Another round of big handshakes later, I’m stepping out onto the front porch with Gabriel and shutting the door behind us.
“I’m sorry for earlier,” I blurt out.
Gabriel turns with a curious smile. “For?”
“For… slipping,” I say quietly. I look up into his eyes, the glow of the porch light and the almost full moon above illuminating us. I stare into his face, hoping for just one little crack—one little slip up so I can tell myself I’m not totally insane, or not totally damned for lusting after a man of God. “In the tub, I mean,” I add softly.
Gabriel just looks at me. He blinks once, and then… dear Lord.
…Then, the mask falls.
He takes a step closer to me, and I swallow thickly. My pulse quickens, and my skin tingles with the dewy humidity of the early summer air. His look hardens, and I gasp quietly as I see that raw, wicked flicker of fire in his eyes.
“I’m not.”
He growls the words out. His accent even drops a bit, and that sing-song, hokey good-ole-boy routine vanishes like smoke.
I gasp again when he takes a step towards me, my heart racing.
“W—what?”
His eyes blaze, and he takes another step closer. I back away, until with a gasp, I feel the porch post at my back. Gabriel slinks against me, until his large, muscled frame is maybe two inches away from my heaving chest.
“I said, I’m not,” he growls darkly. “And if you want to drop by for another… baptism…” the meaning behind his words absolutely drips off his tongue, so much so that even I understand what he’s saying.
“Well, Delilah,” he purrs in this low tone that makes my stomach knot, my skin tingle, and Lord help me, my thighs clench sinfully. He leans in so, so close, and I gasp as I feel his perfect lips just almost brush my ear.
“You know where to find me,” he rasps.
I’m going to Hell. Instantly, my body reacts to him in the most sinful, horrible ways. My skin yearns for his touch. My nipples harden in spite of the heat of the night. And a wet, damning heat pools between my legs. I am so going to Hell.
Gabriel’s lips move the half inch closer, and when they actually do brush across my ear with a low, dark growl, I whimper.
Lord save my soul.
There’s a low chuckle from his lips before he pulls back. And there it is—there’s the blazing heat as hot as Hell itself in his eyes. There’s that wicked grin, barely holding back the forked tongue.
“That’s what I thought,” he growls with a quiet chuckle. He arches one brow and flashes a cocky grin at me. “Not as pious as you thought, are you?”
“I—I—” I gasp. “I’ll tell,” I hiss.
Gabriel chuckles. “Tell what, exactly?”
“That you’re…” I stammer, blushing fiercely, and feeling more damned by the second by just how hot this man makes me, as wicked as he is. Or maybe worse, because of how wicked he is.
“I’ll tell them you’re a wicked man,” I hiss.
“And I’ll tell them you’re a dirty little girl who gets hot and bothered by a preacher.”
My jaw drops, and I gasp.
“I do no such thing, sir!”
He grins. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”
I blush fiercely, and his eyes blaze into mine, holding them captive. He leans in again, and all I can do is swallow the whimper and reach back to grip the porch post with my nails as his lips brush my ear once more.
“Goodnight, Delilah,” he purrs right into my ear.
And then he pulls away, and he’s gone, waltzing off the porch and out into the night, leaving me gasping and sputtering and… damned.
Gabriel Marsden is no man of God. He’s no heavenly herald, or angel, or saint.
He’s the Devil himself.
And the problem is, I think I might already be damned. Because I just stand there breathless, watching him walk into the night, and desperately, achingly, sinfully wanting more.
…God help me.