FATHER: Men of the Cloth - Tristan (Forbidden Priest Romance 1) Read online

  The thought compressed his hand into a tight ball. Having experienced her black-hearted treachery for himself, he knew there was nothing innocent about the bitch. Those big, blue doll’s eyes didn’t have him deceived. Not for a nanosecond.

  For Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.

  “Cat got your tongue?” The sinister edge in his tone sent a chill skittering down her spine.

  “I—I didn’t come back to—to— I’m not here to cause you any more pain.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about it.”

  “I’m s-sorry.”

  “You s-said that.”

  God he was mean. Lowering her eyes to avoid his glare, she noticed he was clenching and unclenching his fists and for one frightening second thought he was gearing up to— No. The boy she knew never would’ve raised his voice, let alone his hand in anger to anyone. But then again, Ryan Tristan Cleary had changed much over the years. So much so that she couldn’t trust he was still incapable of violence. Man of God or not.

  “Please,” she croaked. “Please, Tristan, just—”

  “Father Cleary.”

  “—let me get this out. I don’t want anything from you. All I’m asking is for you to…” Her mouth was so dry she sucked on the insides of her cheeks to dredge up some moisture. “Give me a minute of your time. Allow me to say what I came here to say and I swear you won’t ever have to see me again. Not unless…” She swallowed. “You want to.”

  Tristan narrowed his eyes at that but didn’t respond. Just glowered at her, his body tense as a coiled spring. After several nerve-wracking minutes Kady saw his shoulders relax and the rest of his body follow suit. Including, much to her relief his hands, which were now dangling limply by his sides. Only then was she able to release the breath she’d been holding.

  Finally he spoke. “Whatever you want to tell me… Whatever you think you have to say… I’m not interested.” As if to remind himself he added, “I just don’t fucking care, anymore.”

  That was three times now he’d dropped the F-bomb, she noticed, and it took her aback. Not the profanity itself. Kady was well aware of Tristan’s penchant for swearing, a bad habit he’d picked up from Reese. What was unexpected was that it hadn’t been rectified once he became ordained. Yet another incongruity about the holy father.

  “You listening?” he snapped. “I said you’re wasting your breath.”

  She shook her head, not in response but in discouragement.

  In the same way the hard shell of an oyster protects the soft, vulnerable muscle inside, Tristan’s heart was encased in layers of hurt and bitterness so dense she was afraid nothing she could say or do would be able to penetrate it.

  Any hope she may have harbored about reconciling with him was snuffed out like a matchstick in a wind tunnel. “I should’ve expected as much,” she mumbled. “You wouldn’t listen to me before, stands to reason you wouldn’t now either. So I guess this is… Goodbye, Tristan.”

  Dear God, how could this have happened? It was déjà vu all over again. With a hard squeeze of her eyes, Kady dammed her tears and moved toward the door.

  “Running,” he sneered, stepping in front of her. “Always your answer to everything, isn’t it? You haven’t changed. Not. One. Damn. Bit.”

  Kadence felt every spat word like a slap to her face. She started to shake, this time with righteous anger. That’s it. That was the straw that broke the poor camel’s back. Tristan’s incessant derision and adamant refusal to cut her any slack acted like flint striking steel, sparking her temper.

  “Me? You,” she hissed. “You—You—”

  His arrogantly arched brow dared her to continue.

  “You’re as pig-headed as ever,” she cried, riding a surge of bravado.

  His mouth twisted. “Said the pot to the kettle.”

  “How am I the stubborn one in all this? You’re the one who refuses to—”

  He pinned her with a glare so glacial Kady actually shivered.

  “God! You’re never going to give even an inch, are you? I came here today believing we could talk.”

  “We did. Eleven years ago.”

  “Telling me to go to hell is not talking, Tristan.”

  “I told you once—and you know how I fucking hate to repeat myself—it’s Father Cleary.”

  “Don’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Please.”

  “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “Not like this.”

  “Why’d you wait so long?”

  “I was afraid.”

  “Of…?”

  “You.”

  “So I’m the bad guy.”

  “You can’t blame me!”

  “Can’t blame you?” he echoed in disbelief.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Kady’s head was spinning. They were talking at crossed purposes, just like all those years ago.

  “You should’ve known that coming here would be pointless.”

  “I suppose I did but I had to try. Which is more than I can say for you.”

  “You got some fucking nerve trying to put this on me.”

  “I was an idiot to think you would—”

  “Forgive and forget?”

  “Put aside your anger long enough so I could—”

  “Regale me with more lies?”

  “No, I thought—” She thought she was going to be able to tell Tristan the truth finally. About everything. Lay it all out on the line for him no matter how ugly. He had a right to know. It was past time he knew. “I thought—”

  “Time heals all wounds?”

  Reminded she was fighting a lost cause, Kady’s resolve once again deserted her like a rat fleeing a sinking ship. “God, what am I doing? You’re only going to hear what you want to, anyway. You were right. My coming here today was utterly pointless.”

  “I never said, ‘utterly.’ ”

  “Gah, just forget it!”

  “Done.”

  When she made a move to push past him he again barred her exit. Drawing up to his full height, the priest folded his arms across the broad expanse of his chest and widened his stance—in essence, turning himself into an impassable six-foot two-inch wall of black.

  Kady didn’t appreciate that he was using his physicality and their height disparity to daunt her. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, the squeak in her voice belying the boldness of her delivery.

  “We’re not through here.”

  “You mean you changed your mind?”

  “Nope.”

  She frowned. “Then if you’re not going to talk to me, Father Cleary, I suggest you get the hell out of my way.”

  She tried dodging around him but with lightning reflex he lunged sideways to stop her. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “What the—”

  “Not until I say you can.”

  Tristan had no idea what the fuck he was doing. Why he was preventing her from leaving. As illogical as it was, all he knew was that he needed her to stay more than he wanted her to go.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Kady made a valiant effort to bulldoze through him but might as well have tried plowing through Mount Everest for all the good it did her. Arms akimbo and eyes blazing she barked, “Move it!” And despite her uncontrollable quaking was impressed with how threatening she sounded.

  Tristan’s forehead rose in mock amusement. If anything he had to admire her chutzpah. “Or else what?” he challenged.

  He watched the little spitfire worry her bottom lip. Apparently she hadn’t thought that far ahead. Not giving her a chance to come up with an answer he stepped into her, forcing her to take a step back. As wily gray eyes fixed on wary blue ones he walked her backward until she stumbled against the kneeler after only two steps and lost her balance. Even as her knees buckled on contact she didn’t register that her tailbone was about to hit the wooden surface. Hard.

  Within a heartbeat of Kady landing with an audible thud and
a breathless oof, Tristan retracted the arms he’d shot out to catch her—thankfully remembering in the knick of time that he didn’t give a good goddamn what happened to Kadence Janacek. Keeping his hands glued to his sides, he berated himself for feeling anything resembling concern for the bitch.

  She shifted on the bench to rub her sore fanny—that’s gonna leave a mark—and let out a low groan.

  Without thinking Tristan blurted, “You okay?” Then mentally kicked himself for the slip.

  Fuck.

  Aside from a bruised bum and getting the wind knocked out of her she was otherwise unhurt, merely bewildered by the turn of events. Replenishing her lungs with musty air, Kadence nodded.

  “I—I’m fine.”

  “Good,” the priest said, pulling the door shut behind him.

  five

  The confessional was cramped, with barely enough room to accommodate one body and now there were two. Two-and-a-half if Tristan’s size was taken into account. And it was dark, the air heavy and thick. Kady felt as if she were sinking in a bog of blackstrap molasses and it didn’t help that she was getting uncomfortably warm. Waves of heat washed over her. Masculine heat that seemed to be radiating from one particular area behind his robe.

  Flustering most of all was their current suggestive positions. Sitting on a low perch with Tristan standing in front of her meant her face was perfectly aligned with and inches away from—oh dear God—the holy father’s crotch. It was all she could do not to shove him away from her.

  Despite averting her head to the side and breathing through her mouth, her nostrils filled with the pungent, though not necessarily unpleasant scent of unmitigated maleness. Further increasing her distress was that the musky essence was originating from the same region on his body as all his heat.

  If it was any consolation, she wasn’t the only one suffering from their close proximity. With every breath of air he took in Tristan was inhaling her sweet fragrance made more inebriating by the addition of female pheromones. It was doing a number on more than his olfactory system and he didn’t like it. Why did the woman have to smell so damn good? And why was her face two inches from his damn dick. He started to perspire realizing what a stupid thing he’d done by trapping himself in here with her. What the hell was he thinking?

  The tight quarters and lack of any real light source created a forced intimacy that reminded Kady of a game they’d played in junior high, Seven-Minutes-in-Heaven. The rules of the pre-teen party staple were simple, a boy and a girl locked in a closet together for seven minutes. What they chose to do during that allotted time was up to them, though presumably it was to make-out.

  She wondered if Tristan remembered Ashleigh Ann Martindale’s twelfth birthday party and the coat closet where they kissed for the first time. As to his reason for shutting them in here like this now, she couldn’t begin to speculate. Not to reenact an adolescent moment, surely. To strangle her? A more likely motive.

  Their labored breathing in the small space was as loud as crashing waves and Kady didn’t know which was worse, listening to that sound or the incessant ticking of Tristan’s wristwatch.

  Tick-tick-tick…

  She felt like she was sitting on a time bomb.

  Tick-tick-tick…

  Her stomach tightened anticipating the explosion. “Tristan? What’s going on?”

  He clamped his eyes shut. Hell if he knew.

  Tick-tick-tick…

  “Why aren’t you answering?”

  Think. He needed to think.

  “What—”

  “Don’t speak.”

  Tick-tick-tick…

  This was getting absurd. She squirmed impatiently in her seat and was seconds from whacking him with her purse out of mounting frustration when at last he broke the tension. “You were going to tell me why you’re here.” His voice was strained, his tone weary.

  “Was I?” Kady sounded equally mentally and emotionally exhausted.

  “You said quote, God I just needed to, unquote.”

  “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

  She thought she heard him mutter something under his breath. Apparently not the answer he sought.

  Tick-tick-tick…

  “Tristan?”

  Tick-tick-tick…

  “F-Father Cleary?”

  What kind of head game was he playing? Was this some stupid scheme to scare her? Make her beg for mercy before letting her out? She couldn’t fathom why he was doing this, especially after making it crystal he didn’t want a damn thing to do with her. Aside from feeling flushed, Kady was getting lightheaded. Not to mention her blood was fast approaching another boiling point.

  Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick…

  She’d had enough! She was getting out of there. As she shot to her feet she remembered too late that Tristan was hovering too close, and smacking squarely into his steel-belted chest resulted in a violent collision that sent her reeling backward. Ah-gen.

  Freaking unbelievable. She was about to fall on her keister twice in one morning—in the span of ten minutes no less. Bracing for impact, she let out a startled squeak when she was suddenly grasped by a pair of large hands, pulled upright, and hauled against a very hard, very male body.

  For what seemed a small eternity Kady remained motionless, standing so close to Tristan that his lips skimmed the top of her forehead, his breath dispersing wisps of fine, pale hair with every exhalation. While her eyes were level with the third button of his clerical robe, his were eye-level with the open space above her head.

  Clutching the front of his cassock with the heels of her palms pressed into his chest, it may have looked to the casual observer like Kady was trying to push him away. Despite her body language she wasn’t. Whether aware of it or not, she was actually trying to edge herself closer.

  Dear God but did his big burly body feel good. Who would’ve thought a granite monolith would feel warm and cuddly? Reveling in the unfamiliar masculine sensation, Kadence closed her eyes to better experience the moment. No longer intimidated by Tristan’s formidable size, she was fast coming to appreciate the comfort and security such physicality provided. Curled into the slabs of muscle and thick bands of sinew that defined his chest, her fingers unconsciously began massaging his pectorals like a cat kneading a lap.

  Not surprisingly, Tristan was swearing inwardly. Fucking hell, the woman’s fingers were a fraction away from stroking his nipple. And the titanium barbell embedded in it. A low growl sounded in the back of his throat. He grabbed her slender wrists to still her pawing. To stop her from fraying the tenuous rope of control he was desperately trying to hang on to. His grip tightened, almost causing Kady pain but not quite.

  Her eyes opened to find Tristan staring down at her, his irises currently the color of gunmetal. Steely. Cold. She wasn’t sure if it was the low light in the booth or some inner emotion causing his eyes to darken. She remembered how they’d always been mercurial—the hue and shade seeming to change to reflect what he was feeling. Like a mood ring.

  Though she wouldn’t presume to know the reason behind his intense look at the moment, whatever Kady thought he was going to do next, dropping his arms and stepping back wasn’t it. She felt the loss instantly, the emotional more than the physical. Desperate to recapture any connection they might have shared—however meager or likely imagined—she reached up to touch his face.

  His head jerked back as if her finger were a hot poker. “Don’t!”

  Whether the word was meant as a warning or a plea, it was apparent to Kady she repulsed him. As tears filled her eyes her vision became blurred. Which was just as well since she didn’t want to see the look of disgust that was undoubtedly etched on his face.

  Refusing to let her crestfallen expression affect him, Tristan clung to his anger like a buoy in a sea of conflicted emotion. Damn her for the way she was looking at him. Large innocent eyes filled with hurt as if she were the one wronged. The one played and betrayed. If he didn’t know better he’d almost believe s
he was suffering as much as he was.

  Ah, but then he did know better.

  Roughly taking hold of her upper arms, he gave Kady a little shake. Her head lolled back and forth like a bobble-head doll and she whimpered, from surprise more than anything. With barely contained restraint Tristan shook her just once more when what he really wanted to do was thrash her around like a dog with a chew toy.

  The blood in his veins flowed thick and hot as magma as his body burned with a primitive need to conquer and dominate. He was in the throes of an inner struggle. Warring with himself. Torn between wanting to throttle the woman and wanting to kiss the living crap out of her.

  In a fit of frustration he pulled her up on tiptoes. All he had to do was lower his head a few inches and her mouth would be within range. He hated that he was dying to find out if her lips were really as baby soft as he remembered. He was also tempted to do what he’d never before done to Kady. French kiss her. Impossible as it was to believe, he’d never tongued the girl. Not once. Now he couldn’t imagine doing it any other way. Now he was trembling from want of it.

  Christ God, how he wanted. Wanted to lick those plump, pouty lips. Wanted to explore that sweet, sassy mouth. Wanted to use his tongue in places he’d never before gone and dared only in his dark, depraved imaginings. Her nipples… her pussy… that taboo back passage… Christ God, even there.

  I do know mine own wickedness, and my sin is always against me.

  Suddenly furious—at himself, at Kady, at the entire fucking universe—he thrust her away from him so abruptly she wobbled. He knew that if he didn’t get her out of here—out of his sight, his system, his entire fucking life—he would break his vows for just a single taste of her.

  Adding another layer of bricks to the fortress behind his chest, Tristan vowed to put an end to the torment that was Kadence Janacek. Whenever she returned to town and he happened to catch even a glimpse of her, whether at a store or crossing the street, the pain of knowing she’d never again be his was like getting gutted by a machete. A feeling that stops here and now.