Preacher (The Untouchables MC 5)

“I think that ship has sailed, darlin’.”

“I asked you not to call me that.”

“You asked me not to call you ‘honey’,” he rejoined. “That’s different.”

“No endearments,” I ground out. “Anyway, there are workmen coming tomorrow to look at the boiler. I have to be here early.”

“Paul told me this place would fall down around his ears without you.”

“Not exactly true, but there is a lot to do. Which I will be happy to email you about,” I said firmly.

“I don’t do email.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m a dinosaur. I’d rather send a postcard. Or better yet . . .” He gave me a devastating smile. Why did he have to be so handsome? Only in a devilish way, of course. “Show up in person.”

I scowled. If he didn’t email, how was I supposed to keep him in the loop and under control? There was no way to keep him at arm’s length if I had to actually see him face to face.

“You have a phone, don’t you?”

I sounded like a bitch, but I didn’t care. He didn’t seem bothered. He just grunted and held it out to me. I punched my phone number in and texted myself.

“I’ll try and get you everything on paper, but I can send you calendar updates and updates via text.”

He nodded, still staring at me. I was starting to feel self-conscious, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. I was sweaty, my hair was no doubt wilted, and I wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup, all while trying to stare down the most intimidating man I’d met in my life.

“It looks nice,” he said, then turned on his heel and walked out. I stared after him. How had he known what I was thinking? He should have looked out of place in his jeans and leather vest. Instead, he looked natural. Like he would fit in anywhere.

Somehow, I knew you could take Preacher to a neighborhood barbecue or the opera and he’d be right at home.

I slung my purse over my shoulder and left, turning off the light as I closed the door. I walked the hallway slowly, feeling out of sorts. I waved as people left the various groups and classrooms. I helped to tidy up and make sure the lights were off and windows and doors were locked.

Another half an hour and I was outside, reaching for my pepper spray and keys for the walk home.

“How far do you have to go?” a deep voice rumbled from the shadows.

Preacher leaned against the wall beside the annex doors, watching as I locked them. I exhaled, not realizing I had been so tense. I always got into fight or flight mode for the walk home.

“Not far. Fifteen blocks or so.”

“I’ll walk you.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“Humor me.” He held up his hands. “I won’t say a word.”

I gave him a look, not sure of his motives. He was flirtatious for a religious man—that much was obvious. But was he actually hitting on me or was it part of his schtick?

I was pretty sure I was not his type.

“I’ll just follow you home anyway,” he said, nudging me over the edge.

“Fine,” I said with a sigh, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. I hated to give in so easily, but it would be nice to have an escort. I started walking, not even waiting for him to catch up. But somehow, he was already right beside me. I glanced down to stare at his long legs and those heavy boots. I exhaled, realizing that some of the tension I usually felt walking home at night was gone.

Preacher might not be my favorite person, but he was more than adequate as a bodyguard.

True to his word, Preacher didn’t speak. I caught him looking at me a few times, but for the most part, he was quietly scanning the neighborhood, watching and waiting for trouble. I knew nothing about him, I realized. He could be a criminal, for all I knew. But surely, Paul would not have left us in the hands of a criminal?

Unless he was a reformed criminal.

“Are you a criminal?” I blurted.

“Why? Because I ride?”

“There’s just something . . . lawless about you.”

He grunted and didn’t say anything for a minute. I couldn’t believe I had just asked him that. We turned a corner onto a side street. This was my block. It was a dead end but one of the prettiest blocks in the whole neighborhood. The ladies who lived here made an effort. A crew of gregarious old ladies lovingly tended the overflowing flowers and blooming trees. Most of them had lived here since the 1960s. They had seen a lot and they refused to leave. I loved that about them. It was a micro community within an area that was rife with crime.

“This is me,” I said, feeling unsettled. I shouldn’t have asked him if he was a criminal. He was being kind by walking me home. I was suddenly ashamed of myself. I turned to face him and found him staring down at me with a warm look in his eyes.