Page 1 of Lust

CHAPTER ONE

SYDNEY

Ipick up another bible from the pew and drop it into the little slot and wonder, not for the first time, why it’s so difficult for people to put them back themselves when they are done with them.

I can practically hear Pa admonishing me for my ungodly thoughts as I step from the end of the last row of pews and back toward the lectern.

“Pa, I’m all done. I’ll see you at dinner,” I call and tilt my head, straining to hear his reply, but nothing comes. He’s probably got his door closed or on the phone.

With a huff, I grab my bag and coat, sliding it on as I stride down the hall to his office, checking my watch and hurrying my steps when I see the time. I’m about to call out again when I hear a voice I don’t recognise coming from Pa’s office. The door is ajar, and I pause to listen. Something else Pa would lecture me on if he knew I was here eavesdropping.

“Ecclesiastes 7:21-22, ‘Don’t eavesdrop on the conversation of others’, Sydney.”

“Thank you, for your help, Father.” His voice is a deep rumble yet tinged with sadness.

“Of course, Roman. And, please, if you need anything, my door is always open.”

Footsteps draw closer and not wishing to get caught, I stamp my feet quickly to imitate walking, then push the door open.

There’s an ooph from the other side, and I raise my hands as I crash into a hard body.

Hands grasp my elbows as I stammer out an apology. “S-sorry. I…” My words trailing off as I notice where my hands are, splayed across a man’s chest while he still holds my elbows.

“Apologies, Roman. This is my daughter Sydney,” Pa says as the man, Roman, releases me, and I step back. I lower my head but not before I catch Pa casting me a reproachful frown.

“Nice to meet you, Sydney,” Roman says, and while sadness still hugs his tone, now it is joined with something akin to anger. Raising my head enough to see his face, I’m met with green eyes that I imagine were once a vibrant viridian green yet now seem slightly dulled. Strong, defined cheekbones and a nose that has been broken at some point given the small curve, but it’s the scar across the bridge that is the biggest indicator. I can’t see his hair thanks to the cap he’s wearing, which no doubt annoyed Pa, but the dark five o’clock shadow leads me to think his hair is the same dark shade. And as I take in more of him, his black jacket over a tall, broad frame and dark jeans, I spy ink peeking from beneath the cuff of his coat and follow as it trails down his left hand. An altogether unexpected yet pleasurable thrill rushes through me at the sight. Thoughts of this man’s body covered in dark ink invade my mind. I quickly push the sinful vision and thoughts away as Pa begins talking.

“Roman is new to town and will be joining our congregation after a recent loss.”

Well, that explains the sadness I heard in his voice before. I wonder who he lost, lover or wife, maybe. Although I’m not sure he strikes me as the settle down married type.

“‘Do not judge, or you too will be judged,’” whispers Pa’s voice in my subconscious.

I nod. “It’s nice to meet you, and I’m sorry for your loss,” I say, then turn to Pa. “I have to get going. I’m already late. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Very well. See you tonight, Sydney. And don’t be late.”

“I won’t,” I call as I exit the office and speed walk down the hall, through the nave and out the doors, turning right once I reach the pavement.

I have less than ten minutes to make a walk that usually takes me fifteen to twenty minutes. Sheila is not going to be happy if I’m late again. Besides, I hate tardiness.

I dart between the crowds as I reach the high street. It’s November and the streets are filled with shoppers hoping to get a Christmas bargain or finish their lists before their friends. Pa always has a few choice words—lectures really—on the true meaning of Christmas and how much capitalism has twisted it into a gluttonous, money-making farce. He has already reminded me that Advent is coming in three weeks’ time, and I’m not talking about opening a calendar and eating chocolate every morning from December 1st to the 25th.

By the time I burst through the doors of the bookshop I work in, I’m a sweaty mess, but I’m only two minutes late having ran the last half a mile.

I strip my coat and scarf off as I head for the staff room, catching the eye of Sheila as she serves a customer. I smile and wave like I’m not late.

I grab my deodorant, giving myself a quick refresh, then shove everything in my locker and close it, pulling up short as Sheila appears in front of me.

I try to hold her glare, but I just can’t do it and lower my eyes in submission.

“This is the third time you’ve been late this week, Sydney.”

“I know and I’m sorry, Sheila. It’s crazy out there and?—”

“I don’t need excuses. I need reliable staff who can keep time. Take this as your verbal warning, Sydney. If you’re late again, it will be a written and final warning.” I nod. “There is a stack of new books that need organising and putting out. If, by some miracle, you finish that before the end of your shift, there is a list of orders that need checking off, labelling and placing in the collection box.”

Finding my voice, I say, “Of course. I’ll make sure it is all done.” Sheila is walking away as I finish talking, muttering to herself and no doubt wishing she could sack me now and forget the red tape. My shoulders drop and I leave the staffroom. It would make Pa happy at least. He was never happy about me working, let alone in a bookshop. He insists it places me in temptation’s way. If only he knew the kinds of books being read nowadays.

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