“Okay, Mr. Mystery, I will.”
She accepts the bag but only after I slide it across the desk. “Fine,” she growls and snatches the bag off the top of the desk. After a sigh, she pushes away and stands, taking the bag to a small safe behind a painting of Jesus and his mother.
Whatever she does after that, I have no fucking clue because my eyes are glued to her ass, looking mouthwatering, tempting as fuck in a pair of jeans. Her legs look shapely and long. My mouth goes dry, and my cock stirs to life.
“I love the way your ass looks in those jeans, Letty.”
Her breath hitches, and she keeps her back to me for a few seconds longer. It feels like an eternity. But when she turns, and I see the pretty blush on her neck and face, my own smile appears.
“You really shouldn’t say such things, Shades, especially not in a church.”
“Why not? If God created you, then I think he’d be pretty damn pleased with how much I appreciate your ass.”
Her blush deepens, and my cock grows even harder. Relax asshole. I try to talk my cock down because he knows as well as I do that Letty isn’t for us. No matter how much I want to fuck her, she’s a good girl, probably in search of a husband and two-point-five kids with a white picket fence. The whole fucking dream.
Letty laughs at my explanation, and the sound is sweet, feminine as fuck and almost musical.
“I’m not sure I buy your logic, but I accept the compliment in the spirit it was given.”
“Now, was that so hard?”
Speaking of hard, my cock is being a stubborn prick, growing behind my zipper the longer Letty is standing up.
“You have no idea,” she smiles and shakes her head. Her expression changes, and she looks at me for a long time as if I’m some puzzle she’s trying to figure out.
“How are you feeling today, Shades?”
Whatever I thought she might ask, that’s not it.
“I’m fine, Letty. The club doctor looked me over and gave me the all-clear.”
She sucks in a breath at my words and points at me, her expression full of accusation. “You…you have a club doctor?”
Her outrage or maybe her indignation is offensive, and I lean forward with a snort.
“Yes, sweetheart, me and my band of criminals actually have a doctor among our ranks. Shocking, isn’t it?”
Her nostrils flare as her anger rises. Skin turns pink as her chest heaves with the energy it requires to keep her cool.
“I am surprised, yes but—” She glares at me, hard, when my hand slices the air to cut off her words.
“Save it for confessional,” I tell her dismissively.
“No.” She bangs both hands on her desk. “First of all, I’m not Catholic, and we don’t do confessions. Second of all, if I’m surprised, it’s only because you let me treat your wounds when you could have just said you had someone to take care of you.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” she repeats in a mocking tone. “That.” She folds her arms, one brow arches triumphantly. “Got something more to say?”
“You were so damn persistent, it was easier to just let you do your thing and be on my way.”
I smile and lean forward until I catch a whiff of her feminine, floral scent.
“If it helps, Nova said you did a good job on the stitches, and he knows stitches since he was an Army medic.”
“Another veteran?” Her brows dip in confusion, and her mind races before those blue eyes land on me again. “Is that normal?”
“Is what normal?”