Page 5 of At Her Will

“My given name is Karman Leone,” he said. “But everyone calls me Rev.”

“Rev.” Surprise filled her, and she wryly recalled her earlier imaginings about his appearance. “I’m Veracity Morgan. Most of my friends call me Vera.”

“Most? Not all?”

“No. I have other friends, a small group, who have a different name for me.”

Before she filled in that blank, her gaze moved down to his strong hand, clasping hers. Could it carve upon a shed wall with precision, the pressure driven by desire and need? Had he put out that call to the universe, and the Universe had answered?

Her belief in such things had diminished, and she was tired of her moroseness over it. It was time to take the risk.

“Do you dream of kneeling, Rev?”

The shock in his gaze confirmed her shot in the dark. Fierce joy vibrated through those energy channels and down to the soles of her feet, nestled in the precarious heels that had landed her on a collision course with him.

Now on firm footing, in more ways than one, she inclined her head with stately reserve. Without waiting for an answer, she moved away from him, feeling his hands slip away from her sensitive skin.

At the front doors, she paused and turned. He stood in the same place, staring at her. His jaw was firm, his lips pressed together, his eyes lit with the same kind of fire she was feeling. Which made her own spread upward and out, through and against her breasts, shoulders and throat.

It was going to be a pleasurable journey, figuring out what this would be and where it would go.

“What do those other friends call you?” he asked.

She held his gaze. “Mistress. See you later, Rev.”

On that intriguing and perplexing note, Veracity Morgan slid out the double doors. Rev moved closer to them to watch her go to the low and sleek sportscar. She folded herself into it without looking back, making his point. Girls didn’t have to look. Particularly one like that.

When he’d righted her and gotten a good eyeful, Lord God above, she’d sucked all of his breath into her. He hadn’t felt like he could talk until she was in the mood to hand it back to him.

She had high, good-sized breasts and a trim waist, and wore seamed stockings on her attention-grabbing legs. Women didn’t often wear stockings in New Orleans, not even in offices. Too hot, and it was a casual kind of town. Her thick hair formed a dark fluff of curls around her face, and reached her shoulder blades in the back. Her lips were a wet silver pink color. He’d gotten a real close look at those when he caught her.

Her skirt, that satin ribbon along the side, made him want to trace it over her round hip. The sheerness of her blouse offered a hint of the lace-edged bra beneath. He’d also glimpsed it from the shift of her neckline, as well as the swell of her breast, though he’d turned his gaze away from that and kept it on her feet. Helping her regain her balance was his first job, keeping her upright and in control. But the image had stayed in his mind, and he went back to it now.

Two silver necklaces had rested in that area, one of them a pentacle. It gave him a start, since he mostly saw that symbol on rock band posters kids put up in their lockers to shock the adults. Adults who, when they were teens, had followed the heavy metal bands for the same reasons.

She wore hers with the single point at the top, instead of the two “goat horns,” so he wasn’t sure what it meant to her. The other necklace had a winged Egyptian goddess instructing another woman. That one held a goblet, like a gift to a thirsty man.

Veracity’s weight in his arms, her hands on him, seeking balance, the surprise in her eyes but no real alarm, would stick with him. She hadn’t been afraid of falling, of the unexpected. She hadn’t seemed flustered except when he’d stared at her, and she didn’t seem like a woman who got flustered by a man’s stare.

Maybe a man had never looked at her with the feelings in his eyes that he’d felt.

I think I might be yours. If you want me to be.

“A woman like that is definitely worth a second look.” The comment, preceded by a wolf whistle, heralded the arrival of Beauregard Williams, the head custodian.

Rev didn’t know that Beau was a closer match to Vera’s school memories. Fifties, bald, with a paunch and mostly good humor, depending on the day and how much the kids were testing him.

“But looking’s the beginning and end of it,” Beau added. “Fancy corporate type.”

“She sees with true eyes,” Rev said absently. “She looking for a spark in the soul.”

“So I have a chance with her, then.” Beau executed a stylish spin and jangled his keys. “I got plenty of fire in me.”

Rev chuckled. “No doubt. Ladies at the church all want me to introduce you. I put ‘em off. I know how shy you is.”

Beau’s thick lips split into a grin, showing off the gold tooth in front. He had a scar under his left eye from a knife fight in his teens. “Only one I care about is Theresa James. Not that I can get anything out of her other than a polite nod and ‘Thank you, Mr. Williams, I’m not interested in seeing anyone right now.’”

Rev hummed a note. “I can tell you what I heard her say to the other ladies when they were canning for the food drive. You man enough to hear it?”

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