Page 33 of Turn That River Red

Ambrose’s face is unreadable. He brushes his knuckles against my cheekbone. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” And it’s true. I want the oblivion of sin. I want the oblivion of desire. I don’t dare ask him to touch me again, but a kiss—a kiss is innocent. “Please. I know we shouldn’t, but I just want to forget?—”

His mouth catches mine. His tongue parts my lips. And I kiss him back, unsure where to put my hands—on his arms, on his face. But he decides for me. He presses me back against the couch, our mouths never disconnecting, and he pins my hands over my head. His body covers mine, and I feel the evidence of his arousal as much as I feel my own—an unfamiliar rigidity digging into my thigh.

“Are you needed somewhere?” he asks the questions against my lips.

“They probably want to ask me questions about the—about the?—”

“No,” Ambrose’s voice is firm. “You don’t need to do that.”

Relief surges through me. “What if Reverend Gunner goes to my cabin?” I whisper. “What if he’s looking for me?” The last thing I want right now is to talk about Reverend Gunner. I want Ambrose’s mouth on my lips. I want to never stop kissing him.

Ambrose kisses along my neck, all the way to the edge of my neckline. “I’ll call him and tell him the truth,” he mutters. “That you saw the body and need grief counseling. I’ll let him know he can speak to you once you’ve calmed down.”

Then he nips at my skin with his teeth, making me cry out. “This isn’t right,” I gasp out, but Ambrose interrupts me.

“Yes, it is.” He kisses my mouth again, deeper than before. “I’m going to make you forget all your fear, Mercy Gunner. Just trust me.”

And I do.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AMBROSE

Mercy moans beneath me as I kiss along her throat and scrape my teeth against her skin, something I’ve been dying to do since I heard her beautiful, melodious scream this morning. I’ve been awake all night, the windows cracked open, waiting for it.

I know this is stupid. But she tastes like the jugo de cana that I used to drink when I was a young man and knowing that she actuallysawmy work has me delirious. Her loud, sobbing tears alone were enough to send all the blood straight to my cock.

I kiss up along her jaw so I can taste the salt residue left by those tears, and she whimpers again. I half-expect her to push me away, but she doesn’t. One of her hands drapes around my shoulder. The other runs up and down my spine. Her body rocks against me, her legs spread, opening up for me despite the thick layers of her dress.

“Wait here,” I mutter into her ear before dragging myself away. Mercy blinks up at me, dazed, her lips plump and swollen. Fuck, I want them around my cock. But I also need to showsomerestraint.

“What are doing?” Mercy asks breathlessly.

“Told you. Calling Gunner.”ReverendGunner, I remind myself. I’m still playing a role here, even if seeing Mercy like that, red-eyed from weeping and spread out for me on the sofa, is enough to make me forget. “Reverend Gunner. I’ll tell him you’re safe, I’m calming you down, and he can speak to you when you’re ready.”

Mercy sits up, her skirt rustling, and her fear takes on a unique undertone: she’s afraid ofGunner. “Don’t let him get jealous. I’m not supposed to be alone in your cabin.”

I jerk my gaze over to her, more sharply than I intend. That motherfucker getsjealous? He uses her, passes her around, and he has the nerve to getjealous?

“You saw something unimaginably awful for the second time in a week,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice even. “And came to me for guidance.”

I resist the urge to ask what would happen if Gunner did get jealous. What he would do to her. I can tell that her fear is a fear of experience.

I pull out the cheap burner phone I bought for this mission, then look at Mercy expectantly. She hesitates, but only for a second. Then she rattles off a phone number.

Gunner doesn’t answer, thank fuck. I don’t actually want to talk to him. “Reverend,” I say when the voice message beeps. I never take my eyes off Mercy—I want to drink in every aspect of her fear and her lust and her despair. “This is Ambrose Echeverría. I have Mercy Gunner here with me. She told me what happened. She, ah, unfortunately saw the body?—”

Mercy blinks, big fat tears shimmering on her eyelashes. I’ve never wanted to taste salt so badly.

“She’s very upset. She did tell me she’s not supposed to be alone in my cabin, but I think we can make an exception here, yes? She’ll need some time before she can come in to speak with you about it. Please, call me if you have any questions.”

Then I hang up and switch my phone over to silent.

“There.” I go back over to Mercy and kneel down in front of her. A tear streaks over her cheek, and this time, I really can’t help myself. I nestle between her legs and rise up to catch the tear with my mouth.

“Ambrose,” she murmurs.

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