Preacher (The Untouchables MC 5)

“Cynthia. I like that,” he rumbled in an incredibly deep voice with a hint of a twang. He sounded like he should be in an old Western. Hell, with his long hair, striking features, and all those muscles, he looked like he should be in one too.

I bristled a bit at the familiar way he was looking at me. Like he knew me. Like he ate girls like me for breakfast. I lifted my chin and gave him my sternest Sunday School Teacher look. I did, in fact, teach Sunday school, among the many, many other things I did.

“It’s nice to meet you, John.”

His craggy face broke into a smile. A smile that transformed his countenance like the sun breaking through clouds after a storm. He went from scary but sexy to almost . . . beautiful . . . in a heartbeat.

Not almost. He was. He was beautiful.

Wow, Cynth, wax poetic much?

Despite my misgivings, I had a sinking feeling that Preacher was going to be more than an unwanted guest. He wasn’t just handsome. The man was legitimately going to cause a stampede of women every time he stepped outside. I groaned inwardly, recognizing the unwelcome stirrings of an out of control crush. I was not going to be another goofy girl, following him around like a puppy dog.

“Call me Preacher.”

Chapter Three

Preacher

I stood next to Paul at the pulpit, watching the church staff and volunteers walk in. They were a varied bunch, all different ages, ethnicities, sizes, and shapes. There was even an extremely tall woman with the most ornate makeup and hairstyle I had ever seen. She caught my eye and waved flirtatiously. I cracked the barest semblance of a smile.

They might look different, but they all looked at me with a lost expression. I could see the hope in their eyes and it was like a punch to the gut. Paul was right. These people needed me.

All except one.

The unbelievably gorgeous girl I’d met outside was glaring at me, distrust and suspicion clearly written all over her beautiful face. She really was flawless. Tawny skin, huge eyes, almost too-pretty features, and a figure that . . . well, let’s just say my recent lack of interest in the fairer sex had just returned with a vengeance.

Cynthia… what a delicious name she had. Cynthia…

Cynthia was making me think crazy thoughts. I didn’t just want to screw her, though I wanted to do plenty of that. I wanted to fucking look at her all day. I wanted to listen to her talk. I wanted to rub her feet and cook her dinner.

It didn’t escape me that this was another one of God’s practical jokes. The first woman I’d felt an actual interest in beyond a quick tumble was looking at me like I was a turd stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Ha-ha, Big Guy. Ha-ha.

She’s right to be suspicious of you, you old dog. Only teenage boys and old perverts get hard-ons in church.

I adjusted myself and forced myself to look away before my semi became a Goddamn flagpole.

It was better than she didn’t like me. It would keep me out of trouble. Keep me from tossing her onto the nearest piece of furniture and going to town on that ridiculously juicy ass.

Focus, you old dog.

The other faces in the crowd were waiting patiently as the last few folks filtered in, reminding me that this was not a small operation. It wasn’t just Marcus and the kids and the community. The church had a big staff. These people needed me. And I’d made a promise.

What was supposed to be a favor was turning into something else. I wasn’t going to be able to shuffle back to my old life in two weeks. I glanced at my friend, noticing how thin he looked in his robe.

“You can do this sitting down, you jackass,” I muttered for his ears only. He gave me a quick smile and shook his head.

“This might be my last time.”

My gut tightened up, and I reached out a hand, laying it on his shoulder. He reached up and put his hand over mine, giving it a squeeze.

“Most of you know that I’m leaving. I think most of you know why.”

Nobody spoke. It was clear from the way they looked at him that they adored him. I couldn’t imagine it. Yeah, my club and others I visited needed me. Liked me. Trusted me. But adoration?

Hell, the last wedding I performed ended with my getting shoved right into the lake.

Right after you kissed the pretty bride, I reminded myself with a satisfied smirk. I did love fucking with the grooms at weddings. It had been particularly satisfying to push Mac over the edge. The guy was so quiet, watching him pop his fuse was hysterical. My gaze slid to the pretty girl sitting out there, knowing it would have been a different ball of wax with her. I would have sincerely tried to stop the wedding if she had been the bride.