Sensuous Angel (7 page)

She paused suddenly, glancing at Luke. His features seemed to be strained and tense; once again his jaw was twisted and locked. His eyes seemed to burn into Tricia like a golden blaze from hell. Tricia tore her eyes from his and continued. “A number of women have been hurt very badly.”

“I think I’d be okay in a taxi,” Donna said slowly, “but I appreciate your concern.”

“I need to go to church anyway,” Tricia said.

Donna shrugged, at a loss. “If you really want to, Tricia. I guess it doesn’t make much difference.” She laughed. “I don’t know the address of the church or the rectory anyway.”

“Excuse me, ladies,” Luke interrupted, “but I think we should order. This is Saturday night—”

“Oh, yes!” Tricia glanced quickly at her watch. “I’ll just have time….I have to be to the club by ten.”

“You’ll make it,” Luke assured her. He gazed at Donna, his dark-lashed golden gaze still seeming to be riddled with vast amusement. “Tricia sings in a small club uptown. Perhaps if you stay in New York long enough, you’ll accompany me to her show. It’s a delightful place. Elegant…and very, very intimate.”

Donna was dying to snap out that she wouldn’t accompany him to a dog fight, but she held back the thought and inclined her head slightly. “I’m hoping not to remain in New York very long, Father. Only long enough to meet with Mr. McKennon.”

He smiled, and Donna thought she would never in a thousand years trust such a smile. It was as dangerous as all hell. It touched off a chord within her that was a stimulus so strong it was terrifying.

Donna glanced quickly at her menu. The words blurred before her so she readily accepted Luke’s suggestion of the prime rib. As he ordered their meals, Donna turned her attention to the pianist at the rear of the room who played soft ballads. It was a perfect place for dinner, Donna thought. Quiet music so that people could talk, and yet a number of couples were enjoying slow dancing.

“Donna?”

She turned back to Luke, blinking. The subtle smile that belonged on either a pirate or the devil curved his lips and touched his eyes at her startled response.

“Will you join me on the dance floor? Tricia assures me she doesn’t mind in the least. It’s a slow dance so you can lean against me and your ankle won’t have to bear any weight. And it’s wrapped well. Come on, Donna.”

“No!”

The single word came out in a panicked yelp, which did her little good, because he was drawing her to her feet anyway, and rather than trip over her bad ankle, she was forced to lean on him.

“I do not want to dance!” she grated out as he led her to the floor.

“Yes, you do,” he whispered, slipping his arms around her. The entire night—or perhaps God—seemed to be conspiring against her. The music became slow, a song for lovers. Her arms mechanically wound around his neck; her cheek rested against the lapel of his jacket, and for the life of her, she couldn’t fight the riot of sensations that filled her. His pleasant, very male scent, the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms. The feel of that scratchy cloth beneath the softness of her cheek. He moved with a slow and easy grace; she felt she could too easily follow him wherever he led….

But he supposedly was a man of God; yet he was playing dark games of secrecy with her. He was hiding something….

“I brought you out here,” he whispered, his breath warm as it seemed to caress the lobe of her ear as he ducked his head low, pulling her even closer, “to threaten you.”

“Threaten me!” She tried to pull from the strong grasp of his arms.

“Take it easy!” he said. “This is the last time I’m going to ask you to take things at face value.”

“Blind faith again? You’ve got it…Luke. Until tomorrow night, at least.”

“Good. Because any more questions and your meeting with Andrew will be off.”

“I can just go to the police—”

“You’re a liar, Donna. You’ve already been to the police.”

“For a priest,” Donna grated dryly, “you really are one hell of a pain in the neck. I would really rather not dance any more.”

“All right, but during dinner, we talk about New York, sports, movies—or the state of the world. We do not discuss Andrew McKennon. Got it? I’m the one who put Tricia into the middle of this situation, for your benefit. So for my benefit, you’re not going to make her miserable.”

“Oh, I got it,” Donna replied. They had pulled away from one another and stood facing each other angrily on the dance floor. He lifted a hand and a brow, suggesting that she lead the way back to the table. Donna spun about and felt his hand fall lightly to her waist. A polite touch, a guiding touch. One she resented nevertheless. Resented…and felt through to the core of her being.

Tricia was smiling when they reached the table. “That wasn’t a long dance!” She laughed.

“My ankle is bothering me a bit,” Donna murmured, annoyed that she found herself lowering her lashes over her eyes rather than meeting Luke’s speculative and amused gaze.

He pulled out her chair and she sat. As he joined her, he said something to Tricia about a new show he had seen Off-Broadway and they began to talk about the theater.

Dinner was served. Donna barely tasted her food, but what she did taste was good, and thanks to Tricia’s pleasant nature, the meal passed quickly. She was sorry when Tricia rose, telling them both to stay seated, that she had to get to work.

Luke rose anyway. “I’ll walk you out for a taxi, Tricia—”

“Don’t be silly, Luke. There’s a doorman on duty! And, oh, about dinner—”

Luke laughed, casting Donna one of his subtly amused and mocking gazes. “Don’t worry about dinner, Trish. It’s on our delightful olive-oil heiress, Ms. Miro.”

Donna managed to smile as Trish voiced her thanks, then ran out, promising to pick her up by four the next day. Luke sat down beside her again, and she met his amused gaze with irritation.

“One day,” she promised him, “God will punish you for all this.”

“Will he?” Luke laughed. “I’m sure I will deserve my days in purgatory, but not for this.”

“Maybe you’ll get to rot in hell,” Donna said sweetly.

“Maybe. None of us knows for sure.”

The check came. Luke kept smiling while Donna signed it, then pushed back her chair and rose.

“Well, Father, I suppose I’ll see you at church tomorrow.”

“Yes, I suppose you will.” He rose and took her elbow.

Donna sighed. “I can get to my room by myself, Father.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“But I won’t?”

“Very perceptive, Donna.”

“What does the church think of priests who bribe and threaten the innocent?”

“Are you innocent?”

“Oh, God!” She groaned.

“Come on, I’ll see you to your room.”

They made the trek to the elevator again and then down the hall to her room in silence. She made no protest when he took the card key and unlocked the door. He pushed it open, turned on the light, and strode into the room, making no excuses as he checked out her closet and bath.

“All clear,” he murmured cheerfully.

“Thanks,” Donna murmured.

He moved to where she stood in the doorway. In that small space, they were very close. The scent that was male and pleasant came to her again, and it suddenly seemed as if her knees could very easily buckle. She gazed into his eyes with their misted gold and green, and felt a fierce trembling along with the desire to reach out and touch the bronzed texture of his cheek. He was a priest, she tried to remind herself. But the thought wouldn’t come; he was a man, one who attracted her more than she had ever thought possible, one who reached out to her, excited her, stirred her…touched her. Something happened to her in those moments, something that she would never understand.

The seconds ticked by as they stared at one another. She couldn’t seem to move…not until he did. His hand came to her waist, slid to her hip, then slowly up her spine until his fingers wound into the hair at her nape. She had no thought to fight him as he tilted her head back, as his free hand slipped around her, bringing her firmly against him. He was hard and warm and wonderful, and she felt the length of his body with her own before she closed her eyes and felt the gentle force of his lips touching her own, urging them apart.

She felt his tongue, moving, caressing, exploring more and more deeply, as probing as his eyes, touching her soul, exciting her, making her feel faint. She clung to him, she lifted her fingertips to his cheeks. Freshly shaved, slightly rough. Very masculine. She returned the kiss, seeking him as he sought her, relishing the hardness of him, in the beauty of sensation that made her feel both faint and very, very alive. Sparks touched her system, trembling throughout her, seizing her, releasing her. He created a hunger in her, something so strong it couldn’t be denied. She wanted to forget the world around them and know more of him. She wanted to have him beside her, holding her, naked, touching her….

He raised his head, smiling as he stared down at her dazed eyes. He steadied her. “Tomorrow, Donna,” he murmured, and then he was gone.

Donna watched his dark-clad back and broad shoulders as he walked down the hallway. She echoed a small sound of horror and shame and slammed the door, closing her eyes as she leaned heavily against it.

She groaned aloud, shaking. A priest! Dear Lord, a priest had kissed her, and she had wanted it. Wanted much, much more. She had wanted to lie beside him, to make love to him. She! A woman who had spent twelve years in Catholic schools. Oh, if the nuns could see her now. Donna Miro, falling for—a priest.

“No…no…no!” she whispered in dismay. Her face flamed a brilliant red and she raced the few feet to the bed, throwing herself on it to rock back and forth. What was happening to her, and what in heaven and hell was going on?

L
UKE ENTERED HIS BEDROOM
and stripped off his jacket with uncustomary speed, tugging at a sleeve while combing through his closet. He saw what he wanted—a pea-green, tattered army sweater. A moment later he was tugging on the sweater and replacing his dress pants with a pair of worn jeans. He started out his bedroom door, but a slight sound alerted him to turn back.

A figure, shrouded by the darkness, was crawling through the garden window. It straightened and stared at Luke.

Both men were of equal height. The intruder was slimmer, and the character of his face was masked by a dense growth of beard and an untrimmed mustache. The dark hair on his head was as wild and tangled as his beard; his clothing more tattered than Luke’s old army-issue sweater.

But Luke smiled at his sorry-looking visitor and quietly closed his bedroom door. He drew the drapes before flicking on a light, then embraced the shaggy man briefly before indicating the plush period chair that sat before the garden window.

“Have a seat, Andrew,” he encouraged. “I was just about to come looking for you.”

Andrew leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes wearily for a minute. He rubbed his temple with his thumb and forefingers. “I figured you would, that’s why I tried to beat you to it. No sense the two of us crawling around different ghettos trying to find one another.” He opened his eyes at last. “You got anything decent to drink around here?”

Luke chuckled softly and strode to a small carved cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and offered it to Andrew. Andrew smiled like a high-school kid as he took the bottle, twisted off the top, and drank a long gulp. He straightened the bottle, shuddered slightly, and returned it to Luke.

“Damn—sorry, Father, but that was good. After all that rot gut I’ve been drinking with the winos!”

“Bad day?” Luke queried.

“Yeah—even before I heard from Tricia.” He gazed at Luke accusingly. “How on earth did you stumble into Donna Miro—and why did you tell her that you knew me?”

Luke shrugged and decided to take a swig of the Jack Daniels himself. “That was exactly it—I stumbled into her. She was trying to find an address from a letter
you
wrote her and was in the process of being mugged when I found her.”

“Oh,” Andrew murmured. “Have you got a cigarette, Luke?”

Luke patiently obliged him.

Andrew inhaled deeply, then grimaced. “Much, much better than the butts I’ve been smoking all day!”

Luke tensed. “How long do you think this is going to go on?”

Andrew lifted his brows and shrugged helplessly. “I wish I knew. Hey—you’re supposedly the one with the pipeline to the Almighty. Can’t you pray any harder that we nab this guy?”

He had tried to be flippant and easy, and he knew that his effort had failed miserably when he watched Luke tense, pain filling his eyes before he turned away.

Andrew watched, his hands clenched together tightly behind his back. “Hey, Luke, I’m sorry. I know if anyone has been praying—”

Luke turned back to him, then sat at the foot of the bed, raking his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m better off not to feel so viciously that he must be caught. I’m a priest, Drew. I shouldn’t hate this guy so much.”

“You’re a human being. You wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t hate him after…what happened.”

Luke said nothing for a minute, lighting a cigarette himself. He watched a mist of smoke fade away. “Have you been able to see Mom lately?”

“Last week.” He grimaced, then smiled ruefully again, feeling that the tension was past. “I sometimes hate to go see her. She spends the whole time moaning over my hair.”

Luke laughed so hard he choked. “Hey, she’s your mother. What do you want?”

“Ah, Mom’s a good old girl, I guess. She worries about us both, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. But I’m okay.”

“I know, you are.”

The brothers gazed at one another for a minute, then both smiled.

“So, tell me, what’s she like?”

“Donna Miro?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s…”

“Gorgeous,” Andrew supplied. Luke arched a curious brow. “I was watching you two when you entered the hotel.”

“You do manage to get around this city—and be in the right place at the right time,” Luke murmured.

“Did you tell her that we’re related?”

“I didn’t tell her anything, and certainly nothing that might imperil your cover. I just figured that if anyone could get you, it would be Irish. And then it would be up to you. You do know about her, don’t you?”