Page 35

Lauren

N onna and her friends had moved on from talking about their ailments—thank god—and were now deep into a discussion about some big drama that happened before I was even born.

I listened with half an ear, trying not to tap my fingers against the table.

We were midway through coffee hour, and Junior was still nowhere to be seen.

The prick. I was angry at him and impatient to get out of here, get my phone back, and call my sister to ask her why she felt the need to act like such a controlling bitch.

If Junior was blowing me off, so help me god...

An unfamiliar ringing rose from somewhere near the floor, pulling me from my thoughts.

I glanced down and realized the sound was coming from my purse.

Great, someone was calling him. I was half tempted to pick it up and ask if they knew where he was, but his tone when he told me not to answer it had held serious menace, like something bad could happen if I disobeyed him, and my brat streak didn’t run deep enough to put my safety in jeopardy.

Planning to silence it, I lifted it out only to see my own number on the caller ID. I froze. How the fuck had he unlocked my phone?

“Sorry,” I told the ladies around me. “I need to answer this.”

Nonna’s sharp gaze landed on me as I stood, and I turned before she could read too much into my expression.

“Where are you?” I asked by way of answering.

“Here,” Junior said, his voice low. “Come find me.”

And then he hung up on me. Again.

I curled my hand around the phone and pulled it away from my ear, and the only thing that kept me from turning it into an overpriced frisbee was the crowd of onlookers.

The man had the audacity to make me wait an hour and a half for him, and then tell me to put in all the effort to meet up?

Oh, hell no. I was going to do so much worse to him than fill his inbox with spam.

Taking a deep breath, I strode from the reception room into the hallway where I’d first run into him.

He wasn’t there. I peeked into the ladies’ room just in case he’d gone full-blown creeper, but there was no sign of him inside.

Stepping back out, I glanced toward the men’s room.

Nope. Not even the temptation of regaining my phone was strong enough to lure me in there.

With my luck, I’d catch sight of some old man’s saggy skin biscuits and need to have my eyeballs removed.

I left the hall and swept through the connecting door into the nave. It looked empty.

“This isn’t funny,” I said, stalking toward the front entrance, checking between each row of pews as I went, hoping that Junior wasn’t about to jump out at me like a fucked-up jack-in - the -box .

I was passing the confessionals when one of the doors popped open and I got yanked inside, a hand covering my mouth before I could scream. There was just enough light to see Junior’s face as he pulled the door shut again.

“Let me go!” I said, the words muffled.

He chuckled, the sound diabolical in the closed space.

I tried to stomp on his foot, but my heel clanged off something rock-hard and I almost twisted my ankle. Was he wearing steel-toed boots?

He wrapped an arm around my waist and dragged my back against his chest, his mouth pressed to the side of my head. “Did you miss me?”

“No,” I said, but his palm muffled it. I slammed my hands onto his forearm, trying to push him off, but it was like a steel vise around my middle.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper,” he said.

I tried to yank free, starting to panic a little.

I could feel the heat rolling off his body, smell his heady cologne.

The dark of the confessional was too close to our shadowy corner in the voyeur room, and my mind was already starting to torment me with memories of what we’d done there last night.

“And I’m sorry for how my questions came off,” he said, easily restraining me. “I think what you do is valid work, and I wasn’t trying to imply otherwise. I would never, ever try to trap you, Lauren. If you believe nothing else I’ve said, believe that.”

My pulse thundered in my ears as his words sank in. Goddamn it. He sounded sincere. And if anyone understood what it felt like to be trapped, it was Junior. The hunted look in his eyes last night when he told me about his father’s plans for him had made that crystal clear.

“I’m not sorry for putting down that drunk guy, though,” he growled. “If I hadn’t stepped in, he might have hurt someone else or tried to assault one of the women.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sorry he’d done it either, but there was no way to tell him that with his hand clamped over my mouth.

I was just gearing up to bite him so we could have a normal adult conversation when he slowly pulled his hand away.

“I’m sorry, too,” I said, and I meant it. I didn’t like losing my temper, didn’t like snapping at people, no matter how they treated me.

He tightened his hold on my waist. “Don’t be sorry. No one could blame you for being sensitive about your work, especially not me. I know how much it means to you.”

Oof. How was I supposed to resist him when he said things like that? Oh, right, the other thing I’d learned last night.

“How long have you been stalking me?” I asked.

He tensed. “What do you mean?”

“I found the tracker you put in my purse,” I said. “And I need you to explain exactly what you meant when you said you’ve been protecting me for the past ten years.”

His forehead hit my shoulder. “I will. I promise. Just...not here.”

“But soon,” I said. “You’ll tell me everything.”

He was silent for so long I didn’t think he’d answer me. I was just gathering the courage to yank free from his hold and walk out of there when he said, “I’ll tell you everything.”

“No more lies,” I said.

He kissed my shoulder. “No more lies.”

A creaking sound announced someone else entering the nave.

Oh, shit.

Junior clamped his hand over my mouth again. “Don’t scream.”

No threat of that. These people were judgy enough without me getting caught in a compromising position inside one of the most sacred parts of the church.

Voices echoed over the marble. I recognized the low, melodic tone of the priest. Another man spoke, and then another. Were they talking about baseball?

My ears strained as I tried to determine how many people were in the nave. All the fucking marble out there wasn’t helping, making their voices echo in a way that made it seem like they were coming from all directions. Was someone right outside the confessional? Were we about to get caught?

Junior, apparently unconcerned with the men’s proximity to our hiding spot, nuzzled my cheek.

His unshaven face was rough against my skin.

Warmth swept over my neck when he exhaled, and suddenly I became aware of every hard inch of him pressed against me.

The way his thighs framed mine, the heat radiating off his much larger body.

His arm shifted higher around my waist, jacket creaking, the smell of leather and cologne mixing with the faint traces of incense left in the booth.

The hand on my mouth loosened, slid lower, gripping my jaw, fingers digging in as he tilted my head sideways and exposed my neck.

Uh-oh ...

My body instantly betrayed me as the submissive I was, going loose and languid in his hold.

Even my brain started to fizzle out with that blissful relaxation that came from handing your control over to someone else.

Was I furious about the tracker and the possible decade-long stalking?

Abso-fucking -lutely , but all the righteous anger in the world couldn’t mask the fact that I still wanted Junior.

My body responded to him almost against my will, like it had imprinted on the sonofabitch.

What wasn’t helping was the adrenaline starting to pump through my veins.

I’d always had a thing for public sex, for quick, dirty hookups where anyone could catch me in the act.

All it would take was one sound to betray us, one sigh or moan, and the taboo thrill of being discovered like this, in a church , sent desire racing through my veins.

Junior, feeling my response to him, dropped his hand to my throat and let out a low, masculine hum of approval.

He brushed his lips over my jaw and then trailed a line of kisses downward, and I stopped trying to push his arm away and pulled it closer instead, grinding my ass against him, feeling his hard length framed between my cheeks.

What the fuck was I doing?

Probably making a huge mistake, but for the life of me, I couldn’t stop myself. Outside the booth, more voices joined the conversation, and a lively debate started over whether the new head coach of our local team would bring the city its next championship title.

I’d never been so turned on listening to a bunch of old men discuss sports before.

Junior must have felt it, too, because his hand dropped from my waist to the hem of my skirt. I immediately widened my legs, telling him with my body that, yes, I wanted this, whatever he was offering.

He yanked the back of my skirt up, pinning it between us as his hand fell away, down to his pants.

The sound of his zipper sliding open was loud in the booth, and we froze, spending a breathless minute straining our ears, but the conversation outside kept on going like they hadn’t heard a thing.

Slowly, Junior’s hand moved between us. I felt the tip of his cock press the soaked fabric of my underwear against my pussy, and I had to clench my jaw to keep from whimpering.

As if sensing my near slip, he tightened his hand around my throat in warning. I nodded, squirming in his hold, so fucking turned on I felt like I would die if he didn’t touch me. He made another low sound, this one a mix of impatience and lust as he thrust against me. No, this wasn’t good enough.

“More,” I pleaded, voice so low I barely heard myself speak.