They stared at each other for a moment. It was tempting to close the distance between them, pin her against the stone wall and drag a hand up her skirt. Knead her buttocks and ask if she’d felt the urge to kneel during prayer. And if she did, would it have been for God or for him?
Gideon had always been rather casual with blasphemy, believing it would take a hell of a lot to actually offend what he believed to be a fairly benevolent God. That thought, however, crossed the line.
It wasn’t so much that he thought fucking the lovely Ms. Brolingtide in the middle of his church would be sinful as that his congregation deserved a priest who was respectful of them. It wouldn’t do to be walked in on by a member of his flock while he rutted into Plum, digging his fingers into her pert and ample backside.
He cleared his throat. “There’s a coffee hour in the basement if you’d care to join. There won’t be any cappuccinos or espressos there, but the hostess committee does make some decent drip. And there are donuts. If you like that kind of thing.”
The corner of her deep-mauve mouth curled up, and her brows arched. “Do you? Like donuts?”
“I do, actually. Although I don’t indulge in my favorites during coffee hour. The powdered sugar on my cassock makes me look rather a slob. So Mrs. Symes always saves me one for later.”
Plum gave a tinkly laugh, and perhaps it was the lights in the sanctuary but it seemed to make her eyes sparkle. Goodness, he was gone.
He’d heard some of the tops at Hive describe the moment when they knew they’d found their match, even if it wasn’t the first time they’d met. For most of them, in fact, it hadn’t been. There had been a turning point that had altered everything, a split second when they were forever changed.
The calm thrill that suffused him seemed familiar. Not in a way that he’d felt before, but as a recognition.Ah, so that’s what they’ve been talking about.
Plum’s fingers twisted in the handles of her purse and he could almost hear the excuses forming in her mind. Of course if she had to get to the café he wouldn’t keep her, but if it was simply that she felt awkward, he wouldn’t allow her to leave. He wanted her there. Wanted to see the twirl of her skirt as she turned, wanted to see her politely sip the merely acceptable coffee as she talked to members of his congregation, wanted to see if she could fit into this part of his life because he had more than a sneaking suspicion that she would fit into the other just fine.
He couldn’t bear to let her get away so he reached out a hand, held her elbow in a grip she’d be easily able to shake off if she so chose, and turned her toward the door that led to the parish center.
“Come along, then. I’d rather not have the gossips start rumors about what their priest was doing with the lovely guest who attended services this morning.”
It made his heart sing when she responded to his urging not with questions or excuses but with a dip of her head and a graceful turn on her kitten heels to where he was guiding her.