Page 26 of Turn That River Red

“I didn’t do much.” I cross my arms over my chest even though it’s blazingly hot and my skin is coated in sweat. There’s something about the way Ambrose looks at me, like I’m split open just for him.

I don’t dislike it. But it feels wrong. Just like last night felt wrong.

Just like it feels wrong to be standing here, alone together, away from the eyes of the congregation.

Away from Reverend Gunner.

“You did quite a bit.” Ambrose steps closer to me, and his gaze is so intense I can’t help but turn my eyes toward him, my heart pounding.

With a start, I realize where I’ve seen his expression before. It was on Raul—not when he was looking at me, though. When was practicing his rifle aim. When he had his eyes set on a target.

“Can I thank you?” Ambrose says. And just like that, the expression is gone, replaced with a soft, seductive smile. My heart beats so fast that I feel like I might faint in the heat.

“Thank me how?”

His smile just deepens, and he presses his hand around the back of my head and pulls me into him. I realize what’s going to happen a split second before it does, and my body reacts on its own. I tilt my head, part my lips, and welcome Ambrose’s mouth on mine.

The only man who has ever kissed me is Reverend Gunner. On the occasions when I served Pastor Sullivan, he didn’t bother. But even with the reverend, I never truly participate. I’ve never kissed anyone back.

This morning, I do.

Ambrose’s kiss is slow and measured. He slides his tongue through my parted lips and laps gently at my mouth like he’s tasting me—like he’s savoring my taste. The sensation is as warming as his fingers were last night, and I open my mouth a little wider, letting more of him in. He brings up his other hand and presses it gently against my cheek, his palm warm and slightly rough.

I moan softly, pressing myself into him. A gentle, pulsing heat floods between my legs. The world falls away. The church campus, the bunker entrance, the hot bracing wind,the hellish sin of what we’re doing—it’s all gone. There’s nothing but me and Ambrose and our bodies melting together.

Then he pulls away, as slow and measured as he started. He smooths his hand over my braided hair, catching some of the glinting strands that had come loose in the wind.

“That’s how I wanted to thank you,” he says.

I swoon a little, stumbling away from him. Max follows me, tail wagging, and I reach down to scratch behind his ears. His stiff fur grounds me.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” I murmur, even though my body is aching for us to do it again.

Ambrose steps closer to me, the hot wind ruffling his brown hair. “And why not?” Another step. “Because you’re Sterling’shelpmeet?”

He spits out the last word so that it’s dripping in sarcasm. I take a deep shuddery breath and allow myself to acknowledge a single truth: that I don’t care about Reverend Gunner. I care about his rage, of course, if he ever found what we’ve done. But Ambrose and I are alone out here, and that’s not why I said why I did.

It was guilt. Because Raul is dead, and the devil is trying to destroy the church, and I have no right to experience such pleasure.

“You don’t owe Sterling Gunner anything,” Ambrose says, taking another step toward me. “You don’t, Mercy. He didn’t fucking marry you.”

“It’s because of Raul!” I spit out, my words ringing on the wind.

Ambrose stops at that. For a moment, I think he looks genuinely surprised. “Oh.”

“Raul was my friend,” I say stiffly. “His funeral will be this week sometime. And I can’t—I shouldn’t?—”

Ambrose clears the rest of the space between us with twosteps and pulls me into his arms. It’s not suggestive. It’s the embrace of a preacher.

“Raul is with his Creator,” Ambrose says into my hair. “He’s surrounded by glory. You’re the one that needs comfort. Not him.”

“That wasn’t comfort,” I tell him, my chin resting on his surprisingly muscular shoulder.

“Of course it was.” Ambrose releases me enough that he can gaze down at me, his hands still on my upper arms. “I’m here to comfort you, Mercy. Whether with prayers or with?—”

“Maybe we should stick with prayers.” I step away from him, smoothing my hands down on my skirts.

Ambrose’s eyes glitter. “Then let’s pray.”

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