Lessons in Sin

I peeked around the drapes and confirmed Galen was no longer here. Then I slung my bag over my shoulder and set out to find Magnus.

The blustery walk turned my fingers into icicles, but when I reached the arched doors of the church and opened them without resistance, I forgot all about the freezing temperatures.

A fever of elation swept through me as I crept into the foyer.

The scent of candle wax and incense permeated the air. Glossy woods and colorful stained glass danced in the glow of countless candles. Rows and rows of flickering flames illuminated the perimeter and behind the altar.

And there, kneeling in the front pew, was the dark outline of broad shoulders and a bowed head.

As the door shut behind me, his neck turned, and his blue glare sliced a path from my boots to my knitted hat. No smile. No evidence of happiness. No relief to see me.

My heart spooled out in tattered strips of vulnerability, spilling all over the floor.

In his hands, he held a rosary. I wondered how long he’d been praying in here. The candles sat in pools of liquid wax, suggesting they’d been burning for hours.

“Hey.” I dropped my bag, clamped my trembling fingers together behind my back, and steeled my spine. “I don’t have the code to the gate.”

“You’re supposed to be in Bishop’s Landing.” He unfolded his tall frame from the pew and stood, a deliberately unhurried motion that shivered my blood.

“I was alone there, and you’re alone here. I don’t have any expectations. I just…”

I had this very dirty fantasy of him taking control of me. I just wanted to stand here, give myself over to him, and let him use me however he wanted.

“I just thought…” My teeth chattered. “We could have coffee together, listen to Christmas music, trade witty insults…”

The barely restrained, sinister energy rolling off him eroded my voice.

He tucked the rosary into his pocket, stepped into the center of the aisle, and faced the altar with his back to me. A strong, proud back, encased in black. Long, talented fingers clasped at the base of his spine. Muscle-corded legs braced apart to support his powerful stance.

“I want more than coffee and music and insults with you.” His black velvet voice slid across my skin. “Lock the doors.”

Sweet holy Lord, there was no mistaking what that meant.

The past four months had wound so tightly around us, there was no stopping this. I didn’t, for a single second, want to slam on the brakes. I was so fucking aroused. Nervous.

Terrified he was making a mistake.

“Don’t do this for me.”

“Oh, princess.” He kept his back to me as his dark chuckle reverberated through the church. “I’m doing this for me.”

That was the answer I needed. He wanted me for himself. No matter the punishment or consequences. He would be breaking his vows for his own purpose.

Reaching back, I locked the steel bolt on the door. The sound crashed through the consecrated space, the fall of a heavy hammer, blaring its warning.

No turning back. My boots were already moving, following the path I’d chosen, chasing my one great passion.

Halfway down the aisle, I yanked them off. My scarf, hat, coat, and socks left a trail behind me. I tried to discard my nerves, but they clung, turning my insides into a jittery mess.

By the time I reached his back, he still hadn’t turned to look at me. His rigid posture vibrated with tension.

He stood at the base of four wide steps which led to the altar. I ached to touch him, to run my hands up and down his gorgeous body, but more than that, I needed to see his face.

I circled him, climbing two stairs to stand before him. At eye level, he still had the ability to glare down the length of his nose at me, and he did with those fierce glacial eyes.

Good thing he didn’t scare me, or I would’ve run straight out that door. But all the same, he made me nervous as hell. It was his silence. His unflinching eye contact. The motion of his thumb rubbing against his forefinger.

“Stop doing that with your hand.” My heart pounded. “You’re freaking me out.”

His expression darkened. His fingers went still. Then he slowly, menacingly moved toward me, setting one foot on the step. I backed up. He stayed with me. Just like the night I met him. He had the power to push me through a room without even touching me.

I kept retreating, and he continued to advance, his features stern and the tendons straining above his white collar.

When my back hit the altar, my hands flew up in defense. He grabbed them and pinned them to my sides. A half-second later, he spun me away. I wobbled with my back to him and my palms flat on the marble surface.