Page 82 of Sinfully His

And none other than the devil himself, Father Manwarring, standing in the middle of it all, directing a kid holding a Tiffany-blue Christmas tree that by the end of the day would be decorated with both contemporary and antique ornaments that the jewelry store had donated.

I refused to think of him as Thomas anymore. He was a priest. Even though his actions were as far from godly as anyone could get.

He must have felt my gaze on his back because when he turned and saw me, he didn’t look surprised. He looked like he had been waiting for me.

I hated how even in this crowded room, surrounded by people, my body still responded to his presence.

No.

I could not let that happen.

Quickly, I turned and headed to the far side of the room, where others were unboxing the donations for the silent auction. If only he could take a hint.

“We need to talk,” Father Manwarring said, his hand brushing mine as he placed an 18k gold plated manger scene on one of the snow-white tablecloths.

“No,” I said. “We don’t.”

“Where does the Waterfordcrystal go?” one volunteer asked.

I turned my back on Father Manwarring, so grateful for this little high school freshman I could kiss her.

“The Winter Wonders baubles should go on the sales table over there. They should have tags that say five hundred dollars each. The smaller crystal ornaments need to be hung from the gold tree when they get here, and they should be marked at two hundred dollars each. The gold ones should be hung too. They are one hundred each. The rest of the boxes should be drinkware sets, barware sets, things like that. Those should be placed on the silent auction table with the clipboards in front of them.”

The girl stared at me, her eyes wide, as she lifted an ornament out of the tissue paper it was wrapped in. “This golden triceratops is one hundred dollars?”

I gave her a knowing smile. It was a little ridiculous. I couldn’t wait to see her face when she found the golden shrimp.

“Yes, they were donated by WaterfordCrystal. It’s a pretty prestigious brand.”

“It’s a golden triceratops, as a Christmas ornament.”

“Angel,” Father Manwarring said again, trying to get my attention, reaching out and touching my hand.

Waves of warmth and electricity spread from his touch through my skin, making my spine tingle.

I ignored it.

“You know what? Let me help you. There is really a lot in here, and that triceratops isn’t even the weirdest one.”

I walked away from Father Manwarring again, hoping he would just back off. Of course, I could never be that lucky.

The entire day, Father Manwarring would find reasons to be close to me. His hand would touch the small of my back, and if, for whatever reason, my back was to a wall, it would slide lower. Every time he looked at me, I could feel it. Every time he touched me, it felt like my entire body was set alight.

I hated how much power he had over me.

“I would have preferred to talk to you in private,” he came out of nowhere and whispered in my ear. “But if you insist on having this conversation in public, that can be arranged.”

“Go away.”

“Oh, little angel, do you think that you’re free of me now?”

“Aren’t I? You got what you wanted. You had your revenge. So you have no more use for me,” I bit out and walked away, pretending that I couldn’t still feel where his hands had rested on my hips.

At every moment I was painfully aware of where he was. Stolen glances from me were returned with inconspicuous touches whenever he was near me. I hated how much I loved it.

Only twenty minutes later, he cornered me again.

“Are you going to pretend that you don’t miss me? That you don’t lie awake late at night thinking about me while your hands skim over your body, and you wish they were mine?”

---