Page 2 of Sinning for Santa

It’s not until Father Peters’ frown turns into a smile, that the niggling feeling that I’ve walked into something I’m not supposed to see diminishes and I hurry forward again.

I don’t get a chance to really see the other man, his head turning to face the altar at the front, giving me his back, but for some reason as I near, I get the awkward feeling again that I’ve just interrupted something.

“Miss Summers. What a lovely surprise.” Father Peters beams, giving me his full attention as he steps forward to meet me. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Father. I apologise for coming in so late. I saw that you were open and I needed to…” I trail off, my gaze shifting to the man sitting in the front pew who can most definitely hear me.

My cheeks flush, my inner humiliation taunting me.

What would he think if he knew why you’re here, Jaxcen? He’d be disgusted.

“You needed to?” Father Peters urges, gaining my attention again to finish my sentence.

“I-ah.” Again my eyes snap to the other man before I lean in closer to Father Peters. “I would like to use the confessional,” I whisper, and FatherPeters nods, his smile warm, his gaze understanding.

“Of course.” He gestures to the confessional booths built into the left wall. “Head over. I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you.” I sigh, shooting him a grateful smile as relief washes over me.

This is good. I’ll confess and do my penance and everything will be okay.

Father Peters steps aside for me to pass, and as I do, I get the first look at the man in the front pew, his gaze shifting in my direction as if he’s tracking my movements in his peripheral.

His dark hair is damp, probably from the same rain storm I ran in from moments ago, and his white shirt is soaked, especially along his broad shoulders and back. The fabric clings to his skin, clearly showing dark inky patterns underneath, that run up to appear on the side of his neck, finishing just below his ear.

His jawline is dusted in dark facial hair. Not enough that you can’t see how chiselled it is, but enough to make me wonder what it would be like to touch it.

Really, Jaxcen? You’re in a church!

I’m walking too quickly to take in much more than that, and I’m a little disappointed to be frank because there’s something about his presence that has me intrigued.

Does he always come to church this late?

The one thing I definitely notice is the air of danger that swirls around him, and a shiver runs up my spine.

Maybe coming here was a bad idea.

Turning my focus on the confessional before me, I hurry forward, my heels clacking once again as I hear the deep rumble of Father Peters and the man talking quietly behind me.

Opening the heavy door of the booth, I step inside and turn back, my eyes landing on the man in the front pew as Father Peters heads my way.

My breath hitches as the man’s dark gaze catches mine, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he leans his forearms on top of his knees, the long sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to reveal intricate tattoos snaking down both forearms and onto his hands.

Damn. Is it hot in here?

He doesn’t really look like the type of guy that would deliberately come to church. The creep of my blush heats my cheeks, giving my ogling away, so I quickly close the door blocking the man’s view from me, and mine from his, and then, with a sigh, I kneel.

I hear the moment Father Peters steps into the other side, the door clicking closed before the small slot in the wall dividing us opens, revealing a decorative vent.

“Join me,” Father Peters says, and together we recite, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” and I sign the cross.

“May the Lord be in your heart and help you acknowledge your sins, and trust in his mercy.” He precedes and I respond.

“Amen.”

Then, I let my mind shift back to why I’m here.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession.”

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