He nods, then holds out his hand, "It's nice to meet you, Ava."
Nice? Okay, not the word I would have used, but if he wants to play it that way, well, so can I.
I tilt my head, "And you, Father."
His jaw tics. A mask seems to form from his features as he draws himself up to his full height. He’s so tall that I have to tip my head all the way back to see his face. How can someone so big, so vital, someone whose every inch of his body is packed with sex appeal… How the hell could he have dedicated himself to a life where he’ll never experience pleasures the likes of which I want to share with him?
And then, there’s his personality… The intensity of his gaze, the depth I sense underneath that tightly controlled exterior. The strength of his dominance that he wears about himself, tightly cloaked, held back, as if he doesn’t dare give in to the power of his complete self…because it would be too much for everyone around him. For the man he is, and make no mistake, he is one-hundred percent alpha male, would outshine anyone around him. Is that the depth of his sacrifice? The depth of what he’d given up to pursue his calling?
He holds my gaze, then nods. "Goodbye, Ava."
I clutch my blanket and book to my chest, then turn and head toward the main house. The hair on the nape of my neck rises and I know he’s watching me as I put distance between us. My stomach clenches; my guts twist.Don’t look back. Don’t.My heart begins to hammer in my chest. This is just silly. Why the hell do I feel like I’m leaving a part of myself behind? I pause, glancing over my shoulder to find he’s still there in the doorway. Our gazes connect; a thrill runs up my spine. My pores pop. Even across that distance I can make out the tension that coils those massive shoulders, those cut abs of his that are outlined by the fabric of the shirt he wears, the trim waist, the powerful thighs clad in pants that cling to his every groove, every ridge, every muscle that cords his legs.
I gulp. My throat closes. All the moisture in my body drains to my core.No, no, no, you can’t think of him that way, remember.I avert my gaze, turn and half-run until I reach the main house. I let myself inside, then race up the stairs. I reach the landing of the first floor, and bump into someone.
"Hey, where’s the fire?" Isla, one of my closest friends, asks.
It’s inside me, all around me,is what I want to stay. I firm my lips, peer up into her face.
"You, okay?" she asks. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost.
No, just a man I want… Who is the last man on this earth I can have. Shit, why can’t my life be more like one of those romance novels I love to read? Where the only thing standing between me and the hero is a string of inconsequential misunderstandings?
"Ava?" Isla touches my shoulders. "Say something."
"Something," I mutter.
She chuckles, "You want some coffee?" She grips my hand. "You seem chilled."
"I am," I admit, "I was out, uh, writing in my journal."
"You went out dressed like that?" She stares at my dress. "You didn’t wear a jacket?"
"I had this." I nod to the blanket.
"You still seem frozen."
Maybe that’s because of the surprise I just had? A cold sensation invades me. Shit, how could he be a priest? Seriously, a man who looks like that, who’s vital, and hot and so sexy. How had he renounced the world? Or maybe, only monks do that. I have no idea what it means to devote oneself to the service of the church. How could I? My parents had been agnostic. I’ve never been drawn to any religion.
Then my mother had passed away and I'd been convinced that there definitely isn't a God. If there were, why had he taken my mother away from me?
"Ava?" Isla tugs on my arm, "Come on, let’s get some coffee and breakfast, and you can tell me all about your adventures this morning."
"What adventures?" I frown, but allow her to lead me back the way I came. We walk into the large kitchen that looks out on the backyard—correction— that looks out on the entire freakin’ slope of Primrose Hill. The money has its benefits, no doubt, but surely, too much of it can’t be healthy. It blinds you to the real stuff—feelings, emotions, relationships… Hell, the only thing I know about myself is that I want to live as close to my true self as possible. Which means identifying what I want for myself in the first place.
She places two cups on the counter, then scoops coffee into the cafetière, before switching on the kettle to boil the water.
"The adventures that have put that dazed look on your face." She stabs a finger in my direction, "Fess up. Did you crawl out to meet someone?"
"What?" I blink, "No."
"You can tell me." She waggles her eyebrows. "You have a boyfriend hidden away you don’t want the rest of us to meet?"
"Nothing like that." The kettle switches off, she turns, pours water over the coffee grounds, then stirs it, before lowering the plunger.
The scent of coffee wafts around me and I blink as if coming out of a mirage. I place my blanket and book on the island as she pours out the coffee, then offers me a mug. I top it up with cream and three spoonfuls of sugar, then take a sip.
"So," she asks, "what happened to send you tearing through the corridor like you were trying to get away from a shark."
