress this slip of a female.

As Christian got near enough to her to catch a hint of her fresh floral scent, he was man enough to acknowledge that at least one of his self-assurances was a lie.

Her light green eyes widened when she noticed him standing next to Father Gregory. He watched, fascinated, as a light pink stain colored her cheeks. Her eyes lowered over him. Christian didn’t miss the way her gaze skittered nervously toward Father Gregory as if she’d just been caught doing something red-handed that she’d probably never had to bring to the confessional in the past.

Only the handful of people who really knew Christian Lasher would have recognized the fact the infinitesimally small shift of his lips connoted a smile.

He continued to study her while Father Gregory and Megan conversed. He
should
have stopped his eyes from following the fascinating trail of that blush as it lowered across the regal column of her neck and the inch or two of skin exposed at her chest.

He should have, but he didn’t.

His gaze lingered. The white cotton blouse she wore was the epitome of modest good taste. Even Sister Elizabeth would have approved of how high she’d buttoned it and there could be no complaints about its tightness against her slender figure. Nope--no wedding ring in evidence. As a matter of fact, the only jewelry adorning her flawless skin was a small pair of pearl studs in her ears.

So why did Christian think that the way the crisp blouse ghosted her breasts, hinting at their surprising fullness, the way it revealed those delicious few inches of flushed, dewy skin above its conservative collar, made it the most feminine, sexy garment he’d ever seen? Weren’t pearl earrings a common, modest choice for women’s jewelry?

So why did he have an overwhelming urge to experience what Megan Shreve’s pearls felt like pressed between his tongue and lips?

* * * *

Megan sighed as she straightened and sent Lori Hunt on her way, the tears on the little girl’s face replaced by a hopeful smile. She rubbed tense muscles at the back of her neck, grateful that it was a Friday and she didn’t have to worry about school for a few days. It would be a relief not to have to divide her attention. It wasn’t that she hadn’t loved taking care of Emily, her sister’s four-year-old daughter, every afternoon and evening for the past week while Hilary had been at a sales conference and Terry, her brother-in-law, worked late. She’d actually loved it. But keeping up with a four-year-old when you weren’t used to it could be a challenge. She almost groaned out loud when she recalled that she’d volunteered to keep Emily for the weekend while Terry went on a golf outing in Galena with friends.

She turned around when she heard Father Gregory’s voice behind her. “Crisis thwarted with Miss Hunt, I see.”

She returned Father Gregory’s smile. “The vase she made for a Mother’s Day gift collapsed in the kiln.” Halfway through her explanation, she became aware that Father Gregory wasn’t alone. She met the eyes of the tall man with burnished brown hair who stood broodingly next to the priest. When their gazes met, Megan started in recognition. The man’s stare was unapologetically direct and just as unforgettable as it had been yesterday when she’d seen him in her condominium lobby.

It had the same effect on her today.

She glanced rapidly down the considerable length of him, taking in the crisp, white T-shirt with the worn logo on one side that enigmatically read
Velvet Funk,
the soft, unbuttoned shirt he wore over it and hadn’t bothered to tuck into a pair of well-washed and worn jeans. His general appearance emphasized not only an obvious disregard when it came to impressing other people but a potent masculinity.

She damned the heat and her cheeks. What was she doing, gawking at a man while Father Gregory stood right there?

“
I told Lori I would fire her replacement vase in the kiln at my Earth
class. She’ll have a gift for her mother, after all,” she finished breathlessly.

“
Earth
is where Megan gives classes in sculpture. She’s a very gifted artist. Megan Shreve, I’d like you to meet Christian Lasher. He’s a St. Cat’s alum, as well.”

Megan forced herself to look back up into Christian’s face when Father Gregory introduced him, but
his
attention wasn’t on her face. He must have noticed the way her breasts rose in agitation, because his gaze dragged unhurriedly back up her chest and neck before resting on her parted lips.

Did he know that her breath had just caught and held with a nameless, newly born anticipation?

“
It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

A shiver ran through her arm and tickled her neck when Christian Lasher took her hand. She couldn’t have said if it was the touch of his skin next to hers or the compelling sound of his voice. It sounded deep, a little raspy, and as resonant as a finely-tuned instrument. She leaned back too abruptly when she realized that her body had swayed forward, mindlessly spellbound by the contrast of masculinity and tenderness in that voice.

“
You too,” she murmured, releasing his hand like she thought it was a red-hot poker. “You went to St. Cat’s? What years were you here?”

“
Too many years before you to count, I can imagine,” he said sardonically, but Megan only saw the warmth of his unexpected smile. He’d seemed so serious before, so intense. She found herself relaxing a little at the sight of his engaging grin, the sudden contrast of white, even teeth against sun-darkened skin.

“
Not too many years, Christian,” Father Gregory corrected authoritatively. “When you’re as old as me, a decade or so is a drop in the bucket. The Lashers lived only a few blocks away from your parents, Megan, until they moved to Evanston…what was that, ten years ago, Christian? I think Megan’s older sister Hilary was too far ahead of you in school. Does the name Hilary Shreve sound familiar?”

Christian shook his head.

“
Do you like living here in the neighborhood where you grew up?” Megan asked.

He raised his eyebrows a fraction in wry query. Her cheeks heated again. He probably didn’t realize she’d seen him before.”

“
Oh…I recognized you. I…I think you live in my building.” Megan swallowed with difficulty when he just continued to spear her with his unsettling stare. “748 W. Adams? You do live there, right? I thought I’d seen you.”

For Megan, the few seconds before he answered dragged on for an eternity. The moment when their eyes had randomly met yesterday obviously hadn’t scorched an indelible place in his memory as it had hers.