Lust Is the Thorn (8 page)

I made a gagging sound and took the bottle from her. “Not in my kitchen.”

“Dramatic much?” she teased, closing the door and watching me twist the cap open. “It's not so bad.”

“Says the vegetarian.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.” She tugged on her hair with her good hand and shifted on her feet. She gazed at my arms for a second, but turned back to the bottle quickly. “Isn't the church all about saving lives and being a good human? Treating all life fairly, even the cowards and killers?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged and tossed the cap on the counter. “Guess that doesn't extend to cows, chickens, and pigs, though.”

“Guess not,” she murmured.

I opened the cabinet and took out two wineglasses. I didn't often drink alcohol anymore, but something told me I would need it to get through tonight. After pouring two healthy doses, I held a glass out to her. “My lady.”

Snorting, she took it, our fingers brushing in a way that sent a rush of heat coursing through my veins. “I am in no way, shape, or form a lady.”

“Sure you are.” I picked mine up and held it out to her. “To making new starts, and keeping open minds about the future?”

She eyed me skeptically, but clinked her glass to mine. “And to taking your vows, and being the best fucking priest to ever grace Chicago?”

I stared at her, knowing all too well that I'd been seconds from forgetting all about those vows back in that tub. If my phone hadn't rung when I had my hands on my fly, with her kneeling at my feet, I wouldn't have stopped….

And we'd probably be naked in bed right now.

Instead, we were in the kitchen, fully clothed, and I was trying to pretend that I didn't know about the sexy sounds she made when she came, or how dusky pink her hard nipples were underneath that sweatshirt she wore.

I was failing. I am human. I was weak. I was a sinner.

But she wasn't for me. She was for some other man, in some other place, at some other time. The idea of her with another man? Yeah. It didn't sit well. “Do you want to get married someday? Have kids?” I asked. “Set up shop in a nice little house, with a fence and a dog?”

She scrunched up her nose. “I don't know. Kids are nice, I guess, and so are dogs, but then you have to deal with the man who comes with them. Men are jerks.”

“Not all of them.”

“The ones I've met are.” She traced a pattern on the countertop, one I couldn't follow. It was all over the place. “Well, minus present company, anyway.”

Oh, I was a jerk. Besides the fact that I was keeping secrets from her, I felt a sense of relief that she seemed to think she was planning on spending the rest of her life single—and that made me a jerk. She deserved to be happy, to live a full life, but the idea of her falling in love with someone else made me want to punch a hole in someone's face. Repeatedly.

Once, back when Rose was only fourteen, right before Mikey died, a boy had shown interest in her. We had caught them kissing on the porch, and Mikey sent him off with a warning. That wasn't good enough for me. I'd followed the boy home. On the porch of the kid's home, I threatened to cut off his balls, one by one, if he even so much as winked at Rose again. He never came back.

Word was, he skipped school for a week.

Rose had forgotten all about him in a day or two…

Give or take.

“Remember Joel Mitchell?” I asked. “The red-haired kid who had a crush on you?”

She choked on her sip of wine, but lowered it. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she spluttered and her cheeks flushed red. “Yeah…what about him?”

“Remember when we caught him kissing you on the porch?”

She nodded, pressing her fingers against her throat absentmindedly. “Very clearly, yes.”

“I scared him off after that first kiss.” I took a drink of wine, letting it wash over my tongue. “That's why he didn't come back, not because of something you did. Just thought you should know.”

She laughed. Actually laughed. Clutching her stomach, she swiped away a tear that escaped because she was laughing so hard. “Oh, that's rich.”

I stiffened. “What is?”

“That you think you scared him off.” She laughed again. “He came again. A lot of times. In lots of ways.”

“Wait.” My brows slammed down. “What?”

“Do you honestly think a tiny little threat like that would scare off a Mitchell boy for good? You didn't stand a chance with that.” She smirked and swirled her wine in her glass. “As a matter of fact, he was the guy who took my virginity a few years later.”

I
was the one to choke on my wine that time.

She laughed, set down her wine, and patted me on the back.

This, of course, left her face inches from mine, and she was smiling up at me with dancing blue eyes, and her nose stud was shining from the overhead lights, and that did nothing to help me catch my breath.
“Rose.”

“What? I'm almost twenty-two.” She grinned. “I mean, look at me. I hardly scream
innocence
. You didn't think I was still a virgin, did you?”

After what I'd seen in the bath? Nope. But that didn't mean I wanted to know who'd
had
her, when I
couldn't
. “Why did he return? I was pretty clear about what would happen if he didn't leave you alone.”

And there was no statute of limitations in
my
book.

“Mikey died, and you left for school, so there was no reason he had to stay away anymore.” She lifted a shoulder, then winced. “He was my boyfriend for a year or so in high school, until I left.”

I stiffened, because no matter how many years had passed, I still wanted to hunt him down and teach him that when I told you to stay away,
you stayed away
. “Did he at least treat you well?”

“He was okay. Better than most. He never hit me.”

Her soft words made my fists and knuckles ache for contact with something hard. If only Father John had a punching bag here. Working out, and boxing, kept my mind off my more animalistic urges. Fighting. Sex. Those urges needed to be kept at bay with an outlet that worked, and for each seminarian, what worked was different.

For me, it was boxing. Weight lifting. Pushing myself physically. And judging from the thoughts running through my mind, I really needed to punch something. Hard.

Maybe Joel Mitchell was the perfect item.

“No man should ever hit you. Or treat you poorly. The only way a man's knuckles should ever touch your skin”—unable to resist, I reached out and ran my knuckles over her soft cheek—“is like this. In a soft caress meant to please, not harm.”

Her eyes drifted shut, and she bit her plump lower lip, leaving a white mark in the tender flesh upon release. I'd have done anything to lean in and kiss that bite mark away. To run my tongue over it, slowly and tenderly, and soothe the sting. To trace my way to the corner of her mouth, right over her lip ring, and slip my tongue inside her.

Literally.
Anything
.

She was the only light in my dark life besides the church. That wasn't why I couldn't have her. I couldn't have her because she deserved better. I could think of at least ten reasons off the top of my head why she shouldn't be with a guy like me.

Like the time I'd gone to a party and taken enough Ecstasy to take down a village, and that night I'd slept with a virgin I'd known had feelings for me. Real feelings. When she told me how happy she was that we were together, I'd laughed at her. Like her feelings meant nothing. She'd cried and run out of the room. I'd gone to sleep without a second thought for that girl.

Or the time I beat up Kenny Greenburg because he'd forgotten to pay me back the five dollars I'd loaned him the day before.

Or, you know, the time
I killed her brother
. Rose deserved better than me. Always had. Always would. “Rose, I was the—”

The timer dinged, announcing that dinner was ready, and the bell saved me once again. Or damned me. I couldn't decide which one anymore.

“Dinner's ready,” she said softly.

Clearing my throat, I tightened my grip on her, not wanting to let go but knowing I had to. For her sake. “Yeah.”

She stepped away from me, doing what I hadn't been able to, and picked up her wine, chugging it without taking a breath. “It smells delicious. I can't wait to taste it.”

Not saying anything, I bent down, picked up a pot holder, and removed the ziti from the oven. There was only one thing I ached to taste in this room, and it wasn't the ziti. She awakened a longing inside of me that I wasn't so sure I could ever overlook again. A raw, aching, open need for
her,
and what she could make me feel.

Only one thing held me back.

And that one thing was
her
.

Besides the obvious reasons we shouldn't be together, there was one more: she deserved more than a one-night stand with a guy who couldn't give her more than that. I'd promised my life to God years ago, when Father John had saved me. All that was left was taking my vows, but they were just words. Just promises.

In reality, I'd already promised myself to him years ago.

It was
done
.

She should get more than a fleeting moment with a guy who could never be hers in every meaning of the word. She needed a different type of man in her life—one who would take what she had offered in that bathroom, hold her close, and never look back in regret. The kind of man who could treat her right and show her what happiness truly felt like.

The type of man
I
could never be.

Breathing heavily, I struggled to break free of the hands holding me down, trapping me beneath the heavy weight of the man's body on top of mine. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. I was suffocating under the asshole's dead weight on top of me. He was grunting, touching, and groaning. I was never going to break free. His hand clamped down over my mouth, muffling my cries as his other hand gripped my thigh and roughly shoved it to the side. I cried out, tears blurring my vision and stinging like a bitch, and clawed at his face desperately.

He laughed. Actually
laughed
.

I was going to die.

And I wanted to.

His breath filled my nostrils, his face looming over mine. I screamed, bucking with my back, but he was muffling my cries with a dirty, smelly hand. I lashed out at him, losing my mind, and finally connected with him.

He stiffened, sneering down at me, and grabbed my arm roughly, twisting it. “I'll fucking kill you, you little bitch.”

I didn't see his face anymore. The pain blinded me.

It was a merciful blindness.

Something shook me, and the man faded away even more. I sat up straight, swinging, and connecting with flesh. “Get off me!” I screamed, trembling.
“I'll kill you, you son of a bitch.”

“Rose—”

I struck out again and something hit the floor by the bed, hard, and I blinked, slowly coming to. I wasn't in that alley behind the club anymore. I was in a room. A big one. I took a deep breath, gasping air like I hadn't breathed in years. My heart pounded, every muscle in my body trembled and ached with renewed pain, and I was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

Hugging my knees, I rocked back and forth and buried my face in my knees. When I heard movement at the side of the bed, I snapped my head back up. “Who's there?”

“It's just me.” Slowly, Thorn got to his feet, holding his nose, the flashlight app of his iPhone turned on. He sat beside me, his amber eyes glowing with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” I croaked. Reaching out, I touched his eye with a shaking hand. It was already turning red, and his nose was
bleeding
. My stomach turned and rolled. “Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I hit you. I'm sorry.”

“It's fine.” He swept my hand away from his face impatiently. “It's nothing. You were scared, though. Crying out in your sleep.”

I swallowed hard, remembering where I'd been before he'd woken me up. And who I'd been with. “I had a bad dream.”

“I get those, too,” he said slowly, switching on the dim light by the bed. “All the time.”

I blinked away the sudden brightness. “About the accident?”

“Yeah.” Blood trickled out of his nose, but he swept it away with the back of his hand and shut off his flashlight. “Were you dreaming about last night?”

I swallowed hard at seeing the blood on his hand. It was easier than staring at him and seeing the anger and pity in his expression. “Yeah. He…he
scared
me, Thorn.”

“I…I—” He lurched to his feet, fists clenched. “I want his name. Now.”

“I don't know it,” I answered honestly. “He doesn't matter. None of this does. He tried to hurt me, but I won. I walked away. I'm fine. I guess my dreams didn't get that memo, though. I'm…I'm sorry I woke you.”

“You're
sorry
?” He paced back and forth next to the bed, letting out a short, hard laugh. “Don't apologize. It's not your fault that some sick bastard—”

“I swear to God, if you find a way to blame yourself for this, I'll punch you in the other eye, too.” I gripped my knee again, squeezing the soft comforter. “I don't need you feeling bad, or looking at me like I'm going to break.”

He froze, midpace. “What do you need, then?”

“Huh?”

“You don't want me to hunt him down and kill him,” he said softly, sitting next to me on the bed and catching my one good hand between his. “So what do you need me to do? Stay? Go? Talk? Shut up? Sing you a lullaby? Read you a book? Anything you need, it's yours.
I'm yours
.”

It was then, and only then, that I realized what I'd been too upset to notice before. He was shirtless, and wearing only a pair of flannel pajama pants—pants I'd gotten him from Target as a Christmas present two years ago. His hard, lean body was shadowed in the half-dark room, but it didn't mask the contours and lines of his well-worked body.

He was like some kind of Adonis.

There was a dusting of light brown hair on his pecs, and around his hard brown nipples, that tapered down and descended the happy trail of peace to his—

“Rose?” he asked gently.

I shook my head and focused on his face again. “Yeah?”

“What do you need from me?”

You. Me. Naked. Forever.
“I…I honestly don't know.”

He nodded. “All right.” He slipped under the covers slowly, watching me the whole time. “That's fine. You don't have to know. Not yet.”

I hugged my half of the covers to my chest, well aware that all I was wearing was a loose shirt and he, only pajama pants. Put us together, and we barely had one outfit between us. “What are you doing?”

“Lying down. Holding you.” He settled into bed and wrapped his arm around me, urging me to lie down with him. I let him guide me to where he wanted me and he settled behind me, spooning me. I…I had never been spooned before. Like, ever. I preferred sleeping on my side of the bed—alone. “See? That's nice, right?”

I swallowed hard, staring at the blinds on the window. “Yeah….”

“Want me to leave?” He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me even closer to him, till we were fitted together like one person. “Or stay?”

I hesitated, because deep down, I knew what I should say. I
should
tell him to get his hands off me and go back to his own room. I didn't need him, or his strong arms, or his soft, masculine scent enveloping me. And I didn't need his arms around my sore, aching body to make the pain go away. I could do that all on my own. But when I opened my mouth to tell him that in no uncertain terms—I fucked it all up.

“Don't go,” I whispered.

I tightened my grip on her, burying my face in her sweet-smelling hair—hair
I'd
washed earlier that day. The fact that it had only been a little over twenty-four hours now was crazy. So much had happened. So much had changed inside me. Things I refused to acknowledge, but still. They'd
changed
.

I'd never held a woman like this. In the past, my dealings with the opposite sex had been fast, furious, and naked. I hadn't cuddled them. Hadn't comforted them. Hadn't
cared
. Rose was the only exception to that rule. But even so, I'd never gotten this close to her. We were both half naked, in bed together, and I was probably breaking half a dozen rules of the church, but this was clearly what she needed. And if I was going to be honest with myself, I needed it, too. Needed to comfort her.

“All right. I'll stay.” I kissed her shoulder, keeping it gentle, because I knew she was sore. So much so, she might not have even noticed. I kind of hoped she hadn't. I knew she was in pain, but it wasn't time for another pill, so this was all I could do. Hold her. Kiss her. Love her. “I'm not going anywhere.”

She let out a shuddering sigh and burrowed even closer to me, scooting her butt back till it hit my cock. I gritted my teeth and willed my body not to respond. To stay neutral. I'd have had better luck moving a mountain with a spoon.

“Last night…” She wrapped her hand around my forearm, which was around her waist, and held on tight. “It was awful. I've never been so scared before.”

I forced myself to lay still, hold her. To not get out of the bed, barge into Kitty Kat's, and demand they tell me where her attacker lived, even though logically I knew they didn't have that information. There was a part of my soul that hadn't changed like the rest of me. And that dark, twisted part of myself was reserved for situations like this. “He won't hurt you again. I won't let him.”

She let out a dainty snort. “No offense, but you can't promise that.”

“Why not?”

“You might be an hour and a half away, for starters,” she pointed out, ever the voice of reason.

“I'll still be around. I'll still be here.” I paused, pressing my lips to her shoulder again. “Just not as often.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you might be a little too busy taking care of the people at your parish to check in on me every hour.”

I didn't say anything. She had a point. Once I took my vows, I would have a whole flock of people to worry about, not just her. But that didn't mean I'd be too
busy
for her. The fact that she thought I'd just walk away and stop caring about her the second I took my vows stung. I'd never stop caring. Never stop loving her.

Not even after she came to hate me.

“When he held me down—” She broke off, shuddering. I hugged her tighter, seeing red, but trying to act as if I didn't so she would keep talking. Sometimes, talking about these things was the way to heal. It's why the sacrament of confession exists. “I wish I'd hit him harder.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and I kissed her shoulder again, at a loss for words. I knew lots of things to say for lots of scenarios. But this wasn't one of them.

So I said nothing.

Just held her.

She sucked in a breath and held it, slowly letting it go. “But this, lying here with you? It's a good start, I think. Being here, with you, is a good start. I can't help but think it can only get better from here, because I have you. And that's terrifying.”

I blinked. “Why?”

“Because I
need
you around.”

“Why is that a bad thing?” I asked slowly, pressing my lips against her shoulder a third time. There was nothing seductive about it. It was my way of comforting her. Letting her know I was here. And luckily, my cock got the message, even though her soft, delectable butt kept brushing up against it. “Why is needing me terrifying?”

“Because you're becoming a priest. That's a life I can't be a part of. Not like this. And it's this part that I'm getting addicted to. Having you here. With me.”

I tightened my grip on her, my heart wrenching painfully. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I'm happy for you. Thrilled.” She peeked at me over her shoulder. “But it doesn't mean I won't miss you if you leave. I meant what I said earlier, and I stand by my statement. Life is too short, too cruel, to play games with hearts. I love you.”

I rested my forehead on her shoulder and closed my eyes, swallowing hard. That was the second time she'd said those words to me, and this time, I wasn't confused or thrown by them. This time, I wanted to say them
back
. But doing that, going there, would only break her heart, because ultimately, I had to choose the church.

I didn't really have a choice.

Especially once I told her the truth. She didn't know what had
really
happened. What I'd
done
. How far I'd fallen before Father John picked me back up, took the loaded gun out of my hand, and told me to come to his office.

“Thank you. For being here. For holding me. For not making me feel like an idiot for having a nightmare.” She rolled in my arms, facing me. Our noses touched, and our lips were only a breath apart. It was torturous. “But most of all, thank you for reminding me that there is good in this world. That people like you exist.”

She arched her neck and kissed my cheek, her soft lips brushing my skin with a featherlight touch. Then she rolled over again, settled into my arms, and sighed.

Silently, I lay there, holding her, knowing she was dead wrong. There might be good in this world still, and it might be out there, waiting for her…but I wasn't it.

I wasn't
good
.