Sidelined: A Wilde Players Dirty Romance (31 page)

“I can’t wait until I’m old enough to leave. When I turn eighteen, I’m gone from this place.” But that was six years, six awful years, from now. And if he were to keep it up at this rate, there’d be a good chance I wouldn’t make it that long.

Present Day

The paper rattled in my trembling hand. After reading the letter for the third time, the words still hadn’t changed. I wanted to believe that somewhere in there was a greater plan, which at first seemed like a bad joke. My initial thought was to ask the bishop, the head of the diocese, who had sent it, if he was intentionally trying to be cruel. But he would have no idea my reasoning for not wanting that assignment.

It couldn’t be happening. As much as I wanted a parish of my own, going back had never even been a consideration. I stood there as a dark part of me, the one I kept hidden in the furthest reaches of my soul, threatened to escape. The edges of the letter crumpled in my balled hands. Images I kept locked in the recesses of my mind burst through my impenetrable walls and flooded my thoughts like a tidal wave, chilling me to the depths of my bones.

Closing my eyes and opening them again hadn’t changed the first words of the letter.

It is with deepest sorrow that I write this to inform you of the sudden passing of Father Thomas O’Brien
. My breath hitched.
You have been selected as Associate Pastor at the Holy Cross Catholic Church
. What should have been joyful news made my skin crawl with what felt like a thousand biting ants. I rubbed the back of my neck, a motion I hadn’t found necessary in years.

Even in death, the mere mention of the man’s name sent me into a tailspin. Holy Cross was a place I vowed never to return to and hadn’t. I’d made excuses not to come home, forcing my parents to visit me when they felt the need.

If not for my love and dedication to God, and knowing that everyone in the church hadn’t punished me for my sins, I might not have continued my pursuit of the priesthood. But I needed absolution and what better way than giving my life over to the Lord and somehow making a positive difference in the life of others.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. What was I supposed to do? One didn’t refuse the bishop’s orders, especially one so young as I. To gain an associate pastorate at the age of twenty-eight was relatively substantial, at least with the Congregation of Holy Cross. I would have a lot of explaining to do if I tried to get out of the appointment.

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SNEAK PEEK

#BrokenCharacters #AlphaMale #HotAndSexy

Reviews for Tragically Flawed

5 STARS! Beautiful, Heartbreaking, Sexy, Steamy are just a few of the words I will use to describe Tragically Flawed …
Tana Rae Reads

5 STARS I am drawn to books with broken characters dealing with troubled pasts and finding the happiness they deserve. This was phenomenal! … Hetty,
Best Sellers & Best Stellars

5 STARS Tragically Flawed is just that awesome. It is brilliantly written. From that enthralling first chapter (AND let me say that it seduces you with a stunning scene)to the very end where you are breathing heavily, shaking your head, thinking HOLY CRAP did all that just happen?? … Kat Grimes,
Tsk Tsk What To Read

5 STARS Tragically Flawed had me crying and shouting out at my kindle quite a few times, over-heating at the HOT scenes and gripping my kindle tightly with tension towards a climactic end. Quite a roller coaster of emotions… Andrea,
Make My Day Books

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Present Day

Riviera Bleu Benson stomped up the steps of the almost-completed multimillion-dollar home. She jammed her master key into the lock and opened the door. What she really wanted to do was slam the huge, beautifully hand-hewn door as hard as she could, but she refrained. Marsha Sue Flannery, who Riviera indirectly worked for, had put her in a severely foul mood. Known as
the
interior designer to Beaver Creek’s rich and famous, Marsha Sue was a mean and spiteful bitch.

“You’re behind on all your homes. You’d better pick it up or else.”

“Or else what, Marsha Sue? Are you gonna fire me?”

“Ha ha. Very funny, Riviera. You know I can’t do that. I will, however, tell all my clients that they can’t move into their new homes because their painter is a slack-ass.”

“Marsha Sue, that’s a blatant lie and you know it.”

“Not the way I see it. So get off your slack ass and get to work.” Marsha Sue ended the call without giving Riviera a chance to respond.

Riviera wanted to scream. She worked like a dog and Marsha Sue damn well knew it. She huffed as she twisted her way through the massive house, eventually entering the room where she was creating her masterpiece, a ceiling trompe l’oeil. It created the illusion of a domed chamber with a three-dimensional clouded blue sky above it.

Reaching into her pocket for her iPod, she found nothing but an empty space. Damn! What else could go wrong today?

Examining her work, she prepared her paints and brushes when she thought she heard a voice calling her name.

“Riviera.” The voice was deep, soft, and husky.

It startled her. No one was supposed to be there. The house was empty, and not quite finished. The general contractor, Benjamin Shandon,
or Shan as he preferred to be called, had some final touches to complete, but they wouldn’t be done until Riviera had finished all her painting. Perhaps she was imagining things.

Bending down to grab her supplies, her name reached her ears again. This time, she knew she wasn’t mistaken. It was a man’s sexy voice.

Who would be calling her and in that tone of voice? Did someone hear her come in and did they need her? She walked down the hall and looked into each room.

When she reached the fifth room, the door was half open. She stuck her head in. Initially stunned, she then became mesmerized at the vision before her. Quietly pushing the door open, she inched her way in.

Shan was stretched out on a rollaway bed, shirtless with his tight jeans open and unzipped. Riviera always thought him to be dark and appealing, but this stepped it up to an unprecedented level.

Thick, chocolate-brown hair that held a few lightened streaks from the summer sun fanned out across the pillow. Onyx lashes formed crescents against his tawny cheeks. Sculpted cheekbones rose high upon his face, creating slight hollows beneath them. But those lips, full Cupid’s bow lips, were slightly parted as his breath rushed in and out in short bursts.

Her eyes inched lower and she drank in his cut torso and abs that narrowed to a chiseled V. Riviera’s eyes wanted to linger but didn’t dare because something else, something primal, drew them farther down his spectacular anatomy.

In his gorgeous hand was an amazing erection, which he was stroking up and down, up and down. Riviera felt like she was looking at that proverbial train wreck, knowing she should get the heck out of there, but at the same time, she was incapable of wrenching her eyes off such a carnal image. Because of her troubled past, she’d never responded to a man’s body before, but the sight of him aroused her unlike anything she’d ever known. Flames spread across her, scorching every inch of her body. Her belly instantly tightened as the muscles of her sex clenched. Her nipples hardened into precious pearls and demanded to be sucked like something she’d only read about in her romance novels. Every cell, every molecule in her body squeezed and tensed as her blood heated and her pulse raced. She burned and ached with a need so strong, she wanted to slip her hand down the front of her jeans and rub herself to match the rhythm of the man she was so intently watching.

Her eyes inched back up to revisit the abs that rippled with his every breath. As she consumed the sight before her, she noticed his unoccupied arm was raised over his head, and on his triceps was a striking tattoo of fiery flames. While looking at his beautiful ink, she felt the heat of those very flames licking her scorched skin. Riviera had to fist her hands, for she wanted to reach over and brush her fingers and tongue across the etchings.

While she wondered what he would taste like, that very same arm drifted down, stopping to allow his hand to pinch his pebbled nipple. When he moaned, Riviera nearly whimpered at the sight and sound. His hand didn’t remain there for long—it had a different goal in mind. It landed between his legs, beneath his heaviness while the other hand increased its tempo. Riviera swallowed, but it was with great difficulty, as her throat thickened with desire.

Suddenly, he croaked out her name again, “Ah, Riviera. Yes. Oh God, yes.” Her eyes zeroed in on his hand as he worked himself, and then she saw his body tense, right before his orgasm hit.

She gasped, sucked in her breath, and nearly came with him. As she did, her hand flew to her mouth. It was too late, though; she looked at his face and found herself staring into a set of ice-blue eyes. Whether he was startled, he gave no sign. Those icy blues simply drilled into hers, piercing her clear to her clenched toes.

As he scrutinized her, he tucked himself in his jeans and zipped his pants, breathing hard while he continued to stare.

Not knowing what to say or do, she stood there like a fool. “Oh fuck!” she whispered. She wanted to run but she couldn’t, because her legs had turned into noodles and one step in either direction would send her straight into a make-out session with the hardwood floor.

Riviera’s cheeks burned and she knew she must do something, so she stared at her shoes and moved her hands to the wall behind her. Feeling her way along, she was able to make her clumsy exit. Once her feet hit the hall, she scurried back to the room she was painting, shaking like a leaf in a summer storm. Sweat beaded on her brow and upper lip. She wiped a sleeve over her face.

“What the hell was I thinking? Why did you just stand there and watch?” she asked aloud.

Then another thought, an even more dangerous one, occurred to her. Why the hell was he calling out her name when he was doing
that
?

Suddenly, her head swam with the enormity of what happened. Falling to her knees, she dropped her head in a child’s pose. Was Shan some kind of pervert who she needed to stay clear of? Her history with men had her trust level at a negative one thousand. Seeing him perform that act, although it was clearly the most erotic thing she’d ever seen, had just pushed it down another thousand.

“What the double hell do I do now?” she asked herself.