Sweetest Sin: A Forbidden Priest Romance (8 page)

Our hips met, and
her chest pressed into mine, the swell of her breasts heaving, caught between
surrender and protest.

I
hardened—fiercely and violently.

She felt it. Her
eyes widened, but I didn’t let her speak. Didn’t let her move.

And if I hadn’t
lost my soul before, this was the moment when it should have been wrenched from
me. But I was strong enough to resist.

Though I desired
her kiss, I leaned only close enough to let the barest hint of my lips graze
against hers. If I had been a lesser man, I might have seized her, torn through
her clothes, and moved upon her then and there on the floor.

No, against the
wall.

Or in my office.

Or on the
altar—the sanctified, honored, perfect location to strip her bare, reveal her
to my sins, and take that sacrifice for myself.

My lips moved,
softly, only a feather’s width from hers.

“You will stay.”
The command resonated as hard as the sin between my legs. “You will join the
choir. You will sing. You will volunteer for the festival. You will join the
activities and groups of this parish. Every day I will find you here. Every day
you will pray that this is as close as we ever come.”

Her eyes fluttered
closed. Her pulse beat, rapid, a vibration of glory within her chest.

My growl might
have startled her. I didn’t care. “I
will
control us. Do you understand,
my angel?”

Honor couldn’t
speak, but her lips parted.

She wanted the
kiss.

So did I.

I released her to
unstable legs and hearts.

“Do you
understand?” I asked again.

“Yes, Father.”

“Go back to the
meeting.”

She nodded,
stumbling to the door. She turned, swallowing, defiant if only to prove she
could demonstrate the same strength I wielded.

Blessed little
angel.

She’d need it.

“And what will you
do, Father?”

“What I have done
for the last five years of my life…” I met her gaze, lost within the mysteries in
her stare. “I will be a good priest.”

Honor nodded,
slipping from the hall to return to the meeting. I listened until I could no
longer hear the echo of her steps.

She left me, but I
was not free.

I collapsed before
the monstrance, the sanctified golden box that held the Host.

I prayed harder
than I’d prayed in years.

“Heaven help me…”
I clenched my rosaries. “I fear I’m turning to sin.”

What was I
thinking joining the choir?

I plunked down in
the vestibule, not ready to head into the sanctuary. The organ tuned from
inside, but no one was ready for the auditions yet.

I wondered if he
was in the church.

Then I hated
myself for such a thought.

The choir girl and
the priest? It was a bad joke waiting to happen. Toss in a bar and the Pope’s
hat, and we were as cliché as we were damned.

I’d dreamt of him.
Again
. It was the third night this week, and the images only became more
powerful, more…explicit. As if my body hadn’t tested me enough, now my mind captured
me too.

And I liked the
fantasies it created.

What was wrong
with me? My heart strained and beat and panicked, as if trapped within his arms
once more. He had hardened that night in the adoration chapel. It throbbed
through the cassock, through the pants beneath.

I’d never met a
man so full of contradiction. Here was a virile, passionate,
sensual
man, rippled with muscle and straining with desire…but instead of sinful
delights, he chose the collar. The blindingly white and pure beacon represented
a man of morals, faith, and celibacy.

Both sides of him
were masculine, so very strong and powerful. Just my luck, the clerical
clothing only accentuated every strength carried in his broad shoulders, thick
arms, and tight chest.

If the world had
been made for a man like Raphael, maybe Eve wouldn’t have wandered alone
through the garden…

Or maybe he would
have become her original sin?

I arrived fifteen
minutes early for the auditions—thanks in part to still planning my day via bus
schedules. I often forgot I had Mom’s car. At least one good thing came from
her suspended license—it was easier to get from classes to work and then to the
church.

I dropped the bag
carrying my books for my summer classes. The math, English, and polysci credit
were cheaper during the summer. It was worth the drive to take them at the
satellite campus instead of at the college this fall.

Not that it
mattered. I hoarded all the credits and community service hours I could keep
from the transfer, but I was short the classes I needed to graduate on schedule.
Going part-time meant it’d take longer than a year to finish my degree, even
with the summer’s extra courses. Figured. The incompletes I earned after Dad’s
funeral sophomore year still haunted me.

Along with every
other aspect of that day.

I opened my
laptop.
Carefully
. It was old, still clunking along from freshman year. I
didn’t trust the fuzzy rattle coming from the fans. I’d need a new one, but I
had no idea where to spare the money for a replacement. Mom was a month behind
on the rent, two on the water bill, and still owed fines from the accident.

This was why I
came home. To
help
. But had no idea it had gotten this bad for her. Then
again, once I was accepted to college, I ran. I’d rarely visited, even for
holidays.

And after Dad had
died, I never thought I’d come home again.

I rooted through
my second bag—a change of clothes, bottle of water, and my packed lunch. My
stomach rumbled, but I regretted packing an apple to eat.

Of all the stupid
fruit to bring into the church.

I grabbed the pack
of crackers instead and nibbled through to get to the peanut butter. The
vestibule doors opened, and Alyssa and Samantha strolled inside, arm in arm. They
greeted me with wide smiles.

That meant
trouble.

“This is so great,”
Alyssa said. Today, her hair bound high in a ponytail, so perky she should have
sat on top of a cheerleading pyramid. “It’s like the whole gang is back
together.”

Samantha twirled
in a skirt that might’ve doubled for a priest’s stole. “I knew we’d have some
fun this summer. It’s been hell getting through Saint Francis’s programs. Can
you believe a
college
has a dress code?”

I started to see
the appeal. I offered them a cracker, and Alyssa took it with a wicked arch of
her eyebrow.

“Is Daddy El here
yet?”

My mouth dried,
and the cracker turned to ash. I grabbed my water bottle and chugged. Even that
tasted of sulfur.

“Don’t know,” I
said. “He probably won’t be here. The Choir is Deacon Smith’s project.”

Alyssa shook her
head. “But the festival and the Battle of the Choirs was all Daddy El’s idea.
He bet the other parishes in the area a fully painted rec room to the winner.
This just got serious.”

I smirked. “I
thought gambling was a sin.”

“That man
is
sin.” Samantha fanned her face. “I hope I get stage fright just so I can
imagine him in his underwear.”

And
that
was the image that I couldn’t get out of my head.

What was more
dangerous—imagining Father Raphael naked…or picturing him in the cassock? Flesh
was one perilous temptation, but I never imagined I’d fall for the robes? They
were strict, commanding, and possessing every righteous power afforded to him
by his Holy Orders.

Both thoughts made
me tremble from the inside out. At least my song’s vibrato would sound
authentic.

As if he could
tell when my thoughts drifted from the pious to the wicked, the solid, solemn
click of his shoes against the stone echoed through the hall. Alyssa and
Samantha silently squealed. The crackers crumbled in my hand.

Father Raphael
checked his text messages and tucked an iPhone into his cassock. He greeted us
with a smile that seemed so genuine, so
wholesome
, it was as if I’d imagined
the desires that stoked between us.

“Good afternoon,
ladies.”

His gaze lingered
politely as Alyssa and Samantha twisted under the briefest of his stares. He
reserved the worst and best for me. I sat, paralyzed, meeting his dark eyes
with darker intentions.

Thank God for the
white-collar that separated us from complete and utter devastation.

“You can go in,”
he said. “Deacon Smith is on his way.”

Alyssa bit her
lip. “But Father…aren’t you
coming
?”

Oh Christ, save
us. I hid my face in my hands.

“I’ll be in
shortly.” His words rumbled, heavy but innocent. “Tell him not to start without
me.”

Father Raphael
continued down the hall to his office. My breath returned only once his
footsteps faded. Samantha giggled.

“One day, he’s
going to flirt back.”

Alyssa snorted. “I
doubt it. Denying us is his game. A man like that isn’t naïve. He’s in complete
control.”

Control
.

Right.

Father Raphael had
yet to succumb to any of the desires that had so humiliated me. Was he leading
me from temptation?

Or did he drag me
down the dangerous path?

This was a
slippery slope made slicker by his touch, words, stare.

The vestibule
doors clattered open, and Deacon Smith shuffled inside, immediately dropping
his papers and music. He was a blessed teapot of a man—short, stout, and
constantly steaming about one thing or another. Today it was the lack parking
spaces.

He groaned as he
averted his eyes from Alyssa and Samantha’s bare legs. Three people followed
him, and a car peeled up to the curb outside, tossing out a couple high school
boys who might have worked as the bass voices we needed.

“Inside, inside.”
Deacon Smith didn’t look at my friends. “We’ll start auditions in five
minutes.”

Alyssa and
Samantha cackled as he hurried to the organ.

“If nothing else,
we can stroke him out,” Alyssa giggled.

Samantha gestured
for us to follow with a curled finger. “We’ll make sure he wants to stroke
something.”

The doors closed.

Wow
.

I tried to avoid
Hell, and they preferred to toss everyone into the fire. I gathered my things
and hauled the bags over my shoulders. 

The weight lifted
immediately. I swallowed as Father Raphael took my book bag and laptop from me.
He opened the door to the sanctuary.

“After you,” he
said.

Enough was enough.

I couldn’t live in
fear of this man’s smile forever.

I met his gaze and
thanked him, trying to forget how warm his words were when whispered so near my
lips.

If the memory
still twisted in him, Father Raphael revealed nothing. I forced myself to look
at the confessional. That momentary weakness had come and gone. Even if I still
remembered how it felt, even if I dreamt of him at night, I took control. I
hadn’t touched myself and sinned since that last time.

That made the
restless nights uncomfortable. The unbearable pressure deep in my core hadn’t
forgiven me, but at least He could.

I picked a pew in
the middle of the church, but Father Raphael sat at my side.

Shoot
.

I should’ve taken
a better seat. Something up front where everyone could see us instead of five
rows back.

Or maybe that
would have looked just as suspicious, like they thought we were hiding
something.

Were
we hiding
anything?

Could they tell?

Did it matter?
Everyone was already seated. Alyssa and Samantha pouted from the front row.

I had Father
Raphael to myself now.

Deacon Smith
muttered to himself and tripped on his way to the organ. Mrs. Britters, the
ninety-year-old organist, readied to play whatever he placed before her. He
spread his papers out and approached the pews with a hand to his forehead.

“I’ve been a
deacon here for twenty years,” he said. “And, in my life, I’ve wanted two
things. Firstly, to keep my hair.” He tugged on the few strands that remained.
“Obviously, this hasn’t happened. However, I’ve
dreamed
of St. Cecilia’s
choir becoming…professional. That means no chewing gum. No requests for
Freebird
or
Like A Prayer
. No singing from the hymnals upside down—Aiden, yes,
I’m talking about
you
. I want to create something…beautiful.”

Deacon Smith just
needed a sweater wrapped around his neck and a director’s chair, and we’d be
one set list away from a production of Godspell. He tapped his clipboard.

“We have twenty people
auditioning today for a
nine
-person choir. Before anyone gets too
excited, please make sure you can commit to
more
practices—we’ll need an
hour or so later on the nights after regular choir rehearsals.”

That just meant my
summer was now completely booked with church events—just as Father Raphael
wanted. At least it would look nice on a resume for a full-time job. Of course,
I wouldn’t have a degree, but maybe I’d get lucky.

Deacon Smith
already looked stressed as Alyssa and Samantha synchronized the crossing of
their legs. He cleared his throat. “You’ll each get to sing one song, and I’ll
post the results tonight on St. Cecilia’s Facebook group. If this goes well, we
might be able to do a couple competitions or shows and turn this group into
something great. So we’ll hear…” He crossed himself, looking at Alyssa and
Samantha. “How…it sounds.”

“It should be
fun.” Father Raphael called out.

The twenty people
auditioning all turned to listen to their priest. I shifted lower in my seat.

Did that make me seem
guilty?

Father Raphael
welcomed their attention. “I have a couple priest friends who formed choirs
from their youth groups and congregations.” He shrugged. “They’ve won trips to
Disney. I figured, why not try that here?”

“How…” Alyssa
hummed. “
Secular
.”

Deacon Smith
cleared his throat. “Okay. Line up. Who’s first?”

A few hands rose,
but not mine. I breathed deep. A mistake.

Why did Father
Raphael smell so…divine? Sandalwood and incense and something else. Cedar? A
woody, tangible scent that watered my mouth and would linger in my dreams that
night.

His voice didn’t
help, a quiet admittance only for me to hear. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes.”

“About the
audition?”

Sure. That was
easier to admit. “I haven’t soloed in a long time.”

“I have faith in
you.”

“Do you?” I didn’t
know whether to stare ahead at the linen-draped altar or cast a glance to the
black robes at my side.

“Of course I do. I
have the
most
faith in you, Honor.”

“How?”

His smile was
unexpected but not unwelcomed. “I’d lose faith in myself before you.”

That was what we
both feared.