"You’re right," I nod, "I’d rather see your head on a spike."
"What?" He blinks.
"No, actually," I press a finger to my cheek, "I think I’d rather dig your heart out and eat it. Better still, bury my fangs in your neck and draw out your blood."
He pales. "Wh…what does that mean?"
"Don’t you know?" I lean in close enough for his horrid body odor to overpower me. Ugh, someone get me a bucket. I bare my teeth, "I am a vampire in disguise."
He stares, then bursts out laughing. "You’re funny."
"You’re not." I pull back my fist, bury it in his throat.
He roars, releases me. I scramble away, lunge forward through the crowd of dancing people. A woman steps in my path; I shove past her. A man dances his way across my progress; I dig my elbow into his side. He yelps, moves away. I dart past, make it to the edge of the dance floor when a heavy hand descends on my shoulder. I yelp, turn and swing. The sweaty barnacle ducks, then tightens his grip with so much force that pain sears my arm.
"Let go of me," I grit through clenched teeth.
"Says you and which army?" He smirks.
"Says me."
I hear the growled-out words, despite the fact that music is booming all around me. Hell, I’d hear him even if he didn’t speak. All he’d have to do is think it, and I’ll bet I could glean it from his mind… Whoa, hold on. He’s not that Edward…and you’re not Bella, much as you’d like to be. And this is not a fairytale, or a stalker vampire romance… This…is real life, and he’s a priest, and you are a…foolish woman who’s developed feelings for him. I twist my shoulder, try to get away again. This time, he hauls me around and against him.
I grimace, "Let me the hell go, you asshole." I dig my elbow back and into his side. He doesn’t even lose a breath. He winds his arm around my neck, begins to sway with me. That unwashed body scent of his crowds me and his oily heat crawls around me. Gross. I raise my foot and bring it down on his massive one. He yells, shoves me away from him and straight at Edward, who grabs me, shoves me behind him.
Whoa, okay, not expected. Not that I didn’t think he had it in him. I mean, of course, I’d suspected that the priest’s facade only partially obscures the over-the-top possessive man hiding somewhere in there. Only, I hadn’t been sure. I’d thought he’d saved that part of himself—that crazy devotion that comes from being fixated with something or someone. I’d been sure he was saving all those emotions for the One Above.
So, to have him throw a punch, catch the other guy at the temple and follow that up with a punch to the stomach… All in one move… Whoa… It’s hot. Okay, it’s crazily hot. I watch, open mouthed, as he follows up with a third hit to the chin. The other guy sways, then crumples to the ground. People move away, give him space, then turn away and continue dancing.
Edward turns on me, his gaze intense. His jaw flexes and a vein throbs at his temple.
"Edward, I—"
He holds up a hand, then jerks his chin toward the exit. I stiffen and he glares at me. Anger thrums from him—vital, real. A dense cloud of heat wafts off of him, slams into my chest. I swallow. Oh, shit. This isn’t good. Not at all. He takes a step forward; I scramble back. He moves in my direction. I turn, elbow my way through the crowd, reach the exit, and walk up through the winding staircase, past couples making out, past another couple dry-humping, their tongues down each other’s throats. I swallow; my throat goes dry. I turn to glance over my shoulder to find his gaze locked on me. Goosebumps pop on my skin; my thighs clench. I lose my footing and stumble, only for him to grip my waist and straighten me. The warmth of his palms scalds me through my dress. I shiver, and he looks me up and down. His gaze widens. When he glances back at me, his pupils are dilated, his breathing ragged. Then he sets his jaw, schools all expression from his face. He releases me so quickly that I stumble again. This time I right myself. He tips his chin up again.
"So what? Now you’re not talking to me?"
His jaw tics.
"Is this some kind of silent treatment?"
His eyebrows draw down. He folds his arms, stares down at me, down that patrician nose of his. His gaze is so intense, so angry...so helpless. I swallow. "Shit, it’s never easy between us, is it?"
He blows out a breath, then pinches the bridge of his nose, nods toward the stairs. "Go on," he growls.
I turn, march up the steps, through the crowd of people around the bar, and out the main door onto the sidewalk. The cold instantly washes over me. My fevered skin seems to sigh in gratitude. I turn my face to the light breeze that blows past, hoping to hide my heated cheeks. Then, just like that, the temperature seems to dip. I shiver, wrap my arms about my waist.
"Where’s your coat?" he snaps.
"Inside, with Isla." I turn to brush past him, "Maybe I should get it."
"Leave it," he orders, his voice taut. Tension grips every muscle in his body.
He stalks forward. I watch as he reaches a Harley parked a little up the road. He opens the storage box on the bike, pulls out a helmet, then turns to glower at me. What’s his problem anyway? And since when do hot, sexy priests drive hot, sexy bikes? Why is it that he’s hellbent on breaking every single stereotype I have in my head about men of the cloth? Not that I’ve known any of them before, considering I haven’t ever been to church. What? My parents were agnostic. When they were not too busy quarreling, they were too busy making up. Which left me to my own devices. Hence—the overactive imagination. None of which has ever dared me to dream of this hot as f guy who crooks his finger.
What the hell? Does he think he calls and I’ll go running to him? I fold my arms across my chest.
He glares at me and I shiver. It’s the wind; that’s all it is.
