Page 18 of Sinfully His

With the things that I had planned, when it came down to finishing off her reputation, that would be easy. She had already done half the work for me.

Her money, assets, and livelihood were going to be a little bit more challenging.

But when I was done, it was going to come down to her word against mine, and I was a priest, a pillar of the community. She would be a ruined, friendless, penniless woman.

I looked at her with the same smile I gave the archbishop in Rome recently, after I swore to him I was a man of God and would never defile a woman on the altar, and Father Reyes was clearly seeing things and should seek medical attention. The same smile I had when I said I wouldn’t start trouble in New York, and the same smile I wore as I told Mary Quinn’s daughter that she was safe with me.

“It’s forgotten.”

CHAPTER 9

ROSE

He was a priest.

I still couldn’t believe I lusted after a priest. It had been an entire week since that night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

If I was being honest with myself, most of the time I didn’t want to stop thinking about it. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. I saw the curl at the corner of his lips and how they turned up in that cruel smile, but also formed that sexy dimple. I saw the long, lean line that ran down either side of his spine, the curve from his broad chest down to his tapered waist, and even the chiseled definition of his abs.

Usually though, when I closed my eyes what I saw was color. The different shades of brown that had caught the candlelight and danced in his eyes. It had been just so unbelievably fascinating. For the first time, I felt truly inspired.

But he was a priest.

His body, his demeanor, everything about him made my body burn, and it didn’t help that he was the first man to touch me so intimately, to make my body feel things that I could never make myself feel.

Every night since, I tried to replicate what he did. I tried over and over to find inspiration elsewhere, to bring myself to the same pleasure he gave me, and it was nowhere near as satisfying or as frustrating.

After another countless failed attempt, I gave up. I tried to put it, and him, out of my mind, but it wasn’t happening. I couldn’t stop myself from drawing him. Since that night, I had spent every spare moment of my time in my art studio, that I used to share with my sister.

I spent hours drawing him, painting the colors of his eyes and the lines of his body. Then, absolutely paranoid someone would recognize who it was, I changed each piece to something else.

In the past week, I had done so many paintings that were of him, but not him. I had countless coffee cups filled with galaxies of gold and copper sparkling out of a deep mocha. I had so many landscapes with shadows and lakes that followed the lines of his body.

And one charcoal sketch that I couldn’t bring myself to alter.

It was of him, with his back to me as he waited for me to change clothes. I shaded in the shadows that moved against his skin in the candlelight, but I added a mirror in front of him. I kept his face in shadow, except for that cruel smile.

I tried to convince myself to rip it up. I tried to force myself to destroy it, and I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I removed the page from the sketch pad and rolled it up, securing it with a bloodred ribbon and hiding it in a drawer in my bedroom.

Knowing it was there waiting to be discovered was driving me mad, but not having it close seemed just as bad. If anyone ever found it, if a maid stumbled across it, they would be forced to tell my mother, and I couldn’t even imagine the screaming fit that would happen after she found out that I lusted after a priest.

Or if she had found out what I let him do to me…

I was going to hell. There was no doubt about it. There was so much guilt weighing on me for the way I looked at him, the way I saw him and thought about him before I knew…

Did I feel guilty because I thought maybe I had done something that tempted him into touching me, or because I liked it? Why did he do it? Was it only a sin for him if we had done more or if I had done something to him?

What were the rules?

I considered looking them up online, but I was too scared. What if someone tracked my search history? What if they found out I had opened my legs for a man, a man whose name I didn’t even know? One who turned out to be a priest!

I shook my head, got off my bed, and started pacing around the room. What was I doing? Why was I still thinking about this? I needed to push it from my mind, pretend it never happened. That was the only way to move on. I would just never see him again.

That was for the best. If I didn’t see him or look for him, if I didn’t talk to him or stare at that damn sketch every single night, if I continued not knowing who he was or what his name even was, then eventually he would fade from my memory.

More importantly, right now, there was nothing linking me to him.

When I got home, Mother was at some charity event, and the staff were all taking a much-needed break. So I snuck into my room undetected, bathed, and changed with no one knowing a thing. It was mid fall, so my thighs were covered at all times, and I used makeup to cover the bruise on my face. If anyone asked me about the swelling on my face, I had a story ready to go. I’d say I tripped on some new heels and fell down the stairs.

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