Saints and Sinners (A Classic Romance) (3 page)

Chapter 2

"A beer?"

"Sure. You know, a brew, a barley pop, lite or regular. I'm not picky."

"But—but what would your church think?"

Matthew's smile faded. He knew too well that some people thought they were God and everyone had to conform to their standards. It's done and over with, he told himself. Let it go.

Letting go wasn't easy.

"About that beer," he said after a moment. "My church won't mind if you don't. But if that offends your principles, I'll gladly take the soda or lemonade."

"No. No, I'm not offended. Just..." She worried her bottom lip. Lips he thought exquisitely crafted, bowed at the top and full beneath. A beauty mark rode low on her right cheek, and it disappeared into a dimple when she smiled. She smiled now. "I was just taken aback. Well, shocked actually. My church wasn't that progressive."

"Everyone's entitled to his or her own opinions and choice of faith." He saw her nod of agreement, then stooped to pick up the can.

He remembered the sight of Dee's bent head gleaming golden in the sunlight, her almost comical frenzy to dry his robe. He remembered the distinct sensation of pleasure when his palm touched her shoulder, the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her halter top. And there was no forgetting the beauty of those partially uncovered breasts he'd struggled to ignore, and, failing that, admired. Only he'd more than admired them; his reaction had been that of a man wishing for more than a look.

As he straightened, his face nearly brushed her bare legs. Lovely legs that were slender at the ankles and curved delicately upward. When he reached her thighs, Matthew jerked his attention away.
Temptation.
It had been absent for quite some time.

Another test, Lord? I'm still recovering from the last one, even if it wasn't half as intriguing as this. Think You could grant me some immunity this go-round?

Matthew handed Delilah the can. Their fingers brushed.
No immunity today, huh? Well, didn't hurt to ask.
She lowered her gaze and smiled demurely before leading them into the house. The provocative sway of her hips as she headed for the kitchen caused Matt to whistle silently. Definitely no immunity today.

"Nice place you've got here," he noted when she returned.

"Once we're settled, I think it'll be cozy. Maybe a little too cozy."

"How's that?"

"The kids' bedrooms are upstairs." She looked above her, less to indicate the location than to take her eyes off one heck of a hunk, who was disrobing. "I can hear every squeak of their beds and every step when they walk. Since they'd rather run than walk, it usually sounds like a cattle call overhead. If there was more than one bedroom down here, we could switch floors, but at least I get some peace and quiet once they're asleep and I'm alone and..."

His gaze moved in tandem with hers to her open bedroom door and the unmade bed. The slight distance between them seemed to vanish as an intimate pull took hold.

Matthew smiled, a slow smile that somehow strengthened the disconcerting bond, then laid his folded robe and tie on the couch that had come with the furnished cottage. Two pangs struck her without warning or mercy.

One was for having to leave her own possessions behind, especially the baby grand piano she wanted to weep for losing. The other pang, which was more like a jolt, was upon seeing Matt in a shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a pair of pressed denim jeans. His build was athletic but lean, and she imagined his body was rock solid.

"Your beer, Reverend." She emphasized his title, hoping to douse her delicious awareness of this man.

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm destroying my exalted image? Let's see if I can recoup." He tapped his can to hers. "May you make many happy memories in your new home and find peace wherever you live."

"Amen to that." Talk about miracles, she thought grimly, and took a few swallows. Matthew matched her gulp for gulp, then put down his can. She lingered over a few more sips, then reached for his robe. "Make yourself comfortable while I wash this." She was gone before he could protest.

Glad for the excuse to put some space between them. Dee indulged her curiosity and inspected the large garment.

A distinctly masculine scent rose up from the cloth, and, closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. How long had it been since she'd nuzzled a man's neck? Tasted the flavor of skin, felt the keen rub of whiskers against her face, or heard the low groan of an intimate command?

Dee jerked her nose out of the robe and stared at it. What was she, depraved? Maybe she hadn't gone to church in years or indulged in intimate fondling, but religious garb and flights of sensual fantasy just didn't mix.

She turned on the faucet and ran cold water over the stain, soaping and scrubbing at a furious speed, as if she could cleanse her forbidden thoughts as well. A warm breeze blew in from the open window over the sink. She flicked water over her flushed cheeks, grateful for the cooling drops.

Just as she finished, she spotted her neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, bent over a flower bed. "Mrs. Busybody," as Dee had dubbed her, was the type who dug for dirt on others and spread it around in the name of community interest.

Mrs. Henderson was not going to be pleased when she learned her new neighbor would soon be competing for piano students.

"I unpacked my clothes, Dee. I'm going for a walk."

"Okay, Loren, but be back before—" She stopped when she glanced over her shoulder and saw the tight tank top and short shorts Loren was wearing. "And just where do you think you're going dressed like
that?"

"Don't worry, I won't get in a car with any strangers and a two-year-old couldn't get lost in this stupid hellhole if he tried."

"Watch your mouth, young lady." When Loren rolled her eyes and brushed past, Dee dropped the robe and stepped in front of her. Loren's eyes, even with hers, sparked defiantly. "You're not leaving this house until you change your clothes."

"I think they're cool. Besides, I bought this with my money, so you can't take it away."

"When and where did you get it? You haven't—"

"No, I haven't snuck off anywhere." Loren sighed dramatically. "Like I could the way we have to get your permission to even breathe. I picked it out at that store in whatever state we were in last week while you were busy buying dishes and sheets."

"The kind of attention you're asking for with those clothes isn't the type you want," Dee said firmly.

"You mean not the type
you
want. Except maybe with that dumb minister you were slobbering over. Just because my father's a jerk—"

"Don't talk about him now." Dee glanced uneasily at the open kitchen door.

Taking advantage of her distraction, Loren stepped around her and rushed out the back door.

"God help me." Picking up the robe, Dee buried her face in it. She pressed her mouth into the fabric to keep from screaming, hugged it close to absorb any remnants of strength or wisdom its wearer might have left within the folds.

What am I going to do?
she silently cried.
How am I ever going to get through this? I need help. A miracle. I need—

"Dee, hope you don't mind, but I helped Jason finish up. He's out front waiting to— Dee? Is something wrong?"

She quickly thrust the material under the spigot. Mascara stained the collar, she realized with dismay, and began to scrub in earnest.

"No, of course not. Everything's fine." The pitch of her voice was too high, too animated. "Thanks for helping Jason get settled."

Throat tight with the effort of control, she willed Matt to go away. Far, far away. At least until she got a grip on herself and washed the mascara out.

"Is it Loren?"

The fine hair on her nape rose as if static, not warm breath, fanned it. He stood behind her, at a respectful distance, but close enough that she felt laps of energy transmitted from his body. Or soul. Or wherever ministers got that certain something that whispered of calm assurance. If she turned and took a single step, she could rest against his chest and find the comfort she needed.

If she turned, he'd see tear tracks on her cheeks, a silent admission of vulnerability she couldn't share.

"It's nothing," she said dismissively. "I'll bring you and Jason a sandwich after I finish with this."

"If you rub any harder at that mascara, there won't be any material left to clean. C'mon, you can talk to me if you need someone to listen. I'm real good at it. At least, if practice makes perfect."

Dee closed her eyes, allowing his deep voice to seep into her and trickle soothingly into the empty places.

"Thanks, Matt. But it's my problem." One of them anyway. A minor one in comparison to the rest. When he didn't move or speak, she decided he was used to waiting people out, being nice and understanding until they broke.

Breaking was a luxury she couldn't afford.

"Look," she said abruptly, "I'm sure you're very good at what you do, listening and consoling and saving lost souls. But I'm not shopping for any of that, so you might as well save your services for someone who wants them. I don't, okay?"

Matthew studied the rigid line of her body, from her neck, down her spine to her slightly spread legs. Everything about her declared resistance, While the counselor in him said to offer a final word of empathy, then back off, his masculine instincts sent a conflicting message.

He leaned into the provocative murmur of those instincts. It lured him to move closer to her, to envision her tapered ruby nails raking seductively down his back, over his chest, then delving low to stir his loins.

Matt shoved his hands into his suddenly too tight pockets before he acted on the compulsion to touch her. He'd encountered temptation before, but nothing like this. And never,
never
would he disregard another's needs to selfishly see to his own. Such was not his purpose in this life.

And yet wouldn't her neck taste sweet and earthy? Wasn't the small of her back made for a man's tongue, the inside of her knees a place for wet kisses?

"I'm in no position to try saving your soul, Dee," he said gruffly. "Not when my own is in need of repair." That tidbit of confession brought her head up fast. The full sight of her face only increased his awareness that something strange yet wonderful was happening to him.

Propping a hip beside the sink, Matt nodded to temptation—a safe, acceptable nod—and placed a palm over her wet hands.

"Just for the record," he added, "I'm not the one who does the saving. That's a private matter between an individual and his Maker. That said, let's see about putting this robe to the best use it's had all day."

The crook of his finger fit neatly beneath the soft underside of her chin. The damp fabric glided smoothly over the high planes of her cheekbones as he wiped away the smudged makeup.

Openly amazed, she stared at him with the clearest blue eyes he'd ever seen. Tears had a way of cleansing, but even before he'd caught her crying he'd noticed her eyes were luminous, like a lake so clear you could toss in a rock and watch it sink beneath the ripples.

"See? I told you I was good at this kind of stuff. Gets me a lot of invites to dinner. Good thing, since I can't cook worth a damn. Oops, can't say that word, can I? Strike damn, insert darn."

She laughed. Her eyes danced when she laughed, even when she was so obviously weary with worry. He continued wiping her face though the last traces of mascara were gone.

"Is that a hint that I owe you dinner, Reverend?"

"Far be it from me to invite myself, since I come complete with good manners. On top of being generous and tolerant and amusing and—"

"Don't forget humble."

"Especially humble. And
lonely."
He sighed. Being lonely was too familiar to him, and there were many times when he'd keenly felt the burden of going through life alone. But those things seemed of no substance at the moment, not when he was relishing the feel of Dee's skin beneath his finger.

"Just think, Dee, while you're sitting at the table with Jason and Loren, I'll be all by myself at home, eating Maude's leftover deviled eggs. If I'm lucky, maybe she'll throw in a piece of pie."