She tips her head back, her eyes intense as she stares at me. “I believe you,” she says quietly.
She rolls to her toes, and my first thought is she’s going to kiss me. And honestly, as much as I should, I wouldn’t stop her.
She doesn’t though. Instead she places her lips against my cheek and kisses it softly. Then she turns around and walks up the stairs, my eyes following her until she’s out of view.
Chapter 9
WESLEY
Slowly closing the door behind me so only a sliver of light illuminates the hallway, I make my way toward the stairs. As I walk past the room Jersey’s using, my eyes linger on the closed door, wondering if she’s sleeping peacefully or if she’s tossing and turning like I’ve been doing for the past couple of hours. My thoughts won’t let me sleep. Not only because of what Jersey revealed tonight, but also because the only woman who’s ever tempted me to forget all my vows was just down the hall. Memories of the confessional booth kept flashing behind my closed eyelids.
The stairs are quiet as I descend them, and I’m grateful there are no squeaky boards. The living room is dark as I walk through it; the only light is a small nightlight I have plugged into a socket by the front door.
I push open the kitchen door, then come to a stop. The light from the opened fridge door illuminates Jersey standing there with a carton of juice clutched in her hand. Her hair is still in a braid, but several strands have come loose to frame her face.
I must have startled her when I came in because her eyes are wide in fright, until she sees who it is.
“Sorry,” I say quietly, letting the door swing closed behind me. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I guess you can’t sleep either?”
She takes the top off the carton and pours some in a clear glass. “Unfortunately, no.” She holds the carton up. “Would you like some?”
“Sure.”
I walk to the bar and take a seat on a stool as she grabs another glass from the cabinet. After she pours some juice in it, she slides it across the surface to me then puts the juice back in the fridge. The room goes dark again when she closes the door, but a moment later, the light above the stove comes on. Jersey, with her glass in hand, walks around the bar.
My throat goes dry and blood rushes south when I get a glimpse of her naked legs. She’s still wearing my shirt, but she must have taken off the sweats when she went to bed. The shirt comes halfway down her thighs, so it doesn’t really show anything, but it’s apparent from the growing erection in my sleep pants that seeing any skin of Jersey’s is enough to wake up my dick.
Either Jersey doesn’t notice where my thoughts have gone or she’s ignoring it. She takes the seat beside me and brings the glass to her lips. My eyes pinpoint on her throat, the slow motion of her swallows doing nothing to help the situation below my waist.
Even before I took my vows of celibacy, no woman had ever affected me as much as Jersey has the last few days.
“So, what’s keeping you awake?” she asks as she turns on her stool to face me.
Her eyes drop to my chest. Thinking I would be alone, I didn’t put on a shirt before I came downstairs. It’s ironic. She’s sitting there with no pants on, and I’m here with no shirt. And it seems I’m not the only one having trouble keeping their thoughts innocent. Even in the little bit of light from the stove, I can’t miss the desire that flashes on her face as her eyes trace over the tattooed-covered cords and muscles of my chest.
Her tongue slides out and runs across her bottom lip, and I have to force back a moan.
“I thought priests couldn’t get tattoos?” Her voice comes out deeper than normal.
I pick up my glass and try to wash away the dryness in my throat. I set it back down on the counter.
“I got these before I became a priest.”
“All of them?”
I incline my head. “Yes. Once you commit to the church, it’s considered desecration if you mark your body in any way. It’s obviously not allowed. But if a man is already tattooed, he can still become a priest.”
“Oh.” Her eyes fall back to my chest, and I feel the heat of her gaze like a warm caress. It’s not an unpleasant feeling. “Why did you get so many?”
“Because my father hated it, and back then I did anything to displease my father.”
“I take it from what you said earlier, and the bitterness on your face now, he wouldn’t have won any father-of-the-year awards?”
I grunt as I pick up my glass. Before I take a swallow, I say, “He would have more than likely won the worst-father-of-the-year award.”
“I’m sorry.” The muscles in my upper body tense when Jersey lays her hand on top of mine sitting on the bar. “I can’t imagine how hard it was growing up with a father like that. I was lucky. Both of my parents were amazing to me and Sam.”
I barely hear her speak because all of my brain cells have moved south. All I can think about is her hand being on mine. It’s an innocent gesture meant for comfort, but it feels anything but innocent. Her hand is soft and so small compared to mine. My thoughts move to what it would feel like on other parts of my body.