Priest by Sierra Simone Read Free Book Online Page B

off the table before the hissing of the espresso machine brought me back to my senses.
    What the fuck was I doing?
    I let go of her hand and shut the laptop closed, standing abruptly. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”
    “You’re a spiritual advisor,” she said, peering up at me. “Isn’t everything your business?”
    I was too busy pushing my stuff into my laptop bag to answer, desperate to leave, trying to convince myself that it was okay, it was fine , I had just comforted her, I had basically done nothing more than hold her hand, which I wouldn’t think twice about doing with any other parishioner.
    It was fine .
    But when I turned around, Poppy was standing next to me with her own bag all packed up. “Can I walk with you back to the church?” she asked. “My house is on the same block.”
    Of course it was.
    “Sure,” I said, hoping I sounded normal and not like a priest trying to fight an erection in public. “No problem.”
    We stepped out into the heavy May heat, crossing the street. The silence between us felt odd, laden with whatever strange moment had just happened, and so I spoke, trying to stave off the fantasies that continued to crowd at the edge of my mind.
    “How long have you lived here?”
    “Not long,” she said. “I just closed on the house two weeks ago, actually. Once the owner of the club I worked at found out I had an MBA and a lot of experience, he asked me to come on board as a marketing and financial consultant, which I could do remotely and which pays—well, it pays a lot. And then last month, when he found me…”
    Her voice broke and she squinted at the sidewalk, as if examining something. I wasn’t sure exactly what had upset her, but I gave her a moment to collect herself.
    We walked several feet before she continued. “So now I make good money, working for a nice guy, and I have the freedom of starting over in a sweet little town. It’s what I had wanted before Sterling came to the club.”
    Sterling. I recognized that name from our conversation about her past, and damn it all if it didn’t trigger a ridiculous spike of jealousy, as if there were any universe in which I’d be allowed to feel possessive of Poppy Danforth.
    We reached the church.
    “It was nice to run into you, Father,” she said with another one of those small smiles, making as if to keep walking.
    “Which one is your house?” I was stalling. I knew I was, but I couldn’t help it. I needed just one more glimpse of those red lips, one more word in that breathy voice.
    “That one.” She pointed to a house across the park, a snug bungalow with a large tree in the front yard and an overgrown garden in back. I would be able to see it from the rectory. I would be able to see if her lights were on, if her car was in the driveway, if she was moving through her kitchen early in the morning making her coffee.
    That didn’t seem like it would be a very healthy opportunity for me to have.
    “Well, if you need any help moving furniture around or anything…”
    Shit. Why did I offer that? As if being alone with her, in her house, was a great thing for me to do.
    But then her face lit up and my stomach constricted at the sight. Because she was beautiful all the time, but happy? Happy, she was fucking radiant .
    “That would be amazing,” she said. “I don’t know anybody here and my friends in the city are all so far away…yes, I will definitely let you know if I need help.”
    “Okay,” I said, still captivated by her smile and her suddenly lively eyes. “Any time.”
    She leaned forward, pushing up on her toes, and I had no idea what she was doing until I felt her soft lips press against my cheek. I froze, every detail, every sensation etching itself into my soul, imprinting itself while she imprinted my skin with her crimson lipstick.
    “Thank you,” she murmured, her words and her breath near my ear, and then she bit her lip and turned away, walking towards her house.
    And I went inside the