Page 26 of Unholy Obsession

Her eyes harden. “A man who’s nothing like you. A man I’ll never see again.”

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us, the air humming with tension and something far more dangerous. But then she shifts, just slightly, and the movement is enough to shatter the fragile balance I’m clinging to.

I reach for her, my hands gripping her shoulders, and I can’t help but tighten my fingers the same way I would, as if I was about to pull her into a passionate embrace.

Her eyes widen, and for the first time, I see the flicker of uncertainty in her gaze.

“You need to rest,” I say, my voice low but unyielding. “This isn’t... This can’t happen. Not tonight.”

Her lips part, but no words come. She looks up at me, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, I think she might argue.

But then she nods, the movement small but enough to ease some of the tension coiled in my chest.

I release her shoulders and step back, the loss of her warmth almost unbearable. “Come on,” I say, finally able to make the words come out gentle and soft. “Let’s get you to bed.”

ELEVEN

MOIRA

I wakeup with the kind of regret that clings like a cheap polyester dress in the middle of a Texas summer. Sticky. Unforgiving. And making me deeply, deeply question my life choices.

Oh, Moira, what have you done this time?

I groan, rolling over, and—yep, there it is. The crushing weight of last night slamming into me like a ton of bricks.

Bane is Father Blackwood. Father Blackwood is Bane.

Of course. Of freaking course. The one man I’ve actually fantasized about worshipping is technically already married to the Church. And I tried to seduce him with a black eye.

Goddamnit, the room is too bright. I wince as I pry my working eye open. And I’m too fuckin’ sober. This is all just too painful without the haze of gummies to soften the memory of me throwing myself at him like a runaway rollercoaster with no brakes.

Nope. Time to dip out like the hot mess coward I am.

I roll out of bed—correction, I roll out ofhis bed—and get to work. I straighten the sheets like a polite little house guest, smooth down my dress that he washed and dried like the infuriatingly thoughtful man he is, and tiptoe toward the bedroom door.

But when I try to open it, the door groans like it’s personally offended by my attempt to sneak away. I wince.Fuck you, stupid door!I try pushing harder and faster.Creeeeeeaaak. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I squeeze through the smallest opening possible and inch down the hallway, wincing every time the floorboards squeak beneath my feet.

I pass by the living room, pausing for a moment when I see a coffee table lined with upright dominos in a little maze, each perfectly spaced. Just waiting for someone to come and push the one at the end to set them all off.

I’m tempted. Very tempted to go knock over the first one.

But no. I shake my head. The front door is right there. I focus back on it, tiptoeing closer.

So close. Almost home free.

And then?—

“Leaving so soon?”

I freeze like a goddamn deer in the headlights. Like every bad decision I’ve ever made is coming back to haunt me in the form of a six-foot-something, dark-eyed, utterly unreadable priest standing by a little coffee nook, two steaming mugs on the table.

“Uh—” My brain short-circuits. Words tumble out of my mouth without pausing for breath. “I just—figured you had things to do, so I’d just get out of your hair, also, I’m so sorry for last night, I’m mortified, truly mortified, beyond mortified, if there’s a level past mortified, I’m there.”

His gaze flicks to my bruised eye.

I stammer. “Oh, yeah, that. It was just a misunderstanding. A—a mix-up. I mean, obviously, you know that, but I just—” I gesture wildly at my face like that’ll somehow erase my embarrassment. “I’m gonna go now.”

I make a break for the door.

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