“Honey, I wrapped up some extra food from dinner, and I was hoping you’d take it over to Preacher Gabriel?”
My heart skips, and my eyes go wide.
No. Lordy, no. No times a million and a half.
“Oh, mama, I was just getting ready for bed.”
“Oh, but sweetheart, we both know the good preacher barely has two pennies to rub together for a good meal. He’s truly a selfless man of God, traveling the country on what he can, spreading His word. Think charitably, Delilah? Please?”
“Mama—”
“Your father says you can drive the pickup over, too. No need for you to go walking halfway across town in the dark.”
I shiver, staring at a spot on the floor and feeling this shameful mix of fear and excitement.
“Mama—”
“Delilah,” she says, much more tersely this time. “I’d love to stop asking, if you catch my meaning.”
I swallow and shiver, knowing that this is happening now. “Yeah, mama,” I finally sight quietly. “Yeah, I get it. Let me get dressed.”
“Oh, Gabriel doesn’t need you to dress up for him, honey!” she laughs. “Whatever you’re wearing is fine! I just don’t want it to get too late, okay?”
Crap. Double crap.
“Yeah, I’m… okay,” I whisper as I stand from the floor. I pick up the knocked-over table and put the books back into place. “I’m coming.”
No, you WERE coming.
I blush fiercely at the filthy voice in my head. I cross to the mirror and look at my bright red, flushed face—my panting lips, my wide, sinful eyes. My heaving chest, and the simple t-shirt and jeans I’m wearing.
And then, knowing how absurd it is, and knowing how wicked it is to even be thinking in terms like this, I quickly yank my clothes off and grab a short-sleeved blouse and a modest skirt that I just bought a week ago and haven’t wore yet from my dresser. I blush furiously and yank open my underwear drawer for a new pair, but I groan when I realize that I did laundry earlier and it’s all down in the basement.
Great.
But then, of course, I’m blushing even deeper and feeling even more sinful, since I’m actually worried about what underwear I’m wearing when I’m going to bring dinner to a preacher.
…No matter how wicked he is.
“Delilah!”
“Coming! I’m coming!” I gasp as I smooth the skirt and blouse, push back my long blonde hair, take a deep, shaky breath, and go to the door.
Time to face the music.
Time to look the Beast in the eye.
Time to enter the lion’s den.
Heaven help me.